Chain

By Irfikos

Part II: Blood and Rhetoric

2.1: Recognition

Notes: All sections of Part 2 take place immediately before "Normal Again." All song lyrics in Part 2 are from "Psycho Killer," Talking Heads, 1977.


I can't seem to face up to the facts
I'm tense and nervous and I
Can't relax
I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire
Don't touch me I'm a real live wire…

---

“You want to know something about yourself, Spike? It’s pretty interesting, really.”

Warren tries once again to wind a wad of noodles around the chopsticks. Most of them wriggle back into the carton but he manages to get a few into his mouth. A couple land on the front of his shirt en route. He picks them off distractedly with his fingers and drops them into his mouth. Stupid chopsticks.

He looks up at the vampire who is sitting against the wall, legs splayed out before him, hands lying listlessly in his lap. He’s looking better now… kinda. Not so much like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. A little more like… oh… the emaciated corpse of a disaster victim, maybe. Yesterday, Warren had even noticed a trace of blood beading up in the gouges around his face where he’d freaked out and scratched at himself during the upload. Good sign. Means things are circulating again. He’s probably starting to heal now. Still a far cry from Mister Big Bad Vampire With the Big Black Coat. The way he looks now, Warren can't believe he had ever been afraid of him. I mean, come on, how could he have ever let himself be intimidated by this guy? Completely harmless. The coat is wadded in a ball nearby. Spike had begun using it as a pillow these last few days. Adapting to his situation. Another good sign.

The prisoner’s head is tilted back against the wall as he attempts to affect an air of boredom. Warren knows better. The eyes are a dead giveaway. The vampire's gaze is focused with deep interest on the cooler at Warren's side. Has been since he'd brought it in and set it down beside him. This has become their little dinner routine now. Warren brings in the cooler. Lets him see it there. Lets him think about what's inside. Makes himself comfortable. Then they have a little talk. Well… mostly Warren talks. Spike listens. Over the last few days, the vampire has learned to pay attention. Has learned not to interrupt. He has learned to respond when it is expected of him. And then, when Warren is finished speaking, if he is satisfied that Spike has behaved, he will take out the bag of blood and toss it into the cage. Most of the time, Spike behaves.

Warren smiles.

"That little piece of silicon in your brain. It's a pretty complex little piece of technology. You should feel special."

Spike doesn't react. Too bad. Must not feel special.

"Whoever put it in there designed it to be a hell of a lot more than a shock collar, that's for sure. Only it looks like they didn't get to mess around with it too much. Like maybe they were interrupted."

He stops and studies Spike for a moment. Again, no reaction.

"So who was it, exactly." Warren leans in a bit, eyes glinting. "Did you kill ‘em?"

Sharp blue eyes shift momentarily from the cooler to Warren. Something flickers there for a second. Warren senses it. Something like recognition. The vampire is peering into him. Uncomfortable he looks down at his Chow Mein; begins to wrestle with the chopsticks again. When he looks up again, Spike has returned his attention to the cooler.

When the vampire speaks it is not to Warren but to the blood, "Government blokes. Dunno really. No."

"No, you didn't kill them?"

Another pause. "No."

"Well, what happened, then?"

"Got away."

"That's it? You just… got away?"

"Pretty much."

"How long did they have you?"

"Dunno. Few days."

“A few days, huh?” Warren cocks his head at the vampire and grins. "So… how long have I had you?"

No response.

Warren waits for Spike to raise his gaze once again from the cooler. He indicates it with a glance of his own. "How long? You know, just an offhand estimate."

Spike manages to hold out for awhile before finally lowering his eyes, defeated.

"Longer."

---

"It's only been, like, a month, Buffy. I wouldn't worry about it. I mean, you know how Spike is and…"

Buffy interrupts with a strained laugh and stares into her mocha.

"A-and this thing with Xander," Tara continues, "With– with the wedding and everything… you know he's okay too, wherever he is. He probably just needs some time away, you know, to sort things out…"

"Tara, I… I think…" Buffy's voice drops to a whisper, "…I think I killed him…"

"You think you killed Xander?"

Buffy furrows her brow. "What– No! Spike! I think I killed Spike!"

"What? Why… why would you think that?"

Buffy just looks at her, eyes glistening and desperate.

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