A Gift

Author: Emily

Pairing: W/S

Rating: R, for now. Will hit NC-17 later.

Dedication: To Inell, the godmother of this fic

Distribution: Angelic Vamps, Bite Me, Please? and Soulmates, if they want it. Anyone else, if you want it, just ask. I always say yes.

Disclaimer: The basic premise and characters belong to lots of people who aren’t me.

Spoilers: Begins in the middle of the episode “Passion” (Angelus has started leaving pictures for Buffy and they haven’t found the uninvite spell yet)

Summary: What if Angelus decided to go after something other than Willow’s fish?

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~Part: 1~

Spike sat in the warehouse, smoking a cigarette, waiting for Dru and thinking about how much he hated this miserable bloody town. He had a feeling when he finally got dusted and spent eternity in everlasting damnation for his sins, everlasting damnation would look exactly like Sunnydale. This bleeding hellhole was the cause of all his problems. Before he showed up in this blasted town, he was strong, feared, respected. He was Spike, he was William the Bloody, he was slayer of two slayers and part of the Scourge of Europe. Wherever he went, he left behind death and destruction and had a bloody (*very* bloody) good time. Then he came to Sunnydale and it all fell apart.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Dru was weak after that damned mob in Prague and he had been sure that the energies of the hellmouth would do her good. Besides, he’d heard about the Master and the new slayer. With only the Annoying One to run things, Spike had figured he could take over the town pretty easily. He’d kill the slayer, find a way to cure Dru, they’d have a nice, big party and burn the town down. It had seemed like a good enough plan.

But everything he touched in this town fell apart under his fingers. He had come so damn close to killing the slayer so damn many times and every time, one of her little friends was able to save her. If it wasn’t her mother hitting him over the head with an axe, or her little ghostly friend finding some way to end the spell on Halloween, then it was another slayer showing up when he had finally found a way to heal his princess. Two slayers! No one else had ever had to deal with two slayers. It most definitely hadn’t been in the brochure. Instead of the slayer dying broken and bloody in his arms, she had emerged from that church alive and barely even bruised after dropping a fucking organ on his head, sticking him in this wheelchair that he hated with a fiery passion.

And Angelus… Angelus had been the unkindest cut of all. Spike still remembered when he had worshipped the man. Sure, Dru had been the one to turn him, but she was incapable of taking care of a bird, much less a childe. His princess was made to be spoiled and pampered and taken care of. She shouldn’t be expected to take care of anyone else. Angelus had been his teacher; Angelus had been his *Yoda*. He had taught Spike everything he knew. Those early days had been magical: fighting, feeding, fucking, doing anything they wanted, anywhere they wanted, to anyone they wanted. Sure, Spike had always taken pleasure in giving Angelus a hard time, defying him and breaking the rules, but he did it to show off, to impress the older vampire. Spike saw every restriction that Angelus placed on him as a challenge. Angelus had told him to fear the slayer, so he had gone out and killed a slayer. For Angelus. To please him. To earn a little acknowledgement. That’s why he picked the name Spike. William the Bloody was well and good; it sounded dangerous and left a good impression, but it had too many unpleasant associations. Spike wanted to get as far away from the meek young poet he had once been. Maybe if he took on a new name, a new identity, Angelus would start to respect him, just a little.

And then the blighter disappeared. Flat out vanished. Two damn years without a trace. No note, no message, not even a string of mangled corpses to show which way he had gone. And then he came back. China…god, China was a disaster. Spike had been so damn proud of himself; he’d finally offed a slayer. He’d drained the life out of her and then fucked Dru in her blood. The country had been in chaos around him: fires, fighting, looting, raping, pillaging; it was his kind of night. He’d felt powerful, invincible, wholly and truly immortal. He’d run to Angelus, like a kid with a report card, eager to show off how well he’d done, eager for praise. Angel’s deadpanned response had cut him to the quick. Oh, he’d tried to play it off, to show Angelus that he didn’t care. He refused to allow Angelus to ruin his good mood. He and Dru had gone off and had a fine, blood-filled evening on the streets and then a fine, blood-filled day in bed, working off excess energies. He’d convinced himself that Angelus would come around eventually. He was back; they were a family again.

But Angelus left. Again. Darla refused to explain why. Dru seemed to understand, in her own distorted way, that her “Daddy” wouldn’t be coming back but her ramblings didn’t make any sense to him. Putting up with Darla became too much to bear, so he and Dru struck out on their own. For ninety-eight years, she was the only family that he had. He refused to make any childer and kept a close eye on Dru to make sure she didn’t, either. The idea of family was just a little more than he could bear.

And then they got to Sunnydale and there he was. Angelus. Lapdog to the damn slayer. It broke Spike’s heart. When they stood in the hallway of the school, Spike saw with absolute clarity that, if it came down to it, Angelus would kill him to protect the slayer. The thought hurt like hell. He had forced himself to believe he didn’t care. When they found the ritual that would cure Dru, he was pleased to discover that it would require draining Angelus’ energy. Maybe if Angelus was truly dead and gone, Spike could move on with his life.

Instead, he got a fucking organ dropped on his head. Dru got cured, just in time to jump into Angelus’ bed when he returned. And, worst of all, Spike knew that he could have forgiven Angelus for all these things if Angelus had seen fit to finally give him the acknowledgement he craved. But no, all Spike seemed to be useful for these days was to serve as the but of Angelus’ jokes. And Angelus’ favorite way to tease Spike was by laying claim to Dru. She had been sharing her sire’s bed since he returned and showed no signs of leaving it. Spike was going crazy without her touch.

Which is why Spike was there, seated in the warehouse as he waited for Dru to return from hunting, smoking a cigarette and thinking about how damn much he hated unlife on the fucking Hellmouth. If it weren’t for his princess, he’d have left. <Not that she’d notice.> he thought bitterly. Dru seemed to be thrilled with how things had turned out. But Spike knew that no matter what she did, he couldn’t leave her. For better or for worse, she was his princess, his love, the center of his miserable little world. Maybe if he could spend some time alone with her, they could work things out. Angelus was out finding new ways to torment the slayer. It usually took him a while. Maybe Dru would come home early and he and Dru could use the time and…

“Oh, Spiiiiike! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Front and center, boy, I have a surprise for you!” Angelus’ voice boomed through the warehouse. With a grunt of annoyance, Spike wheeled over to where the dark vampire stood.

As soon as Spike rolled into sight, Angelus headed for the door. “Come with me, lad. Let’s go for a stroll. Or a *roll*, as the case may be,” he said, turning his head to smirk at his own joke. Spike grunted with annoyance, but pushed the wheelchair to follow. Arguing with Angelus never did any good. Besides, Angelus was in one hell of a good mood, and Spike had learned to lay low when Angelus got that glint in his eye. It always meant trouble.

They wandered through town, both of them smoking, without a word between them. Finally, Spike got impatient.

“So are you taking me on a bleeding tour of the town or are we going anywhere in particular?”

“In a rush, Roller-boy? Got a hot date with a physical therapist?” Spike grumbled to himself, but did not reply. “We’re nearly there, Spikey, nearly there.”

Moments later, Angelus stopped, standing in front of a deserted mansion. “Home, sweet home,” he said.

Spike’s eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth to comment, but shut it again with a snap. He should have known that Angelus wouldn’t want to stay in the warehouse for long. Why would he? The warehouse had been Spike’s choice, not Angelus’. Angelus liked to be lord of the manor, in every way. And he liked having a manor to be lord of. No wonder he had chosen this place. It wasn’t in the best of shape, but it was still a mansion. Angelus led Spike around the house to the back. “And this... this is the garden.”

“It's paradise,” Spike retorted, derisively. “Big windows, lovely gardens. It'll be perfect when we want the sunlight to kill us.” Truth be told, he was more than a little hurt. He had chosen the warehouse; he had turned it into his headquarters. But his choice obviously wasn’t good enough for the great Angelus. It always had to be something bigger and better for him.

“Things change, Spikey. You’ve got to roll with the punches. Well, actually, you pretty much got that part down, haven't you?”

“Very funny, mate.”

“What can I say? I just love to see you smile, buddy.”

“Yeah, you're a giver,” Spike grunted, turning his wheelchair around to leave. So they’d be moving into a new place. Fine. Made no difference to him.

“You’ve got that right, boy. I left a housewarming gift on your pillow.”

Spike turned back around, suspicion clearly written on his face.

“And what kind of gift would you leave for me?” he asked. Knowing Angelus it could be anything. His collection of albums, shattered beyond repair; decoration for his wheelchair; dinner; or maybe… just maybe… dare he hope that Dru was in his room, waiting for him? Spike ached for his princess. He’d do anything to have her again, even if it was just for the night.

“A sweet little girl I’d just love for you to meet,” Angelus answered.

“You brought me someone? Shall I alert the media?” Spike asked with as much sarcasm as he could muster. Truth be told, it was harder to muster the sarcasm than usual. It wasn’t Dru; that much was obvious, but he was very curious as to what Angelus was planning.

“Now, Spike, is that any kind of attitude to take toward your benefactor?”

Spike snorted.

“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. Fine thanks I get for bringing you a gift.”

“And what is this gift, Angelus? What strings are attached?”

“Ah, clever boy. I knew I’d raised you right.” Spike took a pull off his cigarette, waiting for Angelus to explain himself. “I know you’ve been lonely these past few days and I decided to do something about it.”

Spike was justifiably suspicious. It was unlike Angelus to concern himself over anyone’s comfort other than his own. “Letting Dru out of your bed for a day would take care of that problem,” he replied, with assumed nonchalance.

“Now, now, boy, you’re the childe of my childe and it’s important to me that you be happy, but not as important as it is for me to be happy. Dru will stay in my bed, where she belongs, but I’ve brought you a new playmate. Come with me.”

Spike followed Angelus into the mansion, to a bedroom on the first floor. Angelus kept talking as they went, explaining how he was going to set up the mansion, where he was going to put the minions, what size TV he was planning to get, and all the ways in which it would be vastly superior to the warehouse they had called home. Finally, they arrived at a closed door. Spike could hear the muffled sound of a heartbeat on the other side. Angelus opened the door, revealing a queen-sized bed, covered in black sheets, which was holding a sleeping girl, handcuffed to the bedposts.

“Spike,” Angelus said, “meet Willow.”

~Part: 2~

As soon as she heard the door open, Willow snapped her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing naturally, praying that they weren’t paying enough attention to her to realize that she wasn’t asleep. She knew it was Angelus, returning as he had promised, and obviously bringing someone with him. She hoped they kept talking. It would always be useful if she could find out what he had planned, and he was hardly likely to tell her directly. Besides, if they were busy talking, they’d leave her alone. She wasn’t quite ready to face them yet. She had only awakened five minutes earlier to find herself handcuffed to a bed in an unfamiliar room and was still adjusting to her new situation. She had already passed through confusion, fear, comprehension, and mild panic. She’d been verging on full-blown panic when she heard the footsteps approaching the door. She had no clue where she was, but she had a fairly good idea of how she had gotten there.

According to the watch still strapped to her wrist, Angelus had abducted her from her bedroom nearly an hour ago. She shuddered as she remembered how the abduction had played out. She had just hung up the phone with Buffy and was going through her nightly ritual of hanging up crosses on her French doors when she heard a sound behind her. She turned around in time to see him step out of her closet with that smile that she had already learned meant danger. Big danger. The kind of danger that called for a slayer, but there was no slayer in sight. Ironically, Willow had just been talking to Buffy about finding an uninvite spell. Willow had reassured Buffy that Giles would find one, soon. No doubt, she was right. Apparently though, it would be too little too late.

“W-what are you doing here?” she stammered out.

“I wanted to see you, Willow,” Angelus purred. “After all, we’re such good friends, aren’t we? You invited me into your house. You aren’t even allowed to have boys in your room but you still let me in. I just wanted to let you know how very much that meant to me.” He stalked toward her as he spoke and by the end of his speech, he had her backed against the wall. She raised her hands to push him away and he grabbed them, pulling them behind her back and holding them in place with one of his hands. He leaned his other arm against the wall, balancing it next to her face. The position he held her in forced her within inches of his body. Angelus towered over her; all she could see was him. He tilted his head in closer to murmur in her ear.

“Do you know why I’m going to destroy the slayer?” he whispered. Willow shook her head and he smiled at the sensation of her silky hair brushing against his face as her head moved. He took a moment to nuzzle her neck, noting with pleasure the way she shivered, obviously terrified. He wasn’t going to kill her, but there was no reason for her to know that yet. The smell of her fear was intoxicating.

“She made me feel like a human being,” he finally answered. “She loved me, made me want to be a better man.” He leaned in closer so that his lips brushed against her ear. “That's not the kind of thing you just forgive.”

He pulled back to look her in the eye. She was shaking from head to toe and she had bitten her lip to the point where it was drawing blood, but her eyes were dry and focused and she was quiet, waiting for him to finish. He was pleasantly surprised. He had expected hysterics at this point, along with copious tears, or maybe a fainting fit. The little mouse had more grit than he had expected.

“And you, sweet Willow,” Angelus continued, lifting his free hand from the wall to run across her cheek, “you made me feel human, too. You befriended me, defended me to Xander and Giles, you even trusted me enough to invite me into your house.” Her jaw clenched at his touch and grew even tighter at his words, but she had the good sense not to flinch or pull away. Tears were swimming in her eyes now, but she relentlessly held them back. “For that,” Angelus whispered, “you must be punished.”

His hand drifted from her cheek to her neck, stroking it gently. “I was going to leave you a gift: a message to let you know I’d be coming after you. I had the message all picked out, too,” he recounted with a sadistic grin. “I was going to kill your fish and string them up on a line, then put them in an envelope on your bed. I had planned to stand on your balcony and watch your reaction,” he continued, stroking her neck more firmly now. “That would have been fun. But not as much fun as this.”

He shoved his body against hers and took her mouth in a fierce kiss while his hand tightened around her neck, squeezing the breath out her throat. She opened her mouth to protest, to gasp for air, but he cut her off, alternately plundering her mouth with his tongue and sucking on her lip, which was still bloody from where she had bit it earlier. Her body was crushed between Angelus and the wall at her back and she felt like she was drowning. In that moment, she knew with absolute certainty that she was going to die. She was just waiting for the sting of his fangs in her neck. Out of habit, she tried to fight him off but he restrained her easily. That didn’t surprise her. She knew he was stronger; she just didn’t want to die without a fight. Inwardly, she was already resigned. From the moment she had met Buffy on the first day of school a year and a half ago, it had all led to this. Her mind was getting fuzzy and black spots had started forming in front of her eyes. It wouldn’t be much longer now. Her struggles stopped as she lost the energy to maintain them. Her body relaxed as she closed her eyes and waited to die.

Angelus pulled his lips away from hers but kept his hand tightening on her neck, cutting off her air supply. Her eyes flew open when she felt him pull his body away from her as well, now holding her in place only with his constantly contracting hand. He looked into her eyes again as she grew increasingly weak and dizzy. He licked his lips, cleaning them of the last traces of her blood. “Sweet Willow,” he said, a wicked half-grin covered his face. “If I’d known you would taste so good, I might have made different plans. Sleep now, Willow. You’ll see me again when you wake up.” Willow tried to keep her eyes open but the black spots clouding her vision started dancing before her eyes and the image in front of her blurred. Then everything went black.

When she woke up, she was lying on black silk sheets in an unfamiliar bed in a room she’d never seen before. Her first thought was amazement that she wasn’t dead. Her second thought was amazement that she wasn’t undead. Her third thought was to wonder where the hell she was. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was cuffed to the headboard. She thought about screaming for help, but decided that it wouldn’t do any good. Angelus was obviously the one who had put her there, and screaming for help would only serve to draw the attention of his minions; something she was very sure she didn’t want to do.

<Maybe if I’m very quiet, they’ll forget that I’m here.> she thought, hopefully. She knew that that was unlikely at best, but when you’re cuffed to a bed by a homicidal maniac who wants to destroy everyone that your best friend cares about and you can’t even call for help for fear of drawing the attention of blood-thirsty, poorly trained minions, you start grasping at straws. Her fears increased as she realized just how few straws there were to grasp at.

She calculated the odds that she would be rescued soon. They were pretty slim. Since Angelus had returned, she and her friends had checked in with each other every night, but she had already checked in with Buffy when Angelus grabbed her. Buffy wouldn’t realize she was missing until morning. Her parents weren’t home, so they wouldn’t notice she was gone <Not that they’d be all that likely to notice even if they were home,> Willow thought. No one would know she was missing until school started the next day.

Mentally, she calculated how long she had before her friends realized what had happened. It had been around ten o’clock when Angelus had kidnapped her. It was a little after eleven now. School started at 8:30. They usually met in the library before class, but no one would be disturbed if she wasn’t there. Sometimes she ran late. She had her computer class first thing in the morning. Not only were Buffy and Xander not in that class, but the people who were in the class didn’t know her well enough to be concerned if she was missing. Second period was history, with Xander. That was when they’d discover that she was gone. More than ten hours from now. Willow had read enough of the Watcher’s Diaries to know how much Angelus could do to her in ten hours.

And even when her friends realized that she was gone, what could they do? She didn’t know where she was, but she obviously wasn’t in the warehouse. Angelus had, apparently, found a new lair. A new lair that none of them knew about. For all she knew, she wasn’t even in Sunnydale anymore. The hour she had spent unconscious was more than enough time to get to the next town over. For the time being, Willow would just have to get used to the idea that the rescue wagon wouldn’t be coming. She was alone, with no slayer, no watcher, and no weapons to protect her. Alone, with one of the deadliest vampires in the history of mankind. She didn’t see how things could get worse.

Then the door opened and she pretended to be asleep. Angelus stopped talking and she heard the voice of the person with him. Her heart plummeted even further. She had been mistaken. She wasn’t alone and unarmed again one of the deadliest vamps in history; she was alone and unarmed against two of them. She recognized the voice immediately and her mind quickly processed what was being said. From the sound of things, Angelus had just given her to Spike.

~Part: 3~
 

“Spike,” Angelus said, “meet Willow.”

Spike checked the girl out. He wasn’t too impressed with what he saw. Red hair, pale skin, and truly hideous pajamas, probably picked out by her grandmother. She looked like the kind of girl who would actually wear the horrible clothes her grandmother sent her. Probably wrote nice thank you notes for them, too. She was scrawny, as well. She’d hardly even count as a good meal. Still, quality must be allowed to compensate, to a certain degree, for quantity. From the smell of things (wholly supported by the look of things), the girl was a complete virgin. It’s no accident that rituals call for virgin blood. The purer the blood, the more potent it proves to be. Virgins are hard to find on the streets after dark, but they’re worth the trouble, especially when a vampire is injured and needs to feed in order to heal. It was surprisingly nice of Angelus to snatch him a virgin. The girl looked rather bland, but beggars needn’t be choosers. She’d be his first human kill in far too long.

All in all, it was one of the best gifts that Angelus had ever given him. That still wasn’t saying much. Gifts from Angelus usually tended to demonstrate what you might call his sense of whimsy. Angelus gave gifts to amuse himself, not to please others. A girl on the bed seemed to be a straightforward gift, but still, Spike hadn’t unwrapped his present yet. Maybe there was an unpleasant surprise lurking in wait for him. Spike started pondering the possibilities, weighing the different options, but he stopped himself. It did no good to wonder. He might as well find out. Shrugging to himself, Spike turned to Angelus with a raised eyebrow and a calmly questioning look on his face.

“Is there a reason that you’re introducing me to my dinner?” he asked.

“Oh, Willow’s not dinner,” Angelus answered. “At least, she’s not just one dinner. Willow’s special.”

“Special, is she?” Spike answered scornfully. If there was anything special about her, he couldn’t see it from where he was sitting. Angelus merely smiled in response. Spike rolled his eyes. Where did Angelus get his love of melodrama? Most vamps are notoriously practical. Feed, fight, fuck, stay out of churches and always have a place to hole up in during the day. People are happy meals on legs and one is pretty much as good as the next. But no, that wasn’t a challenge enough for the great and mighty Angelus. For him, everything had to be a production. He had to plot and connive and find ways to manipulate humans before killing them, as if messing with a mortal’s mind was some great accomplishment. Easy prey bored Angelus. What he truly enjoyed was the hunt, the chase, the challenge of destroying someone one slow piece at a time. Each of his victims was, in his opinion, a work of art: a sterling example of his well-honed talent.

Bloody waste of time, Spike had always thought. The only way in which this girl stood out from all the other girls in town was that she was lying handcuffed to his bed which saved him the trouble of having to chase her down. She was convenient, that was all. Spike sighed. Honestly, he was bored with the whole mess. He’d drain the girl and throw her drained carcass out with the rest of the garbage and then they’d see how bloody special she was.

“Special. Right. And why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Because I said so,” Angelus answered coolly. “This isn’t a one-night drain, boy. I want her to suffer, for as long as possible. And I want her to be alive and aware of every moment of the agony.” He walked over to the bed and ran a slow hand down the front of her body from her shoulder to her knees. “Such a pure, pristine soul,” he said as his hand drifted down her body. “I haven’t seen anyone this untainted in centuries. This is probably the most she has been touched in her life.” Angelus lifted his eyes from the girl and Spike saw the wicked smile that crossed the dark vampire’s face. “So innocent and sweet and trusting and good. If I let you kill her now, she’ll go straight to heaven. And where’s the punishment in that? Sure, it would hurt her friends, and that would be fun, but I want for her to suffer, too.”

Spike resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Again with the drama. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed that Angelus had been an actor before he was turned instead of the lazy lay-about he had heard Angelus and Darla describe. It would appear that the demon inside him gave him a work ethic. And this was how he used it: planning the torture of one measly human girl who demonstrated no attributes showing her to be worthy of such concern. “Any particular reason?”

The smile that Angelus gave made even Spike’s borrowed blood run cold. For a moment, he almost pitied the girl. Spike knew what that smile meant. The last time he saw that look on Angelus’ face, they torched an entire town and every living soul who resided there never again saw the light of day. It was the smile of a psychopath who killed for the sheer pleasure that causing agony brought him. Spike, himself, was unquestionably a cold-blooded killer, in every interpretation of the phrase. He destroyed lives without a spark of remorse and took pleasure in the destruction that he caused. But even Spike had always dreaded that smile.

“She befriended me,” Angelus answered, the disgust mingled with anger clearly evident in his voice. “First she befriended Buffy, and then she befriended me. And for both those choices, you’re going to make her suffer.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike murmured under his breath. He had thought the chit looked familiar, but he hadn’t been able to place her. Now he remembered. She was the slayer’s little sidekick. Spike had always been so focused on the slayer that he had only a dim recollection of those around her. As soon as the slayer’s name was mentioned, the dim memories grew clear. He’d watched Buffy fight desperately to protect this girl. No wonder Angelus had said that it would hurt her friends.

“You stole the slayer’s toy and now you want me to play with it? What’s your plan, Angelus? Watch me break her and then point the slayer in my direction?”

Angelus laughed. “Always so suspicious, Spikey. Don’t worry so much; it’s her I want destroyed, not you. If I preferred you dusty, I’d take care of it myself.”

“Dru wouldn’t let you,” Spike protested with automatic loyalty. His beautiful sire may be nutty as a fruitcake, but Spike was firmly convinced that she cared about him and would protect him as best she could, even if she wasn’t very good at saying it. Besides, he reasoned, after all the times he had protected her, surely she wouldn’t allow any harm to come to him. In her own way, he was convinced that she reciprocated his devotion. He was sure of it. Dru wouldn’t allow even Angelus to hurt her only childe.

“Yes, she would,” Angelus smirked. “My childe would never say no to me. She has never been able to deny me anything.” Spike fought against the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. He was a master vampire now, and had been for years; how was it that Angelus was still able to reduce him to tears?

Spike wasn’t sure if Angelus had noticed or not. He was still yammering on about the girl. “I’d break her myself, but with tormenting the slayer, ruling the town, and…” he smirked and deliberately paused as if looking for the right word, “*bonding* with my beautiful Drusilla, my time is filled. I couldn’t hand her over to the minions; she’d be dead before sunrise. And if I gave her to Dru, she’d probably forget to feed her or push her out the window to see if she could fly. I can’t let anything like that happen to Willow. She shouldn’t be much of a challenge, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle her. Besides, you need something to keep you occupied. Consider her a new form of recreation. Fuck her, feed off her, beat her black and blue for all I care. Do whatever you like, she’s your toy now, but do not kill her or allow her to die. That’s the only rule.”

“Will I be hosting the entire group of slayerettes?” Spike asked. If Angelus planned on capturing and torturing all of the slayer’s friends, it was going to get pretty damn crowded in that room.

“No, Spike,” Angelus answered. “Like I said, Willow’s special. That moron Xander isn’t worth my time. He never liked or trusted me anyway. If I snatched him and tortured him, he wouldn’t feel betrayed, he’d feel vindicated. Same story with the watcher. They’ve been waiting for me to act up for a year and a half. The only one who ever trusted me was Willow. The only one who truly cared about me was the slayer. The slayer is mine to punish, but Willow is yours. A gift. Enjoy it. Consider it payback for all the times my souled self helped the slayer kick your ass. Pain is always sweeter when it’s mixed with a little old fashioned revenge.”

Angelus headed over to the door. “Dru should be here soon. I ran in to her while I was out and gave her directions. The rest of the minions will be showing up eventually. Let them know if you need anything. I have some plans with Dru to pass the daylight hours. I do not wish to be disturbed. Spend the time getting to know your new pet. The mini-fridge has food and water for her, if you think she deserves it, and I even threw in a few blood packets for you. Training a pet is draining work. I’ll be checking in. You kids have fun!” And with that, he exited, shutting the door behind him.

~Part: 4~

Spike looked with resignation at the girl still sleeping on his bed. He was no more intrigued by her now then he had been when he walked in the room but, for better or for worse, she was handcuffed to his bed and he didn’t have the key. He might as well get used to her now. He studied her features carefully and noticed her jaw tensing as his perusal continued. He smirked as that clued him in to other factors. Her heart was beating too quickly and the scent of fear was too strong for her to be asleep. The girl had been awake the entire time and had, most likely, heard the entire conversation, while pretending to be asleep. Clever girl. Not that it would do her much good where she was now, but still, clever girl.

Spike lit up a cigarette and then spoke. “You might as well open your eyes, pet, I know you’re not sleeping.”

Her eyes flew open immediately but other than that, she didn’t move. Her eyes locked with his and he noticed that they were green. Surprisingly green. Spike had always preferred blue eyes, himself. Her eyes were also alert, concentrated, and completely unclouded by panic. Spike was surprised. He had expected the usual deer-caught-in-headlights look. Once again, clever girl. She was forcing her panic down, remaining calm by sheer force of will so as to enable herself to pay attention while she felt out the situation. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. The thought occurred to him that this might actually turn out to be fun. There was little pleasure to be found in breaking someone who was catatonic with fear and shock to start with. It was much more pleasant to tear apart someone who starts out with a bit of a will of their own.

“Do you know who I am, pet?” he asked. She nodded. “I expect a complete, verbal response to any question that I ask,” he said firmly, though not harshly. Already, he was slipping into his training voice. “Again, do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I know who you are.”

“I don’t think you do. Tell me who I am.”

“You’re Spike, also known as William the Bloody, childe of Drusilla, childe of Angelus, childe of Darla, childe of the Master of the Order of Aurelius. Slayer of two slayers. Component of the Scourge of Europe. And, as an individual, Scourge of large chunks of Asia. Sired in 1880 in London at the age of 25.”

In spite of himself, Spike let out a short bark of laughter. “Well, pet, that was… surprisingly detailed. Have you been practicing that?”

“I have a photographic memory. That’s a direct quote from one of the reference books we used to look you up when you moved to Sunnydale.”

“Intriguing,” he murmured under his breath. “Sit up, pet, let’s have a look at you.”

Willow struggled against the handcuffs, but eventually managed to position herself so that she was seated Indian-style, with the headboard against her side, holding her hands in placed on her knee. Spike wheeled his chair over to the bed and pulled himself up on to it, seating himself across from her.

“Now, pet, it looks like we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while so we might as well get some ground rules into place first. I asked you who I am and your answer, despite its detail, was incomplete. Lesson number one, in addition to whatever else I may be, from now on, I am also your master. You will acknowledge me as such and you will address me as such. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly. He backhanded her. The moment was small, almost effortless on his part, but it had enough force behind it to knock her backwards. If it hadn’t been for the handcuffs, she would have been knocked off the bed.

“It would appear that you don’t understand me. I’ll try again. I am your master. You will address me as such. Is that clear?”

“Yes, master,” she answered, even more quietly than before. Her head was bowed and her eyes were focused down. He inhaled deeply, expecting to smell her tears, and was surprised when the distinctive saline scent was absent. Looking more closely, he saw the increased tension in her jaw. She wasn’t going to cry, she was just going to get pissed off. She was probably one of those women’s lib people who had issues with calling people master. He’d get her over that habit.

“As your master, everything you have, everything you are, everything you think or feel or know or believe belongs to me. This leads us to lesson number two: never attempt to hide anything from me. Never lie to me and if I ever catch you attempting to deceive me, I will break every bone in your body. Toward that end, whenever I address you, and whenever you address me, you are to look me in the eye. Is that clear?” Her head jerked up and angry eyes stared into his. Once again, he saw the conscious effort she made to rein herself in. She trembled with the effort of maintaining control, but still managed to maintain unblinking eye contact as she answered, “Yes, master.”

He backhanded her again. She was going to have a bruise across her cheek from the previous one. This time, the action resulted in a split lip. She opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it with a snap.

“Lesson number three: I don’t need to have a reason to hit you.”

Willow shivered as the truth hit home. She was totally and completely in the power of a killer. There was no court of appeals; there was no limited sentence or parole. She knew she would stay alive and she knew that it was entirely within his rights and his power to make every remaining second of her life a very real and very painful hell on earth. She was the new toy for a man who had killed someone every night for the past century; a man who, no doubt, was furious that he wasn’t out killing someone tonight; a man restricted and restrained by a wheelchair he obviously detested in which he had been placed by the actions of her best friend. In short, Spike was dangerous, destructive, and very pissed off at the world in general and her friends in particular and she was entirely at his mercy. Meanwhile, Spike continued his speech.

“I will do to you whatever I like, whenever I like, as often as I like, with or without a justification. There is no Geneva Convention for vampires and I really don’t care whether or not my behavior is fair. Whatever I want to do to you, I will do. Screaming turns me on and begging just annoys me. Tears have no effect on me, so don’t waste your time, your energy, or your body’s supply of water since I’ll only feed you when I feel like it. If you are good, there’s the possibility that I may reward you. Then again, there’s the possibility that I won’t. I answer to no one here but Angelus and you heard him say that I can do whatever I like to you as long as I leave you alive. He wants you to suffer, and I promise you, you will.”

“Lesson number four: no one is coming to save you. No matter what she may say or even what she may think, the slayer is no match for Angelus and by the time he is through with her, she will be rotting in the ground. There will be no rescue; there will be no cavalry. If I catch you in any way attempting to contact someone or get help, I will be very displeased. People don’t like me when I’m displeased.”

The entire time, Spike’s eyes had been fully and completely focused on Willow but at this point, something obviously distracted his attention. His eyes jerked sharply toward the door of the room. It took Willow a minute to realize what had caught his notice, but everything came clear a few moments later when she heard Drusilla enter the house. Spike, with his vamp hearing, not to mention the influence of his sire/childe bond, must have sensed her approaching.

The walls of the old mansion were notoriously thin, and Spike’s room was just off the entryway beyond the front door, so even Willow could hear clearly what happened when Drusilla returned. Willow listened as Drusilla breezed through the door, singing of stars and blood and calling gaily for her “Daddy.” She could hear Angelus’ approach and the low murmur of his responses; punctuated by Drusilla’s increasingly vocal moans of pleasure. The whole time, Willow kept her eyes riveted on Spike. She was shocked to see the change in his expression. The whole time he had spoken to her, his face had been expressionless, as if he had been reading the phone book out loud instead of narrating the end of her life as she knew it.

But as soon as he sensed Drusilla, his face came alive with emotion. At first, when he merely sensed her, before her arrival, his face was flooded with visible proof of his devotion to and longing for his sire. When she finally entered and called for her “Daddy,” and when her “Daddy” came, and did things to her that made her moan, his face became a maelstrom of emotions, each of them haunting in its intensity. So much love and grief and envy and pain and jealousy and betrayal and yearning and hunger and rage were written across his face that she could almost feel the impact of the emotions pouring off of his skin like a waterfall. This time, he was the one shaking with barely restrained emotion while she watched, seemingly detached.

Spike lost all awareness of Willow; all he could hear, smell, feel was Drusilla, his beautiful, beloved sire who he had spent the past century worshipping with single-minded devotion. His enchanting Drusilla, the only creature on earth that he loved, who had abandoned him and his devotion for the fleeting pleasures of her sire’s bed. She didn’t even ask about him; if he was alright, if he liked the mansion, if he had survived another night without giving in to the temptation to stake himself… he was obviously the last thing on her mind as Angelus swept her into his arms and up the stairs to his room.

It was only when he heard the bedroom door slam after them that Spike regained awareness of Willow. He turned to look at her and was shocked at the expression in her wide, green eyes. It wasn’t the fear he was used to seeing from humans. It wasn’t the furious constraint he had seen on her face earlier. It wasn’t the pity or sympathy that the situation might have drawn out of someone else. No, the expression on her face was understanding. You could not find two people in the world with less in common than Willow and Spike and yet, at that moment, they understood each other perfectly. They shared a glance of mutual recognition as people who had spent their lives loving none too wisely and all too well. They each saw their own pain reflected in the other’s eyes. Perhaps that moment was the turning point for them. But if it was, Spike refused to acknowledge it.

Spike’s mind was fully occupied with cursing himself. In a variety of expressive ways, he mentally berated himself for a slavish fool, devoted to a woman who showed more concern over her constantly dying pets than over him. But, he reminded himself with a sinister smile, he had a pet of his own now, and he could vent on her however he pleased. And there was one part of him in particular that required venting at the moment. No matter how angry he got with Dru, she still never failed to entice him. All he had to do was see her or hear her voice, and he would forget everything else. All he had to do was hear her moan, even for Angelus, and he became instantly and painfully aroused.

“Lesson number five, pet, and your final lesson for the night: you are no longer your concern. You belong to me. I will see to it that you are fed and housed and cared for as I see fit. These details do not in any way affect you. Your sole and solitary concern is to please me. Your only motivation, day in and day out, for as long as I choose to keep you, is to give me pleasure in whatever way I select. I know you’re a virgin, so for tonight, we’ll start slowly.” He repositioned their bodies so that his torso lay beneath hers, his waist in line with her face as he stretched her legs out behind her, balancing her on her forearms directly over his body. He unzipped his fly. “Congratulations, pet. Tonight, you’re going to learn how to give a blow job.” He closed his eyes and thought about Dru as he felt her lips close around him.

~Part: 5~

Spike started the morning in a very good mood, mostly because of the complete absence of any and all sexual tension. Four blowjobs in a row will do that for you. His new pet had been a little awkward at first, obviously unfamiliar with the task, but once he made it clear exactly what he wanted, she had performed admirably. Several times. He had forgotten how much fun it was to break in a new pet. As much as he hated to do it, he just might have to thank Angelus for the girl. She amused him. And she definitely showed potential for being able to please him.

He smiled down indulgently at where she slept soundly beside him. She looked so innocent and untouched. He had planned to feed off her when she finished that final time, but she had been so exhausted, she had fallen asleep immediately. It was no fun feeding off people when they were too tired. The best part of the flavor was that tang of fear. It can't be produced when they're practically comatose to start with. But he wasn't angry with her. She had every right to be exhausted. Her jaw was probably sore, as well. He'd have to see to getting her some soft food for when she woke up. Something that didn't require much chewing.

He was indulging in a few post-coital cigarettes when he heard Angelus and Drusilla come down stairs, around dawn. He was surprised they were awake. They couldn't have slept for much more than an hour or so. He had heard their. activities through a large part of the past several hours. Drusilla had never been a quiet lover. It was one of the things he most enjoyed about her. The things she screamed may have lacked in the sense making, but they unquestionably showed her enthusiasm. Her vocal accompaniment the previous night had only served to whet his appetite for what she no longer offered him. Hence the need for the four blowjobs. Oh, he wasn't complaining about the service his pet had given him. He had certainly enjoyed them. Besides, it didn't hurt to give the pet some practice. But what he truly craved was his Dru. Even just to see her, watch her, be close to her for a little while. Spike fastened up his pants and shifted to the wheelchair, going out to join them in the living room, which the minions had sun-proofed the previous night. He shut the door quietly behind him, leaving his pet to sleep.

When he entered the living room, he saw Drusilla, alone, playing with a puppy. He could hear Angelus in the next room, lecturing a minion. Drusilla looked up when he rolled the wheelchair in and immediately brought the puppy over to him.

"I brought something for you," she said smiling. "I was going to give it to you last night but Daddy brought the queen for cakes and blood. Or was it tea and bone?" A wicked smile crossed her face as she remembered the variety of activities involving blood and bone and her Daddy. Shaking off the reverie, she returned to the puppy. "Poor thing. She's an orphan. Her owner died... without a fight. Do you like her? Hmm?"

Drusilla seated herself on his lap, sliding her hand under his shirt to rub at his chest. "I brought her especially for you," she whispered into his ear. "To cheer you up." She squirmed a little on his lap and he moaned in response. She brought him a puppy to cheer him up? The irony was that he hadn't needed cheering up until he saw her. But now that he had. no puppy would do the trick. His pet would be awakened soon, with a vengeance. The tension that had been so pleasantly absent that morning had returned ten-fold. He'd see if she retained her training.

Meanwhile, Dru continued ranting on about the puppy, continuing to squirm in his lap. "I've named her... Sunshine! Open wide," she said, holding the puppy to his mouth. He refused, but Drusilla was not to be dissuaded. "Come on, love. You need to eat something to keep your strength up. Now," she continued, waving the puppy in front of him, "rrrrr, open up for mummy."

"I won't have you feeding me like a child, Dru," Spike replied, pushing her and her damn puppy off of his lap.

"Why not?" Angelus asked, entering the room as he entered the conversation. "She already bathes you, carries you around and changes you like a child."

Drusilla stood to the side, pouting. "Spike doesn't like my present," she said, in the little girl voice that always made Spike instantly repentant. He sighed, and started to apologize, but Angelus cut him off.

"He can't play with your present now, baby. He's too busy playing with mine."

"You gave my Spike a present?" she asked, cheering up immediately and clapping her hands like a child. "The pretty dolly? Was she his present?"

"What doll, pet?" Spike asked.

"The pretty dolly like my Gwendolyn," Drusilla answered, spinning in circles with her arms spread wide. <Gwendolyn?> Spike thought. <Who the hell.Oh, yeah. Dru's doll with the red hair.>

"Yes, pet. Like Gwendolyn."

"By the way," Angelus said, digging in his pocket, "I forgot to give you these." He tossed Spike a key ring, holding what was obvious the key to the handcuffs, as well as another key. "There are chains in the closet. The other key will work on them."

"Chains? I want to play with chains!" Drusilla interrupted. "May I play with the dolly, too? Miss Edith and I love chains."

"I know everything you love, baby," Angelus said to her, crossing the room to draw her into his arms. She settled into them with a purr of pleasure, oblivious to Spike's growl of annoyance.

"Have you forgotten I'm in the room?" Spike asked, when they showed every indication of screwing each other on the living room floor.

"No need for you to hang around, Spike my boy, unless you're in the mood to watch. Might do you some good to get some pointers."

"If anyone needs pointers, mate, it's you," Spike hissed in reply. "I'm not the one who bloody left for a century. She's been in *my* care, under *my* protection, coming to *me* for her every need for twice as long as she spent with you."

"From how she was screaming last night, I'd say I still remember how to give her what she needs," Angelus retorted. "Isn't that right, baby?" he murmured in Dru's ear, nuzzling her neck and smiling at her small whimpers of pleasure.

"Aww..." Drusilla managed to say. "You two boys... fighting over me and all. Makes a girl feel..." Suddenly she stopped and moaned in obvious pain. Angelus tightened his grip on her, while Spike wheeled over to hold her hand.

"Dru, what is it, princess?"

"The air," she murmured, still contorted with pain. "It worries. Someone... an old enemy is seeking help... help to destroy our happy home."

Angelus exchanged a glance with Spike, clearly questioning if he had any idea who this old enemy was. Spike had far more experience translating Drusilla's ramblings. Besides, this might be something she had brought up before. Spike reluctantly shook his head. He was just as lost as Angelus.

Angelus kept nuzzling her neck, purring deep in his chest to soothe her, while Spike drew soft circles on the back of her hand, murmuring an endless litany of comforting words, telling her that she was safe, that he loved her, that he wouldn't let anything hurt her. Finally, she stopped shaking, and Spike signaled to Angelus that she could answer questions now.

"Dru, baby, who's the old enemy?"

"Child of the gypsies," she whimpered, settling in closer to him so that her words were slightly muffled in his strong chest. "Bad gypsies, grandmummy died and now the little girl pulls her tricks out of a box."

Again, there was the silent exchange of glances as they tried to decipher what Drusilla was saying. The part about the gypsies was clear enough, but neither knew anything about a little girl, or a box.

"What box, pet?" Spike asked, as gently as he could.

"The memory box," Drusilla sighed. "Ask your little pet, she likes them, too." Spike and Angelus did not have to exchange a look this time; Spike knew automatically what needed to be done. He immediately turned the wheelchair and went back to his room. It would appear that they had some questions for his pet.

~Part: 6~

Willow was still fast asleep in the bed. She didn't stir, even after he barged in. Using his new key chain, he roughly unfastened the handcuffs from the bedpost, attaching them instead to his wheelchair. He immediately began rolling his wheelchair back toward the living room, dragging the girl along behind him.

Fortunately, the violent treatment woke Willow quickly and she was able to stumble along behind him on her feet instead of being dragged across the floor. She watched him nervously with wide eyes, but knew better than to speak. The look on his face was hard and set. Something had pissed him off. Mentally, Willow cursed whoever had put him in such a bad mood. She had spent hours earlier trying to please him. He had seemed relaxed and reasonably happy when she went to sleep. Now he was furious again. Willow knew the role of pets in the lives of vampires and she knew that regardless of who had pissed Spike off, she would bear the brunt of his bad mood. She sighed and hoped that whatever punishment he had in mind didn't require much working of her jaw. It was still really sore.

Wordlessly, Willow concentrated on waking herself up. She wasn't really much of a morning person, but she knew that she'd need her wits about her for whatever it was she would be facing in the living room.

"Sit at my feet, pet," Spike ordered when they had fully entered the room and the wheelchair had come to a stop. "Any time we're in this room, you are always to sit at my feet." It made very little difference to Willow, so she obediently settled herself at his feet, keeping her body angled so that she could see his face. She had not forgotten his rule about looking him in the eye. From the corner of her perspective, she could see Angelus and Drusilla seated on the couch, but she knew the only one she needed to concern herself with was Spike.

"Now, pet. We have some questions for you. You will answer them completely and honestly or you will regret it. Do you understand?"

"N-no, master, I'm afraid I don't understand."

Spike raised an eyebrow in cold disapproval. "Explain to me what you don't understand."

"Am I to answer questions from everyone or only from you, master?" Willow was surprised to see Spike smile, a real, genuine smile of amusement.

"Very good, pet. You anticipated one of my rules. Usually, you are to speak to no one but me. And make no mistake; you will be punished if I catch you trying to speak to anyone else. But when I am in the room, *only* when I am in the room, you may speak to Drusilla or Angelus *if* they ask you questions. Also, you are to look at them when you answer. Is that clear?"

"Yes, master," Willow answered. She was focused completely on Spike and did not see Angelus' surprised smile from the couch. Angelus had not realized the girl would make such a good pet. His pride was slightly hurt that she behaved so well. Even though he knew that Spike liked his pets to focus completely on him, Angelus had expected the girl to at least peek over to where he was seated on the couch. Girls always liked to look at him. In his soulful days, he had even caught Willow sneaking a few glances in his direction. However, despite his expectations, her gaze never wavered from Spike.

"Now, pet," Spike continued, and Willow was relieved to notice that whatever it was she had said to make him smile had obviously improved his bad mood, "Drusilla was telling us that you like to play with a memory box. Do you have any idea what she might be talking about?"

Willow searched her mind desperately for an answer. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. "No, master," she answered. "But if she describes it, I might be able to figure it out," she hastened to add.

"You play with the memory box," Drusilla replied. "Punching, punching, like playing piano but no pretty sounds. Pretty pictures, though. And pretty words. You swim on the spider-web."

"Well, pet? Does that mean anything to you?"

Willow's forehead scrunched up in confusion. "No." she said slowly. "At least, I don't think. wait, punching like a piano?" The light bulb went off in her head. "Yes! I think I understand! She's talking about computers," Willow concluded triumphantly. "Master," Willow quickly added.

"And swimming on the spider-web?" Spike asked.

"Surfing the internet, master," Willow answered easily.

Spike smiled again. "Well done, pet." He smiled boastfully at Angelus, wordlessly bragging about his pet who was already proving to be bright, perceptive, and very obedient.

"One more question. Dru talked about the child of the gypsies, a little girl playing with the memory box to break up our happy home. Any idea what that might mean?"

Willow went instantly pale. She knew exactly what it meant. She knew Miss Calendar was using the computer to translate the gypsy curse. Even if she hadn't known, it would have been fairly easily to figure out. She was the child of the gypsies and she unquestionably worked with the memory box. Drusilla's stars or dolls must have given her warning about Miss Calendar's progress. Willow felt the sudden urge to curse God, or the Goddess, or the Powers that Be or whoever had chosen to give the gift of visions to a woman who would use them to such ends.

Fortunately, though, it would appear that the visions required some translation. Willow felt sick that she had told them the memory box was the computer. She had already given them too much information. They weren't stupid. Spike or Angelus would figure it out soon enough. She sighed and straightened her shoulders. They might figure it out on their own, but they wouldn't hear it from her. She refused to be responsible for telling them this. She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of what she was about to do. The prospect terrified her. But she knew what had to be done. She took a deep breath.

"I can't tell you that, master," she said. Her voice was quiet, but firm as her eyes stared unwaveringly into his.

"What do you mean? Are you saying you don't know?" he asked, bewildered by the phrasing of her response as well as the determined expression he saw in her eyes. She had been so obedient up to this point.

"I won't lie to you, master. I do know. But I won't tell you. Master." This time, the pause before his title was deliberate.

His expression grew hard again. "You intentionally defy me, then?"

"I'll do anything you ask, master, but I won't answer that question." Every last drop of blood seemed to have drained from her face, leaving it dead white, but she did not hesitate in her response. Her eyes stared steadily into his. They had darkened with determination and appearing even brighter and more luminous, glowing a startling emerald light against the contrast of her too-white skin.

"You know you'll be punished," Spike continued, intrigued, in spite of himself, at this show of spirit in the girl he had believed to be so docile. Besides, she was following all the rules so carefully; looking him straight in the eye, focusing only on him, answering him honestly and completely, and not so much as shifting from her appointed position kneeling at his feet. It was as if she was trying to prove to him that she could be, would be, strictly obedient to all his rules, compliant to his every whim, and devoted to his every pleasure as long as the only thing put at risk was her own personal safety or pride, but once the safety of another was threaten she would, calmly and correctly, defy him regardless of the consequences.

"Yes, master," she answered quietly, with a little sigh that did not escape his notice. He noticed, for the first time, how young she was. Not that it mattered to him, but still, she was so very, very young.

"How about I punish her for you?" Angelus suggested, hoping to draw Willow's attention on to him. She started at the sound of his voice; she had forgotten he was there; but she did not turn around. Angelus didn't like that. He wanted her to spend at least a little time thinking only about him. He was unaccustomed to being ignored. Beating the truth out of her might be just the opportunity he needed to catch her attention once again.

"Have you forgotten the rules in your soul-filled years, Angelus? No one can draw my pet's blood but me until her training is finished," Spike retorted, continuing to stare at Willow, contemplatively.

"You haven't drawn any blood to mark your claim, so she's not officially your pet. The rules don't apply, yet. I'm also a little more flexible than you at the moment," Angelus continued. "And besides, if it has to do with the gypsies, then it's sure to be about me, anyway. Might as well let me take care of it."

"No thanks, mate," Spike answered, breaking his gaze with his pet to look at Angelus. He was pleased to note that his pet's eyes remained on him. "She's my concern. I'll see to her discipline, myself."

Angelus tried to shrug off his disappointment. After all, he had given Willow to Spike so that she would be roller boy's concern, not his. Angelus hadn't felt he had the time or the motivation to make a new pet. Willow had never particularly impressed him, with her shy, mousy ways and little girl clothes. He liked his women glamorous and dangerous. He was convinced Willow would be a waste of his energies and efforts if he tried to train her into something enjoyable. Better by far to take her (there was no denying the pain that would cause her friends) and then give her to Spike to break and train. That way, Angelus had thought, he'd have all the pleasure of hurting Buffy and seeing Willow's spirit destroyed, and he wouldn't have the fuss and bother of seeing to her himself. Besides, it would keep Spike occupied.

It had seemed like a perfect plan, but now he was finding himself unaccountably intrigued by the little redhead. He shook it off. Willow didn't interest him. Of course she didn't interest him. He had never paid attention to her before and he certainly had no reason to pay attention to her now. Her little traces of residual stubbornness were unexpected, but Angelus was certain they would be broken soon enough. While Spike punished her, Angelus could engage in some more playtime with Drusilla. Angelus took comfort in thinking that Spike would infinitely prefer to trade places, if he didn't have the obligation to discipline his pet.

"Right, then," he said, standing. "Dru and I will be upstairs. Just send a minion after us if you need us. Let me know when you get an answer out of her."

"Will do, mate," Spike answered. Dru and Angelus left the room and Spike didn't so much as follow them with his eyes. His attention was fully focused on his pet, who was equally focused on him.

"Stand up then, pet," he said to her. "Back to the bedroom you go. We have some remedial training to do."

~Part: 7~

Wordlessly, Willow followed Spike into the bedroom. He unlocked the handcuffs from the wheelchair and tossed them to the side. Doubtless, he'd use them soon enough, but for now, he needed her hands to be free.

"Strip," he ordered tersely.

Up until that moment, she had remained deathly pale with the force of her resolution. But with those words, all the blood rushed back into her face as she blushed, darkly. For a moment, he thought she would defy him again, and ignore his command. Not that that would stop him, of course. He'd merely rip the clothes off of her if she refused to take them off herself. (Momentarily, he thought that that might, indeed, be the best option. Pajamas that hideous were meant to be destroyed. It's not like he intended to leave her in them for long anyway. Even before her little insurrection, he had planned to get her some new clothes. Bloody pajamas gave him a headache.) But after a few long moments, her hands reached for the collar on her pajama top. Methodically, from top to bottom, she unfastened all of the buttons, smoothly and without pause. When they were all unfastened and the shirt hung fully open, she slid it off her shoulders, folding it and laying it gently on the bed.

She kept her eyes on her hands, watching them as they unfastened her clothes. She had an incongruous memory of ballet class when she was seven years old. The dance instructor had told them that when they moved their arms, they should always watch their hands, physically following them with their eyes. She had said that if their eyes were on their hands, it would automatically ensure that their heads were properly positioned. Now she wondered if the teacher had told them that just so they wouldn't stare at their feet. That's what she felt like she was doing now. She was watching the movements of her hands so she wouldn't have to pay attention to her body, wouldn't have to pay attention to what was happening to her.

When the shirt had been removed, she slid off the pants, slowly sliding them down her hips and then her legs until they lay in a puddle at her feet. She lifted them and laid them gently on the bed as well, next to the shirt. Her panties were last, the final scrap covering her body. She slid them off unhesitatingly, adding them to the pile. Then she stood still, her eyes still on her hand, which now lay motionless at her side. She did not try to hide herself. What was the use? Spike, even in the wheelchair, would have had no difficulty overpowering any resistance she might have mustered. She stood, motionless, exposed, and awaited his orders. Her blush had faded.

Spike was surprised at how lovely she looked. Out of those ugly pajamas, her body was superb: soft, feminine, perfectly proportioned and completely unflawed. The sad, resigned expression on her face corresponded nicely with the bowed head, which she angled slightly to focus her eyes on her hand. Her long red hair fell gently, shadowing the lines of her face and accenting the soft, immaculate whiteness of her skin. She looked like a statue of a virgin sacrifice: beautiful and hopeless and achingly sad, calmly awaiting her destiny. Spike gave a wicked smile of purely aesthetic appreciation. What a truly lovely canvas for him to work on. A slight movement of her hand drew his attention to the watch still strapped on to her wrist.

"Next lesson, pet. Take off your watch." Willow's eyes flew to his, her confusion evident, but she bit back her questions and obediently unfastened her watch. Wordlessly, Spike reached for it, and Willow placed it in his hand. He placed it in the center of his palm, with the strap dangling over the side of his hand. Staring directly into her eyes, he closed his hand around it, squeezing tightly until she could hear it shatter.

"The clock has stopped, pet," Spike said, with a quiet intensity in his voice. "Time doesn't exist here. Forget about past loyalties or future plans. You no longer have a future or a past. All you have is right here and right now, and all that matters here and now is to make me happy. Last chance, pet. Tell me who the gypsy girl is, and you'll only get sent to bed without supper. But if you continue to defy me, you'll force me to take stronger measures."

The girl shrugged, obviously taking a fatalistic point of view. "I won't tell you, master. Might as well get the punishment over with."

"You have a photographic memory, pet?" Spike asked, trailing his eyes up and down her body slowly as he planned his course of action.

"Yes, master," Willow answered, obviously confused by the sudden change of topic.

"What's your favorite movie?"

Her confused expression deepened, but she answered unhesitatingly. "`Princess Bride,' master."

"How well do you know it?"

"Very well, master."

"Could you recite it?"

"Yes, master."

"As I discipline you," he instructed, wheeling over to her to refasten the handcuffs, pinning her hands waist level against the floorboard of the bed, "you will recite the movie, from the beginning, without pause. Any moments where there's action instead of dialogue, you will describe the action before continuing with the dialogue. If you feel the need to scream," he said, a cold smile crossing his face, "go ahead and scream. But then continue reciting the movie. Do not stop until you've finished the movie, or I tell you to. Do you understand my instructions?"

"Yes, master," she whispered.

"Good," he said. "Begin."

"When the movie begins," she said quietly, "all you see on the screen is a video game of electronic baseball. The pitcher winds up, delivers the pitch, the batter hits it and the ball sails away. The camera pulls away to show the boy playing the game. He's sitting up in his bed, with his legs under the covers. The door opens and his mother comes in."

She continued with the opening scene as Spike poked around in the closet to see what toys Angelus had left him. He smiled at the collection. This would be fun. He wheeled his chair up behind her and without warning, struck his first blow. She broke off in the middle of a sentence and hissed in pain. Then she took a deep breath, and continued.

"… and tormenting the farm boy who worked there. His name was Westley, but she never called him that. Isn't that a wonderful beginning?"

One hundred and ten minutes later, she was finally finishing her recitation. It took her a little longer than the running time of the movie. Explaining the action sequences took longer than simply seeing them, especially since she didn't know all the terminology for the fighting passes. And then there were the brief pauses she took to scream in agony. Those took some time.

She was no longer standing on her feet. Her legs had stopped holding her and she had collapsed to the floor fairly early on, around the time the talked about Buttercup's emptiness consuming her, being forced to marry someone with the power to demand her hand, even though she did not love him. Her arms, still handcuffed to the bed, jerked at an uncomfortable angle as she fell, and Spike checked carefully to make sure no bones were broken and that she hadn't dislocated her shoulder. Once he was satisfied on these points, he returned to his activities. Willow kept up the recitation the entire time. Spike did not allow the change in position to bother him. He had merely adjusted her position on the floor and continued his actions.

Her voice grew slightly scratchy around the introduction of the shrieking eels. Of course, that was due to a variety of factors. First and foremost, she had been doing some shrieking herself. Before this, she had never had so much as a sprained ankle. She hadn't known that the human body could endure the pain she was experiencing and remain conscious. Then, of course, there was always the fact that her mouth was, quite simply, dry. She had been talking without pause (except for screaming) for a while by then, and she had had nothing to drink since a glass of water with her dinner, which seemed to her to be years ago. For that matter, she had had nothing to eat either. The only thing that had been in her mouth in the hours since her kidnapping had been Spike's cock and she doubted that vampire cum was known for its nutritional value or hydrating abilities. Even if she had just had to stand and recite `Princess Bride' after the night she had had, the experience would still have left her weak and hoarse and queasy. But then there was the pain. Dear God in heaven, the pain.

Willow was fairly certain that there wasn't a single place on her body that wasn't either bruised or bleeding or (more likely) both. Spike alternated between the two, switching between achingly blunt objects and wicked sharp ones to punish every inch of her, repeatedly. He had worked over her entire back first, from the top of her spine all the way down her back, down her legs, to the soles of her feet. She had collapsed long before this point, so he flipped her on the floor (none too gently, deliberately banging her battered skin against the hardwood floor) and began the same process down the length of the front of her body. Her face wasn't spared. She sported two black eyes, a split lip, and a series of bruises at various points. The back of her skull was the only undamaged part of her. Obviously, he didn't want to risk hitting her the wrong way and giving her the relief of unconsciousness.

Spike had, in truth, been exceptionally careful with her. Her body would be one large bruise for a long time, but he had not inflicted any permanent damage. There were no broken bones and even the cuts were deliberately shallow so that they would not scar. He was obviously skilled in the subtle art of breaking a human. He knew just how much force to use to hurt like hell at every strategic point, while not applying quite enough to permanently disfigure the person or cause them to pass out. Even the mindless recitation was carefully calculated. She knew he kept her talking so that he could tell, by her voice, how close she was to exhaustion, how alert she remained. When she seemed to be hovering on the edge of consciousness, he would back off, not touching her at all until her voice regained some of its strength and then he would knock the wind out of her with an unexpected blow.

The only true respite she had had was a period of two minutes (Willow had counted the seconds) when Angelus called Spike out of the room for a brief discussion just outside the door. Willow probably could have heard what they were saying, if she tried, but she was too busy concentrating on staying awake. Spike had detailed early on exactly what he would do to her if she fainted before he had a chance to finish. She concentrated on the precise moment she had left off in the narrative. It had corresponded with Westley telling the giant to sleep well and dream of large women. Sleep well, sleep well… the thought sounded so tempting. But then Spike returned and it all began again.

She knew that that was yet another reason why Spike had her reciting the movie. If he just wanted to gauge her strength, he could have had her recite the alphabet or count to a million. No, he wanted something she would have to think about, something that would take some concentration. If she was engaging her mind, she wouldn't be able to block him out or ignore the pain she was in. She couldn't close herself off and retreat into her mind if she was being forced to think and communicate.

The malicious touch of what he had chosen for her to recite was just an added bonus. He knew that he had ruined her favorite movie for her. Never again would she be able to watch `Princess Bride' or even think of the movie without remembering, in agonizingly graphic detail, precisely which painful action coordinated with each second of dialogue. He was making good use of her photographic memory.

What bothered her even more than the torture was Spike's attitude regarding it. On the one hand, she was glad that he hadn't broken any bones or given her any scars that wouldn't heal. It wasn't like she *wanted* permanent damage. But on the other hand, it worried her. He was so precise, so controlled, so carefully giving her only what she could handle and nothing more. This scared the living daylights out of her. It meant that he wasn't angry. He wasn't emotional at all; if he was, he wouldn't have been able to maintain that kind of control. He wasn't hitting her because he was upset with her. He didn't even seem to consider this punishment. He was merely disciplining her, the way you might spank a puppy with a newspaper if you catch them chewing on your slippers. If he ever got angry with her, really truly angry with her, he'd tear her apart. She shivered at the mere thought of it.

"The grandfather stands still in the doorway as he smiles at his grandson. `As you wish.' he says. The grandson smiles back. The screen switches to Westley and Buttercup still kissing, then the music comes up and the closing credits run. End of movie," Willow whispered.

"Very good, pet," Spike said. "That's quite an impressive memory you have. Will you tell me now who the gypsy girl is?" He had asked her that at intervals for the past one hundred and ten minutes. Her answer was always the same.

"I'll never tell you, master."

"Alright, pet," he said. "It's the computer teacher, isn't it?"

"Yes, master," she answered quietly.

"You admit it so easily?" he asked, surprised.

"I'm very bad at lying," she whispered, panting out the words between agonized breaths. "I knew that if you figured it out and asked me point-blank if it was her, that I wouldn't be able to hide it. I was just hoping that you wouldn't figure it out. I never would have lied about it. Master."

He nodded. At least, she thought he nodded. Her vision was starting to get hazy. Now that she no longer had the motivation of the movie to finish, she was losing her grip on consciousness. Before the previous night, she had never fainted in her life, but now she was starting to recognize the symptoms. Dazzlingly colored spots exploded like fireworks in front of her eyes. She hoped to high heaven that she had stayed conscious long enough for him to finish with his discipline. She couldn't bear the thought of waking up to more of the same. Then all thoughts slid out of her head as the image of Spike grew dim, then dimmer, then faded to darkness.

~Part: 8~

The answer had occurred to Angelus midway through fucking Dru. Truth be told, Dru was a pretty lousy ride. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy sex; she enjoyed it, alright. Every single thing he did to her made her scream. But with her mind always halfway sunk into her stars and her dolls, she was incapable of showing any initiative to please a partner. If you told her what to do, she would do it, but she’d most likely get distracted halfway through, and it never occurred to her to perform any spontaneous action to increase her lover’s enjoyment. Angelus had grown bored with screwing her within a year of turning her, but continued to take her to his bed, on occasion. She had been convenient those times when Darla was busy or out of town. Since he had returned, he fucked her on a regular basis, mostly to annoy Spike. Besides, daylight hours were long, and fucking her was usually pleasant, if not earth shattering.

Regardless, sex with Dru didn’t take much concentration. He lay on his back with her moaning and gyrating on top of him, thrusting into her automatically, tuning out her screams (she always screamed the strangest things during sex; he had long ago learned to ignore it) and using the time to let his mind wander to other, more productive, topics. That was when he had figured it out. Angelus, regardless of his manifold flaws or virtues, was, unquestionably, highly intelligent. Those watchers who had had the misfortune to come across him and the astonishing luck to survive had described him as diabolically clever. So with the clues that he had, it wasn’t too hard for him to solve the puzzle.

Daughter of the gypsies who worked with computers. Sunnydale was a pretty small town and it wasn’t exactly the technology capital of the world. There weren’t too many people who were good with computers. Willow was right to feel guilty for solving that clue about the memory box. It certainly narrowed down the options. Then Angelus remembered exactly when Willow started to feel guilty. It was when she, herself, had figured it out, had solved the puzzle. For her to be able to solve the puzzle meant that she knew who the woman was. And if Willow knew her, then chances were that Angelus knew her, too. Like he said, it was a pretty small town.

Angelus searched his mind for other clues. He remembered going to the hotel room to kill the old gypsy. When he had arrived at the door, the gypsy thought he was someone else. Buffy. The gypsy had thought he was Buffy. He had said something about how he knew “she” would bring her here to get her questions answered. That meant that this daughter of the gypsies knew Buffy. So who did Buffy know who was good with computers? Willow, obviously, but Willow was no gypsy child. She wasn’t devious enough. Not to mention the fact that she would hardly be able to cause him any trouble when she was trapped in his house. Besides, Angelus had never met a gypsy with red hair. No, they all had dark hair. And dark eyes. Like Jenny. The computer teacher who was dating Giles. Willow certainly knew her. Buffy did, too.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Jenny had seemed to know about him, before the others. The night he returned, when he went after Willow, Jenny had tried to get Willow away from him, almost as if she knew what he had become. And it suddenly occurred to Angelus that the last name Calendar sounded an awful lot like Kalderash. Bingo. No wonder Willow had known that Jenny was the one who planned to break up their happy home. She was Jenny’s protégé. Jenny had probably told her.

Angelus was surprised that Spike hadn’t sent a minion to come to him to tell him the answer. He was sure that Spike had beaten the truth out of Willow by now. She wasn’t likely to hold up for very long under torture and Spike, even in a wheelchair, was a master of torture. Maybe Spike had heard Dru screaming (even though she screamed nonsense, she did scream it very loudly, and Angelus knew that Spike could hear it, even from the first floor) and hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Angelus let a wicked smile cross his face. He knew how it hurt Spike to hear Drusilla screaming for her Daddy. Spike had delusions of grandeur, thinking he was a master in his own right and that he didn’t need Angelus any more. Angelus relished every opportunity to show Spike who was the better man. Playing with Drusilla was the quickest and easiest way to make that point.

Yes, if Spike had heard the sounds from the room, he wouldn’t have interrupted. He had probably returned to torturing Willow, even after she confessed, just to relieve his feelings. Angelus smirked. He had told Willow that she would be punished for befriending him. From what he knew about victims, he imagined she was probably begging for mercy, offering to tell Spike anything and everything she knew about the slayer and the watcher and how they were vulnerable to stop the agony. He’d have to question Spike about what he found out. Maybe Willow had given some useful information on what Jenny had planned, and how to stop her.

Angelus’ attention returned to Dru, his immediate resource for information, who was still enthusiastically thrashing about on top of him. She’d be useless for anything other than screaming until he made her cum. He rolled them over so that he was on top and pounded into her, bringing them both to a quick climax. Drusilla purred with pleasure. She liked it when Daddy was rough. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to kiss him, hoping for another round, but Angelus had other plans.

“Dru, the child of the gypsies. The one who’s trying to wreck our happy home. Is it the computer teacher?”

Dru pouted when Angelus didn’t return her caresses, but she knew the look in her Daddy’s eye well enough to know that she needed to give him an immediate response.

“Pretty little thing,” she answered. “So very sad. The watcher didn’t like the shiny web she wove and he won’t give her any tea. She asks her memory box to solve the puzzle of how to make him smile.”

It made sense, in a Drusilla kind of way. As a gypsy, Jenny must have known about the curse and the risk of making Angel happy. Hell, she had probably been sent there to watch over him, make sure he remained miserable forever. But she hadn’t told Giles. Or Buffy. She’d lied to them. That must be the pretty web she wove. “Oh what a tangled web we weave,” etc. etc. Giles must be understandably pissed. And Jenny was trying to make it up to him. But how?

“Dru, baby, what is she going to do?” Angelus asked, forcing himself to remain patient. For the millionth time, Angelus wished he had done a less thorough job in driving Drusilla crazy. He had a very low tolerance for her babble.

“She goes to the shop to buy him a present. May I go shopping, Daddy?”

“Yes, Dru,” Angelus answered absent-mindedly. “Buy whatever you like.” He was wracking his brain to think of what Jenny might buy that could hurt him, break up their family. Sadly, he was drawing a blank.

“Would you do something for me, baby?” Angelus asked in his most seductive voice, pressing little kisses against Dru’s neck and rubbing his hips against hers. She shivered, and pulled him closer, holding on to him tightly. In a rare moment of complete sanity and honesty, she answered.

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.”

“Go to that shop tonight after sundown and find out what’s going on. Can you do that for me?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” she answered, wrapping her fingers through his hair and pulling his face down to hers for a passionate kiss. He returned it, for a minute or so, then pulled away. If Jenny was a threat to him, that meant he needed to take action immediately. He wouldn’t do anything to her, yet. He’d wait until he found out what she had planned. But he did want to put some minions on her tail. And he’d need to find out what information Willow had to share.

He immediately stood and searched the room for his robe, leaving Drusilla lying, frustrated and confused, on the bed. Vaguely, he heard her asking where he was going and, vaguely, he heard himself answer that he was going downstairs to talk to Spike. Drusilla smiled, pleased with his answer, convinced that she would be the topic of conversation. She liked it when they fought over her.

Angelus wrapped the robe around himself as he headed down the staircase. He was immediately assaulted with the sound of Willow’s screams. She screamed beautifully, throwing all of her passion and her emotional upheaval behind it, with nothing held back. Angelus had not even suspected the depth of passion she appeared to hold. Just the sound was instantly arousing. He pictured Willow screaming, imagined the things that he could to do her to make her scream and got even more… aroused. He shook his head. It was still Willow. He knew Willow. Shy, quiet, mousy, awkward Willow. No matter how beautifully she screamed, he was sure that there was nothing terribly surprising about her. He didn’t regret giving her to his childe instead of keeping her for himself. Why should he? Spike deserved to have a pet like Willow. He was sure that Spike would find her to be obedient and docile. She wasn’t the type to make waves.

As Angelus approached the door, he could hear her screams more clearly. They were punctuated with something else, something that sounded like, dialogue? It wasn’t anything Angelus recognized. From the hoarseness in her voice, he imagined she had been screaming for a while already. He had just been too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice. He smiled. He always enjoyed the sound of screaming, and Willow did scream very beautifully.

He knocked on Spike’s door. It was opened a minute later. Spike looked annoyed at the interruption, but followed him out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

“Still playing?” Angelus asked, amusement shining in his eyes. As much as he liked to torture and ridicule the boy, he did admire the way Spike played. After all, Spike had learned from the very best.

“Of course,” Spike answered, surprised. “She hasn’t told me anything yet.”

“She hasn’t?” Angelus asked, shock clearly written on his face.

“No,” Spike answered, abruptly. He was more than a little surprised that she had held out so long. As fragile as she looked, he expected her to break down and confess after the first blow. But she had held out. Following his directions to the letter, she quietly, calmly, determinedly defied him. While reciting her favorite movie. Yes, the girl was most definitely impressing him.

“Been taking it easy on her?” Angelus asked. He couldn’t think of any other possible explanation.

Spike opened the door, letting Angelus look in to where Willow lay on the floor, covered in blood and bruises. “Does it look like I’ve been taking it easy on her?” he asked.

Angelus didn’t answer. It’s doubtful he even heard the question. He was mesmerized by the sight of Willow. He couldn’t believe that he’d known the girl for a year and a half and never even suspected the lovely body she hid under those horrible clothes. And now that she was dressed only in her blood… he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anything so exquisite. As an added bonus, her blood filled the room with its scent: sweet, pure, spicy and utterly delectable. Spike noticed Angelus’ distraction and his face hardened. The bloody bastard had Dru waiting for him upstairs in his bed. He had no right to be looking at Spike’s pet like that. Angelus was the one that *gave* the girl to Spike. If he had any regrets, it was his own damn fault. Spike shut the door.

“She hasn’t told me anything yet,” Spike repeated.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” Angelus answered, shaking off his daze. “I figured it out. It’s the computer teacher at the high school. Jenny Calendar.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It all fits. Beat the answer out of your pet if you want, but I know she’ll say the same thing.”

“What’s your plan?” Spike asked. He knew that Angelus had a plan. Angelus always had a plan.

“Dru says that Jenny’s buying ingredients for something today. Dru’s going to go to the shop tonight and question the clerk. I’m going to have some minions tailing Jenny. She should be at the school most of the day, so it shouldn’t be hard to keep track of her. And when I find out what she has planned, I’ll… take care of it.”

“Right, then,” Spike answered. He was bored with this conversation. He wanted to return to his pet. “Anything you need from me?”

“Not really,” Angelus replied, smiling. “Go back to your toy. If you need any help breaking her, just let me know.”

“Right, mate. Will do,” Spike said, dismissively. When he saw that Angelus had nothing else to add, he wheeled himself back into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Angelus just stood there for a minute, as he heard the recitation recommence, followed in short order by more enticing screams. A bemused smile sat on his face. Who knew that sweet, innocent little Willow could look like that, smell like that, scream like that? Angelus checked his watch. It was right around the high school’s lunchtime. If he knew the slayer and her little friends, they would be meeting in the library to plan what to do about Willow. After giving a few instructions to his minions about Jenny, he headed for the tunnels, whistling as he went. Willow had surprised him. Now it was time for him to surprise her friends.

~Part: 9~

Buffy woke in the morning feeling uneasy. Her night, so far as she could tell, had been surprisingly Angelus-free. No Angelus during patrol. No newly raised vamps passing along Angelus’ love. No flowers on her doorstep when she returned. No drawings waiting for her when she woke up. It worried her. When Angelus was quiet, it meant he was planning something. She tried to force herself to relax. All day yesterday, she had been stressed and nervous because of the drawing he left for her. And now she was even *more* stressed out over the drawings that he *hadn’t* left her. She wouldn’t put it past him to lie low for a few days, just to drive her crazy wondering what he was up to. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was up to something. One lesson she had learned early on in this game was that Angelus was always up to something.

He had ruined yesterday for her, and she refused to let him ruin today. She had always been a carpe diem, live for the moment, eat drink and be merry kind of girl. Life’s short; enjoy the nice moments while you can. For the time being, she was determined to be happy. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining (and slayers always appreciate nice, sunny days), and Giles was tracking down an uninvite spell. Knowing Giles, he’d find it soon and she’d be able to sleep soundly through the night again.

Buffy smiled to herself as she remembered Willow’s comforting words the night before. Willow always knew what to say to make her feel better. And since the redhead was unquestionably the smartest person she had ever known, Buffy couldn’t help but believe Willow when she said that they would be able to work everything out. Therefore, Buffy had every reason to be in a good mood. But she wasn’t.

There was this bad feeling. She had had it ever since she woke up that morning. She couldn’t shake it off. She had tried to ignore it. She ignored it as she got dressed, she ignored it as she ate breakfast, she ignored it as she walked to school. The closer she got to school, the worse it got, and still she ignored it, or tried to. However, her stress-filled thoughts distracted her, slowing her down. She didn’t come out of her haze until she was nearly run over crossing the street, a few blocks away from school. When the horn honking caught her attention, she finally managed to clear her head, but by that point, she was within minutes of being late for class. Calling on her slayer speed, she ran all the way to first period, sliding into her seat just before the final bell rang.

The bad feeling persisted through all of first period and Buffy finally decided that she couldn’t ignore it any longer. After first period, she went straight to the library to talk it out with Giles. Walking in the door, she ran almost directly into Miss Calendar, who was entering the library as well. Giles looked up in surprise and waited for an explanation of the two unexpected appearances. Miss Calendar spoke first.

“Have you seen Willow this morning?” she asked.

Buffy went pale and felt dizzy and had to grab a chair to keep herself from falling down. All that ran through her mind was an endless litany of <no, God no, not Willow, please no, please no, no, no>. She only vaguely heard Giles questioning Miss Calendar, who told him that Willow had not come to her first period computer class. Willow never missed a computer class, and today was the last day she’d be likely to skip. After a few deep breaths, Buffy was able to speak.

“She would never miss today,” Buffy said quietly. She turned to face Miss Calendar. “You told her you might be late and that if you were, you’d need her to take over the class. She was so excited; she spent hours making lesson plans last night. Even if she was sick, even if she broke her leg, she would never miss today.”

Miss Calendar nodded in agreement. “That’s what I thought, too,” she replied.

Buffy stood abruptly. “I’ll head over to her house right now,” she stated, and headed immediately for the library doors.

“Buffy! You’ll miss class!” Giles exclaimed. Buffy turned to look at him with an expression of shock covering her face. Was he going to insist that she stay and sit through class when Willow might be in danger? “Be sure that Snyder doesn’t see you sneaking out,” he continued. An expression of relief crossed her face as she realized that Giles wasn’t going to stop her. Buffy nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, and then left.

She did her best to be stealthy while sneaking out of the building and off of school grounds. Giles was right; Snyder would like nothing better than to catch her breaking a school rule and make a stink about why she was cutting class. He was always looking for an excuse to yell at her. If he saw her, he would read her the riot act and then, probably, give her a detention. The possibility of detention didn’t bother her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of the precious time she would spend being lectured instead of finding out what had happened to Willow.

As soon as she was safely off school grounds, Buffy started flat-out running. She was only barely aware of other people around her, driving their cars, walking down the sidewalk. All she could see was Willow’s house, not too far away now. Buffy didn’t even notice that she was out of breath as she arrived at the front door. Banging on it produced no response, so Buffy grabbed the extra key out of the fake rock in the front garden, and let herself in, shooting up the stairs into Willow’s room.

The room was a little messier than usual, as if there had been a slight struggle. Buffy looked around frantically, searching for any clue that would show her what had happened. She swore her heart stopped when she saw the plain envelope sitting, waiting, on Willow’s pillow. The litany in her head <no, please no, please, God, no, please, please no, no, no> hadn’t stopped the entire time, and now it just grew louder <NO, PLEASE NO, NOT THIS, NOT HER, PLEASE NO, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE GOD, NO>.

With shaking hands, Buffy crossed over to the bed. In handwriting that she recognized all too well, she saw her name. Trembling hands opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained. As Buffy took in the contents of the page, her suddenly nerveless hands dropped the paper as she fell onto the bed and began to sob. The paper fluttered to the floor. On it was a skillfully done portrait in charcoal. It portrayed a young girl with long, soft hair dressed in pajamas, pacing around the room with a cordless phone held to her ear. In the corner of the picture was the visible doorframe, showing that the perspective of the viewer had been peeking through a crack in a slightly opened door. The trademark “A” was signed in the corner.

Buffy had no idea how long she sat there, sobbing on Willow’s bed. The first thing she was aware of was the telephone ringing. Numbly, she picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Buffy? Where’s Willow?” she heard Xander’s panicked voice ask. Not even when he fought his first vamp had Xander sounded so scared. From the sound of his voice, Buffy was sure that he had been crying, too. She heard Giles ask for the phone and then the soothing sound of his voice, directed at her.

“Buffy? Did you find Willow?”

“She’s not here, Giles,” Buffy whispered, unable to speak aloud for fear of breaking down in tears again. “She’s not here, and I think Angelus took her. He left a picture of her on her bed in an envelope with my name on it.” By this point, whispering wasn’t helping. Buffy started crying again, unable to stop, barely able to breathe, sobbing out her fear and her guilt through the phone line.

Giles calmed her as best he could from his end of the line, pushing down his own fear and worry so that he could be supportive for his slayer. She was obviously distraught and she needed him to help her, not break down into the all too tempting tears of his own building just beneath the surface. He reminded her how important it was, now, for her to be strong for Willow. He told her to take her time to calm down and pull herself together before returning to school, and said that he hoped she’d return around lunchtime so they could take a look at the drawing and figure out what to do. Buffy said that she’d try, and hung up the phone.

Despite Giles’ comfort, Buffy couldn’t stop crying. She stayed curled up on Willow’s bed, shaking and sobbing, for a while longer. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing had ever hurt this much. Not when she found out she was the slayer, not when she killed her first vamp, not when Merrick died in her arms, not when she faced Angelus and realized the man she loved was gone; never had she felt so lost and never had she cried so hard. Those things happened *to* her, not because of her. If Willow got hurt, it would be because of her. This, all of this, was her fault. She felt exhausted, as well as spiritually and emotionally drained. Before long, she fell asleep.

She woke up confused, uncertain where she was. It took a few moments before reality came crashing in again. Willow was gone. Buffy checked her watch. Lunch period was about to start. She felt calmer now, ready to go to the library and meet Giles. Besides, she was relatively sure she had no tears left. Slayers are designed to be women of action. They never take much time to cry. She shuddered as she picked back up the paper from the floor and folded it into the envelope. She looked around the room one last time, and fought the temptation to neaten things up. Willow hated it when her room got messy, it would bother her that it had been left like that. And when she got back, *when* she got back (Buffy refused to admit even to herself the possibility that Willow might not be coming back) it would be nice to have things tidy for her. But Buffy knew Giles would want to look over it later, to search for clues. With a sigh, she left it like it was. She exited the house, putting the key back in its place.

“I’ll get you back, Willow,” she whispered, and then headed back toward the school.

~Part: 10~

When Xander looked back on it later, he was able to name the exact moment that his life changed. 9:35. On that Monday morning at 9:35, he passed the point of no return. You might have thought his childhood ended when he hit puberty. You might have thought it ended when he first fell in love. You might have thought it ended when he found out about vamps or even when he staked Jesse, his childhood friend. But the truth of the matter is, his childhood ended that Monday morning at precisely 9:35 when he realized that Willow hadn’t shown up for class.

Willow never missed school without calling to let him know that she wouldn’t be around, and never in her life had she overslept. If Willow wasn’t there, then something was wrong. For the next ten minutes, he sat in steadily growing panic. Finally, he realized he couldn’t wait until the end of class to find out what had happened. He told the teacher that he needed to leave. Mr. Campbell took one look at his ashen face, and immediately gave him permission to go to the nurse’s office, but when Xander left the classroom, he headed straight for the library. He burst in to find the normally calm, sedate librarian pacing back and forth. Giles looked up when Xander walked in. Xander’s face grew even paler as he took in Giles’ expression.

“Willow?” Xander managed to ask. The word sounded like a prayer on his lips.

Giles winced at the desperation in the boy’s voice. He wished he had good news to give. Hell, he wished he had *any* news to give. “We don’t know,” Giles answered. “Buffy went to her house to look.”

Without another word, Xander headed straight to the library’s office and grabbed the phone. He dialed the number automatically. It was as familiar to him as his name. He could, and had, dialed it in the dark before; he didn’t even have to look at the phone as he dialed. Buffy answered the phone in a weak and broken voice that hit Xander like a lead pipe. She had found something. Something bad. He managed to choke out his question and only received sobs for his answer. Giles asked for the phone and then forcibly took it. Xander stumbled back into the main room of the library and seated himself at the table. He stayed there, numb and unmoving.

Giles hung up with Buffy and informed Xander that Buffy would return around lunchtime. He also told him that Buffy believed Angelus had taken Willow. At the mention of Angelus’ name, Xander flinched, but he showed no other sign of having heard. They sat in silence for the rest of second period.

Oz showed up around the beginning of third period. He didn’t have any classes with Willow, but he had gone between periods to put a note in Willow’s locker to surprise her, and had noticed that she hadn’t taken out her books for her morning classes. Giles filled him in on what they knew and he joined Xander at the table. Cordelia was the last to show, appearing after third period. Xander was in that class with her, and she had grown worried when he didn’t show up. She was surprisingly silent after they told her the news. She sat down next to Xander and took his hand in hers. He hadn’t really responded to anything in the hour since he had spoken to Buffy, but when Cordelia took his hand, he gave it a small squeeze.

By the time Buffy returned, the gang was eagerly awaiting her. Giles was seated in front of a computer, cursing under his breath, as Oz walked him through the steps of searching the internet sites for the police station and the morgue, searching for any redheaded victims that might have turned up the night before. Giles, despite Oz’s unobtrusive assistance, was growing increasingly frustrated at the computer. Or maybe he was just growing increasingly frustrated and the computer was an easy target. Luckily, Willow had set up the computer for quick, easy access to those sites. Her absence from the Scooby meeting, as well as her influence in all the tiny factors that reminded them of her, was achingly apparent.

Cordelia was seated at the table, as well, uncharacteristically silent and still. Xander was pacing feverishly back and forth, impatient for Buffy to return with whatever information she might have. Other than the low tones of Oz’s voice, Giles’ muttered curses at the computer, and the steady sound of Xander’s feet pacing across the room, the library was eerily silent.

Xander was busy blaming himself. He was sure that the others blamed him, too. What the hell kind of best friend was he? He didn’t even realize she was missing until she didn’t show up for second period. Last night, he had been busy making out with Cordelia for hours, his mind totally occupied by the girl in his arms. Meanwhile, that… thing… that used to be their friend had attacked Willow. He should have been there for her. He should have protected her. After staking Jesse, Xander had promised himself that he’d protect Willow, that he would make sure at least one of his friends was safe. And what had he done instead? He’d hooked up with their childhood nemesis and left Willow to the mercy of the wolves howling at the door.

Oz could feel the wolf inside him tearing at its restraints at the thought of Willow being hurt. He deliberately kept himself busy, trying to help Mr. Giles, to keep himself from ripping something apart. The wolf in him was enraged that the girl he had started to care about had been taken from him and the man in him was sick with fear and guilt. Fear that he had spent all those years searching for the perfect girl, just to find her and let her slip through his fingers. Guilt because he should have been there for her. When *he* was in danger, that first horrible time when he realized he was a werewolf, she came looking for him, she found him, she took care of him. When *she* was in danger, where the hell was he? How could he have let her down like that? He kept his eyes focused on the computer screen, avoiding eye contact with everyone else. He was convinced that they blamed him just as much as he blamed himself.

They all looked up when Buffy walked through the door. She winced as they all turned to face her. She was convinced that they all blamed her. They would be right to blame her. She blamed herself. She was the one that let Angelus out of his cage and she was the one who was too in love with the shell of him that remained to be able to kill him, as she knew she should.

Without a word, she threw the envelope on to the table. Xander rushed over and everyone else stood. Giles got to it first and pulled out the drawing. The others huddled around as it was handed to Xander, then Oz, and then Cordelia, who placed it gently on the table when she was done. Xander snatched it back up. The numbness was fading, replaced by a desperate pain. He vented it on the piece of paper, tearing it to shreds till the tiny pieces rained down like confetti. His hands were shaking as he spoke.

“The perspective,” Xander said. “It was from her closet. He drew that while he was standing inside her closet. He hid in there, watching, waiting, drawing a damn picture.” Xander kicked hard at a chair, knocking it over. Everyone jumped at the noise it made, except for Xander who, instead, started pacing again.

“She was on the phone with me,” Buffy whispered. “Angelus must have known that we check in with each other every night. He listened to her talk to me, comfort me, tell me that we’d find the uninvite spell soon and that my mother would be safe. That we’d all… be safe.” Her voice cracked on the last words, and she took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “He waited until she hung up with me and then he grabbed her. He left the drawing on purpose. He wanted me to know.”

“How could she not know he was hiding in her closet if she invited him in?” Cordelia asked. “For that matter, why *did* she invite him in?”

“The same reason you invited him into your car,” Xander answered in a harsh tone of voice. “She gave the invitation to Angel, months ago, when that Ford guy showed up. He went to her for help and, because she’s Willow, she helped him without a second thought and now he’s using that to… hurt her.” Xander turned to Buffy with a furious look on his face. The guilt he was feeling was eating him alive and he needed to lash out at someone. “Is it enough now?” he hissed. “Is this motivation enough for you to get rid of him? Or do we need to find Willow’s dead body before you’ll take some kind of action?”

Buffy had been wrong when she thought she had no tears left. Her friends were her support system; they were what made her strong. But now Willow had been taken away from her and Xander thought it was her fault and she couldn’t bear to look any of them in the eye. She felt the tears welling up again, when they were all distracted by the sound of the door opening.

It was Miss Calendar. They froze when they saw her.

“What happened to Willow?” she asked quietly. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, based off of the looks on their faces, but she needed to hear it.

“Angelus happened,” Giles answered. “He kidnapped Willow last night.”

“Is she…” Miss Calendar couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. The possibilities were vast and each option was painful to consider. Was she dead? Turned? Raped? Beaten? Was she being driven mad? Had she been handed over to the minions? What would Angelus consider to be the proper form of revenge? Giles had told her that Angelus had regained his sense of… whimsy. Miss Calendar was too well educated in the history of Angelus’ methods to doubt what that meant. She blamed herself. She knew that they blamed her, too. If she had told them all the truth when she first arrived, none of this would have happened and Willow would be safe.

“We don’t know,” Giles replied. “She’s still missing.”

“He grabbed her off the street?” Miss Calendar asked.

“No, he was in her room.” Buffy was the one who answered this time.

Miss Calendar looked confused. “The uninvite spell didn’t work?”

This time the color drained out of Giles’ face. He had forgotten about the uninvite spell. <Dear Lord, this is all my fault.> he thought. He was blaming himself already, of course. The slayer’s identity is supposed to be a secret. He should never have allowed Willow and Xander to become involved. The slayer can handle the threat of vampires and the watchers are led by a sacred destiny. In short, he and Buffy could have and should have handled the Hellmouth themselves. If either of them died or was hurt, it was no more than they expected. It was unconscionable to involve civilians in such a dangerous venture. Giles had been plagued by guilt each and every time Xander and Willow and now Cordelia and Oz, as well, put themselves in danger to help Buffy, but that guilt was nothing compared to the tidal wave of remorse that flooded him now.

“Uninvite spell?” Buffy asked.

“Yes,” Giles answered. They should know, they had the *right* to know just how very much he had let them down. “Miss Calendar gave me a book of rituals and spells to look over yesterday that included an uninvite spell. I looked over it last night, and it seems fairly basic, actually. It's just the recitation of a few rhyming couplets, burning of moss herbs, sprinkling of holy water, and hanging of crosses. I had planned to give it to all of you this morning.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I actually had to talk my grandmother into switching cars with me last night,” Cordelia said. The rest of the room shot glares at her. “What?” she said. “Yeah, I know it’s one night to late to do Willow any good, but that’s no reason why I shouldn’t be glad that the rest of us won’t be in danger any more.” They all flinched as her words reminded each of them why they, personally, felt that they were to blame.

Giles was the first to pull himself together sufficiently to be able to respond.

“We are all still in very real danger. Angelus should not be underestimated. He took Willow to get under our skins, to make us drop our guard. He’s just waiting for us to get sloppy and put ourselves in his control.

“Has it worked?” they heard an amused voice ask from the stacks. All eyes shot over to the shadowy corner where a figure slowly emerged.

Angelus.

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