#Yes, this is another series by me, Denna. But don't worry, this one won't
be nearly as long as Circle of Slayers, which is almost done by the way. But
I really feel that I have to warn you, this isn't a fun fic. There is rape,
extreme violence and lots and lots of nastiness. So if you are sensitive to
these things, don't read please. This first chapter isn't bad, because it's
the first chapter. So, you've been warned#

This Temptous Rage 1/14
By Denna at dennaseer@hotmail.com
Rated NC-17 for language, angst and extreme violence
Keywords: Buffy and Spike.what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. I am not making a profit off of this.
Spoilers: "The Wish" except Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't killed
Summary: What I think would have happened if "The Wish" had continued. Buffy
POV. Warning, very dark and disturbing. There is described rape and extreme
violence so to those who are sensitive read no more.



July 4 1999, 4:57 AM

My heart fell when the door opened. I didn't expect them to come for me
tonight. I knew I should've, but as the hours passed, I had relaxed and lost
my guard. The lock hissed, and I saw them in the doorway. I didn't want to
resist, I had long since knew how useless that was, and started getting to
my feet.

That was when they pushed him inside. He'd probably already given them a
lot of trouble because they didn't unlock the cuffs on his wrists at first,
and he fell forward awkwardly. The sound of his jaw against the floor made
me wince sympathetically, but he didn't make a sound. He leaned back forward
on his knees and sat there, silent.

He looked tired and he didn't fight, but as I turned to look at his face, a
chiseled face, a tangle of unnaturally blonde hair and a flash of pale blue
eyes, there was something so defiant in his gaze that I felt a sucking
feeling of premonition in the pit of my stomach.

They prided themselves on not allowing any signs of defiance from us, by
keeping us dumb, helpless animals in our cages. The Master, the leader of
all vampires himself, stepped into the cell and pressed a cattle prod under
the prisoner's chin. The flash was short but spectacular as usual, making
the captive convulse on the dirty floor. His frame moved in sparatic,
frightening movements and I could see his pale, bruised face. The Master
looked down, apparently musing whether to use his prod again.

After a moment of thought, he didn't and instead bent down and freed the
cuffs from the prisoner's hands. And by the next moment the vampires were
gone and the door locked.

Only then did I let out my breath. So, they hadn't come for me this time.
And I had a cellmate now. For how long? I had no idea. He was not the first
one during the time I spent here, and he might not even be the last one. Or,
maybe, I was going to be the first one in a sequence of cellmates for him. I
couldn't say, I didn't know what would happen to me, and those who knew sure
as hell weren't going to tell me.

I didn't know if I was happy to have company at the moment. A part of me
definitely felt contented. Those long days and even longer nights in an
empty cell, sometimes I had even tried clawing at the walls in a desperate
plea to get out. It really all depended on what kind of person this newcomer
was. If he proved to be rough stuff, his stay would just be an endless
fight. Not that I couldn't defend myself.well, yeah, like I could. It had
been a long time since I had fought anyone, and I didn't even know if I
could anymore. They had beaten everything out of me long ago.

In the dim light, I saw the captive's spastic movements cease from the
shock. He coughed and red splattered on the floor. He must have bitten his
tongue during the convulsions. Things like that happened all the time, with
me too, although one could say I would be better prepared. But the thing is,
I don't think anybody can be prepared for a nasty shock from a cattle prod.

The man coughed again and brought his hand to his mouth, wiping the blood
off his lips and chin. The trace of the cuffs was a dark stripe imprinted on
the skin of his narrow wrists.

The prisoner was lean but healthy looking, and covered with a black trench
coat. It looked pretty posh actually, but it was ripped, part of his left
sleeve was missing and half of his buttons were gone. Underneath the
tattered coat, a torn, black sleeveless shirt clung to his frame. I peered
at him, trying to guess where he came from and why he was here. Probably in
the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess. Just like me.

I looked at him warily, wrapping my arms around my knees. He continued to
cough, now making dry, harsh sounds. There were trickles of sweat running
over his temples and I wondered if he could've been sick. I could pick that
up from him too then. On the other hand, why did it have to worry me? Wasn't
my death here inevitable anyway?

Yet I continued to gaze at him peevishly until he gathered himself. He
raised himself up on his elbows and wiped more blood off his mouth. I didn't
even know if he knew I was there. He moved clumsily and pressed his fingers
to his left side, as if checking for something. I had no idea what it was
but he seemed to calm down a little and started dragging himself into a
sitting position.

He was silent, not even a hiss of pain, but I knew his body must have been
screaming. It was all disconcerting. I wriggled uncomfortably, and it made
him look at me. The irises of his eyes turned into an even paler blue in the
dim light. I looked back at him, trying to look indifferent. I didn't feel
indifferent; I didn't trust him. He scared me, to tell the truth, there was
something unnatural in his actions.

"A Slayer," he whispered, his voice hoarse from his coughing spell. A
little grimace of pain distorted his face as he talked in his eloquent
British accent. There was no real disgust in his voice as he said this, just
a simple statement of fact.

Well, it wasn't much of a secret. I hardly could keep it one anyway.
Everyone knew that the Slayer was imprisoned here. I shuddered inwardly,
recognizing the cold I felt inward and outward. It wasn't really easy to get
warm in here. There was not much left of my clothes and those gave me little
warmth, clinging knee-long pants and a top that was ripped so that you could
see my bare midriff.

"Hey, you've got some kind of disease?" I asked, frowning when he coughed
again.

I saw him shiver. It was cold in here, true, but something told me that
wasn't the reason. For a little while I was sure he wouldn't answer me, or
worse, and then he shrugged, wrapping the tattered jacket around his
shoulders.

"It's not contagious, if that's what you're so worried about."

'Sure as hell looks like one,' I thought to myself.

"So, what kind of demon are you?" I bit my tongue at once, regretting that
I had asked. Sometimes talking too much here was an inducement for a
beating. He could get angry and start a fight or he could just ignore
demonstratively. His gaze was cold, like transparent blue glass.

"I'm a vampire."

"Ah."

"What's with the surprised face, Blondie? I reckon you've seen my kind
before, seeing how you kill my kind for a living. Or did, anyway."

"I've never shared a cell with a vampire before."

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything isn't there?"

"I'm not surprised, though. Judging by the Sid Vicious attitude coupled
with the Billy Idol look, it doesn't take a genius to guess you're a
loudmouth rebel."

"Don't judge a book by its cover, luv."

"Whatever. You all look the same to me."

Our words weren't said in an insulting way, just coldly, and we didn't take
them as insults. A vampire, a Slayer, everyone was equal here. Everyone was
moving to the same end.

"What's your name?" I knew my talking to him wasn't welcome, but I couldn't
help it. I knew the last girl he wanted to talk to was the Slayer. And the
last thing I wanted to talk to was a vampire. But I missed talking, the
simple act of conversation, so much. When my loneliness got too much I even
tried talking to The Master or other vampires when they took me out.with
almost no result, of course and always a beating. "I'm Buffy."

As if he wanted to know my name. I saw him rub his temples as if he had a
horrible headache. Maybe it was because of my talking. Then, when I vowed to
myself I would not speak another word, he glanced at me and said
indifferently:

"Spike."

"Nice to meet you, Spike," the phrase popped out of my mouth before I could
catch it. Fortunately, he ignored it. Trying to get rid of the last
impression, I hastily started explaining things to him. "There's a bucket of
water in the corner over there for drinking and if you want to wash
yourself. They bring in a fresh bucket every morning, so you don't have to
worry about going thirsty. Well, I don't anyway. In the opposite corner
there's a toilet. I think they'll bring you bedding when they bring the meal
tomorrow, so they'll also give you some blood, I suppose. The bedding's not
much, just a blanket, really." I demonstrated him mine, wrapped around my
shoulders. I didn't even know if Spike listened to me, his face was barely
readable, half-hidden in the shadows as he settled down against the opposite
wall. His eyes closed but there was a small frown of discomfort between his
sandy eyebrows.

My voice trailed off and I stopped talking. Well, I knew he wouldn't be
interested in what I had to say. Why would he? And he surely wouldn't be
interested in telling me anything about himself. Here was not a good place
for making friends. Not a good place at all.

I curled up, closing my eyes and trying to sleep. The presence of someone
else in the cell was strangely comforting, even if they were the
blood-sucking kind. But the truth was listening to the shuffling of his
movements and the thought of not being alone made me almost content.

I had just started to doze off when a scream pierced the air. Well, it
hadn't been quiet until now either, but it was the first time this night
someone was made to scream like that. It was not a human screaming, too
shrill and high pitched, but full of unmistakable torment. Believe it or
not, I found out that the sounds most creatures made in agony were somehow
similar, at least those creatures who made sounds at all.

I tried to stay motionless all through the screaming but it was as
difficult as always, I just could never get used to it. I knew there were
some who could sleep through it without so much as a sound, but not me.
Perhaps I remembered too well how I myself had been screaming not too long
ago.

I heard Spike move, clueing me to open my eyes. I started talking hastily,
even before wondering if he wanted to listen to me, whether he needed to
know what I was telling him.

"You'll get used to it. Later you might even be able to sleep through it.
After all, we're all here to be punished, what's to be surprised with?"

"I'm not surprised," he cut me off. Of course he wasn't surprised, I sighed
to myself, he's a vampire. He's more than used to tortured screams.

"It'll stop soon, when the sun comes up anyway. It should be rising soon.
We don't get a lot of light down here.I wish we couldn't hear them.at night
it's impossible to sleep. And by day it's even worse."

"Why?"

I jumped, having not expected him to say anything. "Uh.They turn off the
heat in the morning. They actually would just keep it off.but they like to
keep us warm. We.we taste better that way.but during the day, all the
vampires are sleeping, so.but why would you care? It's not like it's going
to hurt you."

I didn't stand cold well, being Californian born. But there was no sun to
warm up the place, the prison being underground, and the stone always stayed
cold. I just never got used to it, like so many other things around here.

"I never said I cared, pet," he said impassively and closed his eyes again.

His face looked haggard, waxen pale and colored purple beneath his eyes,
and he kept coughing with shallow, harsh sounds. His chest under his torn
clothes moved spastically as he coughed raggedly.

Did they realize something was wrong with him, I thought. And what would
they do? Try to finish him off as soon as possible, or just wait until he
died on his own?

Stupid, I chided myself. What did it matter how'd he die? He'd die all the
same. And I'd die, too.

~

The screams stopped at last and I wondered absently if it was due to a
confession or death of the interrogated, or were they just taking a break? I
slept then, for an hour or two, no nightmares thankfully, and opened my eyes
only when I heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

The slot in the door opened and I heard the soft sound of a blanket land on
the floor. I got to the door right in time before a bowl of soup, a cup of
blood, and our rations landed down as well.

"Water?"

"Yes," I raised the bucket and the guard directed it there, filling it
quickly. The window shut in my face. Morning routine.

I heaved the bucket, slammed it on its place and turned to Spike. He didn't
even reach for the blanket or the blood. His tired eyes watched me without
question. I fidgeted uncomfortably.

"You will drink, won't you?"

I hated the way he looked at me, as if I wasn't there. The lines of his
face had sharpened during the last few hours and his skin seemed paler than
it had before, am almost sickening paper white. He shivered, bringing brief
animation to his face.

"It's just." he whispered and I suddenly realized he was not talking to me.
"It just feels like I'm dying..but I can't die."

His hair, moist with sweat, clung to his head and his eyes were nearly
black with his expanding pupils.

That was when I understood. He didn't look at me, he didn't talk to me. He
probably didn't know I was there at all. He was delirious. Seriously sick.
Strange, I didn't think vampires could get sick or even sweat.

Damn! He'd said it wasn't contagious! I bounced on my feet nervously,
touching my forehead to check for a fever. It didn't feel like I did, my
throat didn't hurt when I swallowed and there was no cough. But it didn't
matter of course, it might've taken a while for the symptoms to start.

How could they put him into my cell? As if there were enough things I had
to handle! What would they care, anyway?

Dammit! I hit the wall in exasperation and rubbed my aching fist
thoughtfully. Stupid vampire, stupid Spike. What kind of name is Spike
anyway? Were Butch and Rocko taken already? Was that even his name, it
certainly wasn't his real one.

"I can't die." he kept whispering. "I have to bring it to her. So, I won't
die.she promised I won't."

"Don't you know promises were meant to be broken?" I asked loudly. It
didn't reach him.

I picked up a bowl of soup from the floor and dipped in the spoon, still
looking at him. Whether he was dying to not, I was still hungry. And there
was nothing I could do about it anyway, and why would I care? He was a
vampire, let him die. No reason to call for the guards, they were cranky and
tired during the day. And in any case, I knew better than calling the
guards.

The soup was already cold. I swallowed and looked at Spike's cup of blood.
I wondered briefly whose blood that used to belong to, but they probably
wouldn't bother giving him human blood. I hoped he would just drink it; it
was making me sick.

"You should at least use the blanket," I said, and like before, he didn't
hear me. I didn't know what I disliked more, his previous reluctant talking
or his silence. "Here." I picked it up and leaned to throw it over him.

He was burning. The heat coming off his body reached me, so unexpected that
I flinched. I looked down at him almost in disbelief. So hot.it couldn't be
a good thing, especially since vampires weren't supposed to have body heat
at all.

"Spike! Hey you, Spike, listen to me!" Kneeling in front of him, I shook
him by the shoulders. His head lolled and his eyes blinked heavily but there
was no recognition in his stare. "You said you weren't contagious. Is it
true? Tell me now, is it true?"

Most possibly, it didn't even matter. If I were to get sick, I would
already be by now. But I kept shaking him.

"Tell me!"

It was when I almost gave up that his stare stopped on me slowly, and then
suddenly, to my disbelief, a quiet smile blossomed on his lips.

His thin-fingered hand trembled in the air as he reached my face almost
blindly. The touch was scalding hot but impossibly gentle, running over my
cheek and eyebrow.

"No, pretty girl," he whispered elatedly. "It's safe. There's a good thing
inside me.That's why she died for me.It.just.hurts."

His hand left my face and fell to his chest limply. And I still felt the
burn of his touch on my skin. Crazy, it was crazy; there was no reason why I
should have believed him. But somehow I did. Or maybe, I just didn't care.

I pulled the bucket towards us and wetted a corner of the blanket. I didn't
even feel how cold the water was; my fingers were just as cool. But Spike's
forehead was burning.

"Cold," he whispered. "Nice."

Water trickled over Spike's face, soaking into his hair. At this angle he
looked younger and somewhat more vulnerable, his eyes closed and fluttered
minutely. I wiped his neck and shoulder bones, his unbuttoned jacket and
ripped shirt let me do it unimpeded. For a few moments, I felt hesitant
about going further.

I couldn't stand the cold touch of a vampire. And I knew he would probably
hate the idea of me touching him. Maybe he thought the touch of a Slayer
would contaminate him. But what the fuck.there was no way to stay
uncontaminated here. Soon he would be anyway and in much more horrible ways.

I pulled his shirt open and kept wiping him down. He was heavy and hot;
there must have been something really wrong with him for this to happen. His
skin was discolored, covered in fresh, dark bruises, no doubt from
yesterday's capture. And there was a bright ropy scar on his left side under
his ribs, perhaps three inches long, glaring red on his white skin. I
wondered if it was what had bothered him last night.

He was half-soaked by the time I was finished with him, and so was I. The
dust on the floor around us had changed to dirt, marring his smart clothes.

"We'd better move to another wall, Spike," I said with a sigh. "An inside
one, not so cold."

Spike didn't seem to react, although I could feel the heat of his skin
cooling down. I put his arm around my shoulder and dragged him to a dry
place. As I went back for his blanket, I already knew what I had to do.

"You know." I started and stopped. What was with me that I would keep
talking even though I knew he didn't listen? I guess I just felt better
informing him of my decision. If he didn't answer, well, silence means
consent, right? "We're both pretty soaked.and cold.and to keep from getting
sick.. they share body warmth.. and since you seem to have lots of body
warmth.you know what I mean.we won't get sick that way.or more sick for
you."

I swallowed hard and shut up. If he were conscious, he would probably drain
me dry for even suggesting such things. I would probably break my face too.
God.what had happened to me?

"So.you mind if we.sit under the blankets.together, I mean?"

My inner monologue, well not so inner, was interrupted. For a moment I
stared, unable to say a word. My heart was thumping wildly for a strange
reason I didn't know. Spike's voice, hoarse and faint, was sane, no doubt.
The wet dark eyelashes rose and his eyes, bright and icy blue, stared at me.
I gulped and kept silent.

"I guess it's a good idea."

Oh, really? In haste, but carefully, I settled next to him, wrapping both
blankets around us. His wet warm side was pressed against mine.

Once again, his warmth startled me. The heat had gone down sufficiently,
but his fever still remained. He seemed like a human, like my long lost
father and mother. I remembered when I was a girl and how I would hide under
the covers with my parents during thunderstorms. I wished briefly for a
moment that I could nestle against him like I used to with at home and
cuddle as close as possible.

"You're wet," he said, interrupting my thoughts.

"You are too. You're so warm. Why are you so warm? What's wrong with you?"
I couldn't help asking.

It was.it was almost like sexual pleasure, far better than anything I'd
felt during last months, no, last years. I couldn't resist it, sliding my
arm under Spike's back, trying to get as much of him as possible. If he
wanted me to go away I would, if I wanted to kill me I would let him.
Nothing much mattered anymore, except this wonderful feeling I had.
Comfort.from a vampire nonetheless.but at least I could pretend it wasn't.

His cough didn't bother me anymore. If we were going to die of the same
disease, at least I would go nice and warm. His shifting reminded me not to
go too far, however. He was a killer and probably not one for Slayers,
either, and I didn't much like the idea of sharing cells with a bloodsucker.
There were boundaries between our kind. I had to be careful. So far he
might've tolerated it, but I was pretty sure he wouldn't for much longer.

"Sorry," I whispered, feeling stupid for saying it. Why should I feel sorry
for this pathetic waste?

"It's all right, luv," he answered, surprising me with a response, "Thanks
for the help." I nearly grinned with the absurdity of it all. Apologizing to
a vampire, a vampire thanking me, it was all too much. And the strange thing
was, his appreciation comforted me. I must have been too far gone. I moved
between him and the wall, causing him to lean against me. His weight and
heat was lulling and I guess mine must have been too, because we didn't
stop.

His hair was like silk, short on the back of his head and not that dirty.
It was ticklish against my cheek, more pleasant than I could expect. I
suddenly felt like touching him there, his graceful neck and the bones of
his shoulders. But I just as quickly shoved the thought away. It was
disturbing, I shouldn't have missed touching, for God's sake, they touched
me enough, nearly every night. But this was different.no, it wasn't. I shook
my head inwardly, trying to clear my head.

"Maybe this way we'll both get some sleep, huh?" I said reasonably,
speaking to snap myself out of the strange feeling that had overcome me.

'What's wrong with you.that you can't bloody well shut up?" Spike asked
quietly. And I shut up.

I dozed off; the weight of Spike's body who unconsciously leaned on me
stronger as he fell asleep didn't bother me but seemed strangely pleasant.
And feeling his head upon my chest felt good, too. It was almost as if he
trusted me and I trusted him and we meant something to each other. Nothing
of that was true, of course, I knew it, but somehow it made me feel a little
bit better. It's easy to get lonely here.

He grew hotter and restless after a while and as I reached for the blood,
he started babbling again.

"I have to go.I have to bring it.She's waiting for me.I have to."

His head rolled against my chest in anxiety as he half-struggled,
half-clung to me. He was pulling his shirt open, I could feel it, reaching
again for that place where his scar was.

"I can't fail.I can't."

"Shh." I whispered against his forehead, grasping his head to feed him the
blood, he would need the strength. I was amazed once again on how soft his
hair was and I rocked him a little like you would rock a baby. "Of course,
you won't fail. You'll do what you have to do. No problem."

His body relaxed, slumped against me, his cheek pressed to my chest. For a
moment my heart clenched in pain for him. Poor guy. He was going to face too
many demons here to be able to deal with the ones he'd brought in from
outside. He would need all his strength here. But did he have this strength,
with all his confidence. I surely had thought so when I first came here.

Maybe, I would never know. Maybe, this night would be the last for me. Or
the next night would be the last for him.

He woke up with a start, raised his head from my chest, sent me a strange,
distrustful look, and I nearly screamed as he sat up. Half of my body had
gone asleep under his weight and now the needles of restored circulation
shot through me cruelly.

"You should've pushed me," he muttered, surprising me with noticing.

"Meh. Doesn't matter much, anyway."

He shrugged, getting up sluggishly. I watched him in case he was going to
stumble or something but somehow he managed to get to the toilet and then I
turned away. A little while later I felt his eyes on me, and I looked back
at him, his gaze was cold and shut as usual, his face half hidden in shadow.

"Buffy." Hmm.I didn't know he remembered my name. "Did I say anything while
I was sleeping?"

For some reason I felt uncomfortable. Would he kill me for witnessing a
moment of weakness? I found it difficult to stand his gaze but I stood it
anyway, shaking my head.

"If you did, I didn't hear you."

"Good." His voice was hard and brittle as he talked. "Because if I said
something, and you feel like gossiping it to your little prison pals, I'll
drain you drier than the Sahara. Believe me, I've killed Slayers before, so
don't think you'll win."

I tried not to flinch. For some reason, I couldn't look away from his
hands. Pale thin fingers, long wrists of beautiful shape, but I didn't doubt
for a moment that they couldn't bring death. He had already done if before,
and whether he killed Slayers before or not, I didn't think he would care.
His hands didn't shake anymore.

"I know how to kill," he said flatly. His narrow figure stood almost
straight, the traces of sickness almost gone, or forced away more likely. I
knew then that he felt threatened by me, just as I felt threatened by him.

"No need to threaten me, all right? Even if I did hear anything, I won't
need to tell anyone. You'll tell everything yourself."





#WARNING: described rape and extreme violence; not for sensitive people#

This Temptous Rage 2/14
Chapter 2: A Monster's Game
By Denna at dennaseer@h <mailto:dennaseer@h>...
Rated NC-17 for rape, violence and language
Keywords: Buffy and Spike.what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. I am not making a profit off of this.
Spoilers: "The Wish" except Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't killed
Summary: Buffy is sent to the barracks and Spike remembers.



July 4 1999, 4:25 PM

"I've warned you, Slayer. Remember that."

His voice sounded toneless, as cold as his gaze was, but strangely, the
words had less effect on me. He must've threatened me not because he was
strong but because he was desperate.

I nodded and Spike turned away from me, walked, resting his palm against
the wall. He didn't feel well, far from it, I could tell. Poor little
demon.There was no reason why I should have felt sorry for him, and then I
recalled suddenly how he had called me 'pretty girl' when he was delirious,
not 'Slayer', 'bitch' or 'whore' as I had gotten used to. Unconsciously I
ran my fingers over my face where he'd touched me then. My hands were
ice-cold. I was freezing.

Well, there was nothing I could do about it. I bit my lip trying to pull
myself together and then kicked off one of the blankets.

"That one's yours."

A short glance through his pale eyes. No answer came. Spike stopped at the
door, examining it closely. It was the only opening in the cell, no window
or anything like that. I saw his slim hands brush over the even surface.

A brief flash of anger went through me. All right, he could do it; he could
pretend he didn't care about anything and that there were more important
things than staying alive, eating (or drinking, in his case) or sparing
yourself a bit of pain. In a little while he would get to know that nothing
else mattered, in this place, anyway.

"You want to escape, don't you?" Why did I ask? It wasn't like he was going
to answer me. "Don't even think about it. You can't."

His shoulder moved slightly. "I can't, can I?"

'No, you can't,' I wanted to say. There had been others, before him, who'd
been as sure as him that they could get out, could leave this hell hole. No
one had left this place alive. It was a fact I knew for sure.

The slot in the door opened and another lot of rations flopped in. I took
some and gnawed on it, watching how Spike turned what looked like a granola
bar in his hands. That's all that we were fed around here.

"If you want to have some food, eat it now. It'll get hard."

He shrugged in reply and took a bite or two. It didn't go much further, his
face went blank in pain as he tried to swallow. He was suddenly in front of
me and handing me the rest of his bar. I looked warily at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't like it. Tastes like cat food. It's not like I need it or
anything. Besides, I can't.eat it, anyway."

"Then put it in the trash," I said harshly. "I'm not allowed to take your
food. They're just giving you a bit of food because you're one of them."

For a moment it seemed to me that something changed in his eyes.

"Didn't mean to get you in trouble, pet."

'You just promised to kill me' I thought sourly.

He was getting worse again, shaking and his eyes going wide. Why didn't he
lie down, I wondered. But then I already knew the answer. He was afraid he
wouldn't be able to get back up again. I watched in hobble along the wall
and I felt both annoyed at him and sad for his condition at the same time.

He was not going to survive here, because he didn't try to survive. Even in
fever he talked about having no right to die. But he didn't know much about
how much it took to stay alive here.

I knew it too well.

Sounds came suddenly from right behind the wall I was leaning against. I
got agitated just for a moment, before realizing what it was. A normal
thing.didn't bother me much.

"What's going on?' Spike asked, his voice sharp.

It amused me a little that he didn't understand. I smiled a little.

"People are passing the time as best as they can."

"By having sex?"

"Believe it or not, it works. Or so I've heard." I said mildly. He shook
his head incredulously. I closed my eyes; sighs and moans behind the door
were kind of lulling.

In the beginning, the first times I heard it, it got me uncomfortable,
scared and a little excited, but not anymore. It was one of the things you
get used to when you live here.

"I'm just amazed you can do it and enjoy it in this rottin' hole." Spike
said levelly then he turned to me. "But I'm not going to do it with you."

My eyes snapped open. He collapsed on the floor against the opposite wall,
looking at me as if I had actually expected us to have sex right then.

"Don't take me wrong, pet, you're a cute little thing. And it's not like I
don't enjoy it. Just I have a rule with mortal flings. Especially Slayer
flings. Plus, this place doesn't exactly scream romance."

I still couldn't say a word. 'You fool!' I nearly screamed. You don't know
what happens here! As if someone would even ask your permission!

"Clear with you, Blondie?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head. I'm the last thing you need to worry
about." What was the point of telling him I didn't want to do anything with
him at all? It's not like it would matter. I shivered although it was
getting warmer.

The temperature rose steadily. It meant that the night was close. As long
as I was there, I still couldn't figure out what was worse, the constant
cold of the day or the constant expectation of the night.

"Spike." He could've hated me for talking again but I couldn't keep silent.
I had to do something to deal with the rising panic. "They'll be coming for
us soon. Don't try to fight them. If you fight them, they'll get angry. And
trust me, you won't want to get them angry."

For a while he didn't answer, and I was ready to talk some more, just to
hear the sound of a voice, even my own. Then he glanced at me and for a
moment it seemed to me there was no animosity in his gaze.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he asked. "Why do you even care? Why
would it matter if they get angry at me or not."

"I thought you wanted to live," I said and bit my tongue. I didn't want him
to know that I had heard what he said in delerium. But Spike didn't notice;
he probably wasn't lucid enough to remember what he had said.

"What makes you even think I need your advice?" he asked harshly. "I know
much more than you about survival. You think you're so streetwise, as if you
can teach me something."

I flushed; I didn't think I could still flush, but he made me. Of course,
it was true what he'd said, I couldn't teach him anything. I was amazingly
successful at screwing up my life by winding up here. But, come to think
about it, he wound up here as well.

I looked away from Spike, stared at the door, and as if on clue, it opened,
letting the Master in.

I knew I had to expect him. It had been three nights since he had last come
for me. But seeing him still made my heart feel cold and too heavy to beat.
His inhuman eyes stopped on me, his smile sharp and predatory.

"Get up, slut, tonight is your night for fun."

I bit the inside of my lip, kept biting it even when my mouth began to leak
blood. Staying silent was a priority, alone, sometimes I couldn't cope with
myself and would whimper with fear. But no way was I going to do that in
front of Spike.

Although who cared.

I got up and walked to the door. The edges of my vision were blurry and
getting worse but I didn't care. I didn't want to see anything. The Master
didn't cuff me; he knew I wouldn't try to escape. His cold, long fingers lay
on the nape of my neck, pushing me forward.

"And you get up, too." Another voice sounded behind me and I knew they were
talking to Spike. I could've looked back to see what was happening but my
own misery was wrapping me up so tightly that I didn't care, could do
nothing but take step after step down the corridor.

There were two directions and I had gone down both of them. To the left was
the interrogation room. I had been finished with that a long time ago. To
the right were the barracks, and sometimes I thought that all the agony of
the interrogation was still better than what the Master called fun.

"Tell me, Buffy Summers, how old were you when you lost your virginity?" I
heard the Master's amused voice behind me. He seemed to be in the mood to
talk.

"Sixteen." We had talked about it before; he knew everything I would say.

"Wasn't that a bit early? Normally mortals don't give it up so quick."

"It just happened. When I left L.A.there was a boy with me. I cared about
him. He cared about me. Or that's what I thought at the time. You remember
him, Jeremy. I think you drank him a couple months ago."

"So, do you consider yourself a professional?"

"No one's ever complained."

I knew that this conversation was pleasing him immensely.

"Who was your worst, whore?"

"You already know you're the worst."

The blow was heavy and unexpected, throwing me face down, and I cried out
involuntarily, rolling on the floor, curling into a ball. I knew it wouldn't
help me but my body reacted instinctively. Through my fingers I looked up at
the Master, wondering if he was going to bite me or reach for his cattle
prod again. He loved using that thing. But it was so much more preferable to
his bites or his fists.

"Don't ever forget 'Master', bitch."

"Yes, Master. Please forgive me, Master."

He waited for me to get up, standing with his long limbs folded upon his
chest. He pointed towards the barracks and I walked in.

~

I wasn't alone there to serve them this night. There were other prisoners
whose names I never knew and didn't want to know. I avoided any gaze I could
meet as the Master walked me towards the bed, and I knew others were as
little eager to see my face as I was to see theirs.

What we had to do to stay alive made none of us happy, no matter how little
choice we had over the matter. But none of us would prefer to die anyway, I
thought cynically.

I hadn't always been like that, so cold and jaded. And, maybe, remembering
that I had been different was even worse. I remembered my mother and her
constant, unquestioning love, my father's pride and care. I remembered being
clean and confident in my abilities to save the world, no matter what. It
was all in the past now, never to come back.

"Undress, slut." The Master said behind my back. I took off my tops and
pants quickly. They were my only clothes and if I got them torn, I would
have nothing to wear at all. I didn't need to look to feel the Master coming
up behind me, getting closer. His index finger traced my spine, hard, the
fingernail cutting the skin in some places. The pain didn't make me shiver,
dispensable as it was. He pushed me forward and I scrambled up onto the bed,
laying on my back to look up at the Master's monstrous figure.

He touched my face impassively, neither caressing nor hurting, rather
indicating his possession of me. My eyelashes trembled under his fingers but
I didn't close my eyes; I knew it would be punished with a blow that would
make my mouth fill up with blood. There was something I could do, though,
and I prayed for the Master to never know I did that. I tuned down my
vision, unfocusing my gaze until his white face just became a stain floating
in front of me.

I wished I could tune down my other sensations as well. But even as it was,
at some moments I almost managed to slip away, to be out of there. Yet now
and then the Master brought me back into reality, his hand clutching my face
as he kept thrusting in and out of me as he made me look at his comrades,
his voice hissing with pleasure:

"Look at her, isn't she pretty? This little princess of mine, my little
blonde slut."

I never knew how many of them he shared with me. Several hours later, when
the last one of them retrieved his organ out of me, I felt crushed and
groggy, unable to raise my head, just lying there as my blood soaked into
the sheets. They'd torn me, they always did.

"Get up, whore," The Master's voice came, ruthless. He must've had a soft
spot for me, or he wouldn't have kept me for so long. Of course, I was the
Slayer and if there was one pleasure he never ceased in getting bored of, it
was breaking me. So, in a twisted way I guess he kind of liked me. Yet I
knew better than to expect mercy from him.

I knew I had to get up, before he would get angry and hurt me, and I made
myself roll onto the floor, then get on all fours and push myself up. The
room swirled around me wildly.

"Shower."

Showering was the only thing good about it all. I think they enjoyed me
clean and my skin soft, because I wouldn't be as much 'fun' if I wasn't.

The water was pure pleasure, running over my bruised body, washing off
their ejaculates.

I didn't hear the Master behind the rustle of water, just felt him embrace
me from behind.

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master, for taking me," I whispered, feeling tears
well up in my eyes. I just wanted to be left alone. I hadn't been crying
since I was a child, but this place was slowly tearing me apart, little by
little, destroying my spirit faster than it destroyed my body.

He left me on the floor, gagging and coughing, spraying the wet tiles with
blood. It took me a quarter of an hour to be able to get up again and finish
washing myself

The cell was empty when I returned. Spike's blanket lay at a heap against
the wall, his uneaten ration next to it. I looked around numbly, not knowing
what I felt. What took them so long with him? Or was he already dead? He
should've wished to be dead, I thought suddenly, if he wanted to keep this
integrity of.not having sex.whatever, it's not like the guy was a virgin or
anything.

I picked up the blanket and wrapped it around myself. The cell rocked
around me gently, like a huge ship. If I closed my eyes, I could almost
imagine I really was on a ship, like that beautiful liner we all went to
Hawaii on when I was a girl. I could feel my father's warm hand on my
shoulder, my mother next to me, giggling like a child.

I buried my face in my arms and wailed.

"Shut up, you fuckin' bitch!" someone yelled from behind the wall. I bit on
my palm and kept silent.

~

She had never promised it would be easy. She had promised it would be
endurable, and he would have at least three weeks before this thing started
killing him.

Spike remembered the huge hall in Nevada, the light dimmed, shadows
constantly changing on the walls. The exchange carried on over his head as
if he wasn't present, one of the vampires, Otis, was that his name,
whispered insistently.

"He's too old. A fledgling, perhaps six.seven months old would be perfect,
wouldn't suffer any inconveniences, wouldn't feel discomfort. But his body,
being as old as it is, will counteract."

In reply, Drusilla sounded as always, calm, patient.and insane.

"My William is much stronger than those tiny children. And I only trust him
with my sickness."

"We don't have time, you pillock," Spike spoke up, "I bloody well know what
I'm getting into. So shut your trap and do what you're told like a good
sheep."

"But, it's practically impossible!" For once the minion talked back. "The
vaccine will kill any vampire in a matter of days! It will be killing
yourself and you will not help Drusilla by dying."

"I don't really see any grounds for discussion here, mate."

Drusilla had been seriously sick since that mob in Prague, becoming more
and more weak as the months went by. He had found a group of vampire healers
and they told him her sickness would be keep on progressing until she was
either a vegetable or dead. Spike couldn't let that happen, he didn't know
how he would live without his dark princess.

But he had found a cure. On his way to the Hellmouth, which at the time
seemed like a great place to start looking for an antidote, he got to
Nevada. Their was a high-tech doctor named Otis there and was told to know
and practice any kind of healing under the sun (or the moon, more likely).
It was a strange antidote; it would heal the sick but kill the healthy. It
would make Dru healthy again, but Otis didn't have all the main ingredients
but his partner did.in Paris. Dru's illness had become deadly serious and
there was no time to go there, get back and get the drugs ready in time. So
Spike had made a decision. Implant the antidote in him to get it juiced up,
get to Paris and then save Drusilla. Great plan, except Otis didn't seem to
think so.

A shadow fell over him, blocking his view of Drusilla's face. Above him,
the ugly toad Otis towered. The round brown eyes stared at him with the
scrutiny only a doctor could give.

"Come with me, sir," the vampire said. There was no haughty note in his
voice as there had been when they had first come here. Spike didn't want to
be called sir; it made him feel like Rhett Butler or something. But he
didn't argue, he had more important things on his mind. Drusilla caressed
his shoulder as he got up to his feet and Spike took her in his arms and
kissed her, long and hard.

Spike embraced her around the waist almost possessively as they proceeded
to the surgery room. Two other doctors joined them there.

Spike looked at the plastic-covered cot in the middle of the room and shed
his long jacket.

"Take off your shirt," Otis told him, "And pull down your pants a little
bit."

"What is that pretty knife?" Drusilla's voice sounded above, but lying
flat, Spike couldn't see her anymore.

"It's not a knife, it's a needle. I'm giving him an anesthetic."

"Must you do that? It doesn't look like much fun."

"Unless you want to see your boyfriend here, who's risking his life for you
by the way, in pain." The doctor snapped.

"Bite your tongue." Spike told him quickly.

Spike didn't feel the incision. He could see, though, how a capsule of
transparent material cracked in the doctor's hand, and a black cylinder slip
inside his body.

"He'll start feeling the effects in about three hours," the doctor talked
while sealing the wound, "The symptoms are identical to the ones of
seizure-flu. But it's not transmittable and not lethal. At least not for a
while. The cylinder must be removed within three weeks, or he will die."

Otis turned toward Spike with a serious look on his face. "You do know what
you're doing right?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I know what I'm bloody well-"

"No. Not that. Spike, you carry a deadly virus in your system. This virus
can kill vampires with just a single injection.if this gets into the wrong
hands, you know what can happen."

"Not my problem, mate. I'm just in it for my girl. Get it?" Spike told him.

Otis sighed. "All right, then. Remember, it must be out within three weeks
or you will die, understand?"

"Yessir, boyo. Don't worry about me, sweetie, I'll be in Paris in a week
tops."

They decided to take a passenger ship to France. It was slower but safer in
the strained situation of the human revolutions. More and more mortals were
rising up against the vampires and Spike wanted no inconveniences. Spike
didn't come out of his room even once on the trip. He was slightly taken
aback by how bad it turned out to be. Of course, he knew that he would be
very ill, but he did not expect the utter weakness of his body, alternating
floods of hot and cold that either that made him feel like a pathetic human
again.

The light hurt his eyes so he kept the room dimmed, apart from the times
when Dru or some minions came. They talked about what he was doing and how
goddamn proud they were to be under the leadership of such a vampire,
typical minion stuff. When Dru came though, she took care of him like he had
always taken care of him, bringing him blood and singing him lullabies.

"You have to drink, my love. Miss Edith tells me that if you die we'll have
no one to take care of our poor little family. You must take care of me,
William, I will be so lonely if you left me."

Spike would always make himself drink blood when Dru came, but he could
only have small sips at a time. His throat was constantly sore and
swallowing hurt, and sometimes he would flush it down the toilet. He knew
Drusilla would be cross with him, but he was weak and feeble that he found
he didn't care.

He drank only when he needed to, and Drusilla found that he preferred his
blood ice-cold now and would hold it while Spike drank. Drusilla's pale
fingers were cold as well, and sometimes she would caress him with her
fingers, whispering lovely songs in his ear.

It must have been the fourth day when the ship stopped suddenly. At first
Spike remembered just bits and pieces. Drusilla coming into his room, her
lip trembling delicately while she helped Spike dress when he found his
hands were too shaky to do up the buttons.

"We have some uninvited guests to our little tea party, William," she
whispered to him finally.

In the hangar the line of passengers were long and silent as the vampires
went through their check. Ever since the first rebellions, checks would be
made randomly at airports, boats, hotels, anywhere. Spike couldn't really
concentrate or care what they were doing; it was he could do to keep from
falling to the ground.

"I'm worried, love," he heard Drusilla's voice behind him, "I don't like
these people."

The vampires, the Master's closest minions, paced fluidly along the line,
their eyes focusing briefly on the passengers. The wolf-like demons on their
leashes panted hard and eyed everyone warily. A female vampire with shoulder
length red hair stood talking to the others, arms folded on her chest.

"Move quickly, William," Dru whispered behind Spike, pushing him slightly
as the line walked.

Spike made a step, and that was when one of the wolf-demons yanked on his
leash, reached him in a moment, its heavy paws pushing him in the chest, its
ugly muzzle shoved under his ribs, just where the cylinder was sewed into
his body.

He recalled the doctor's voice:

"You don't need to worry, the vaccine won't be shown on x-rays."

But apparently the dog could smell it.

Spike swayed, trying to stay on his feet against the creature's weight.
Blood beat in his ears and he couldn't be sure if he heard the rustle of
voices behind him, his minions exchanging quiet, hasty remarks. Oh, bloody
hell, what was going on? Did he fuck up, after everything, insured
Drusilla's death, couldn't even protect the woman he loved? The dog's claws
scratched his skin through the material of his jacket and shirt. Even with
his vision going blurry Spike could still see the flock of vampires moving
towards him, the one with the short red hair breaking her conversation,
walking up as well.

"What's this? Is he smuggling something?" The vampires' voices were harsh,
snappy.

"He is not a petty thief," Dru said indignantly, "My love and I are your
kin. And, remember, we must all take care of our family."

"Whatever, lady, like it or not, the dog smells something on your boyfriend
here."

The leash was jerked and the dog was pulled away from Spike, and then
vampires' hand grabbed him and yanked him out of the line.

"Search him."

He knew that fighting would not help him, even though he couldn't anyway.
So he stood still even as they tore his shirt open and groped over his body.
The touch over the scar made him wince involuntarily.

"He has nothing on him."

The dog was still too close, glaring at him as it was held securely by its
leash. Spike felt like choking, his body was weakening on him and he could
feel himself blacking out. He had nothing on him.so they were supposed to
let him go. They had nothing against him, they didn't have the right.

"He has nothing on him. But what about in him?"

The voice was cold, young and soft, and without looking Spike realized it
was the redhead vampire talking. He heard again how his minions shifted and
talked behind him.

"I'm certainly curious to know," the vampire said, taking a step towards
him, and a switchblade flashed in her long, pale fingers.

In his feverish state of mind Spike didn't feel so much scared as
mesmerized by the knife as it caught the lamp light. The redhead's small
mouth twisted into a cruel smile as she approached.

And at the next moment everything happened. A hand grabbed Spike's
shoulder, yanking him aside, and Drusilla's voice against his ear.

"Run, love."

The clashing of metal and fists was already all around and in Spike's
confusion he grabbed for Dru's arm, pulling her along.

To the right, there was a way to the lifeboats, and Spike knew he had to
get there. A part of his mind was screaming in agony and despair. He clung
to Drusilla, desperate to keep her with him, and kept running awkwardly.

The door was so close but then huge, unbearable pain hit him in the back.
Spike was torn from Dru as he fell facedown on the floor, smashing his nose
bloody and convulsing in pain. He would've thought he was dying, but it hurt
too much to think of anything at all.

"Don't run away, we're just starting to have fun," the voice of the redhead
vampire sounded above him. Spike tried to pull himself together, tried to
sit up, and when he did, the vampire stood on one knee next to him. Her pale
hand reached towards Spike's head and ran through his hair almost
affectionately. For a few moments her eyes met Spike's; blue against green.

She stood up and wrapped her arm around another vampire, a man with dark
hair and a smirk on his face. He carried a cattle prod in one arm, tapping
it against his thigh, "Good work, baby." He told her, kissing her.

"Stupid boy," the redhead said as Spike shook his head, trying to escape
her touch. "What are you hiding from me? Well, we'll find out sooner or
later."

The vampire moved and her red hair brushed over Spike's face, soft and
smooth. Other vampires yanked him up onto his feet and turned to face the
hangar. Nine vampires, Spike's minions, lay on the ground as the vampires
moved between them, staking them into dust.

The clearest memory Spike had was a stream of dark red streaming from
Drusilla's mouth, and a sudden explosion of ash as his love disappeared from
him forever.

"Take him away," the male vampire said. "I'll deal with him later."



This Temptous Rage 3/14 Series Incomplete
Chapter 3: Breaking the Rules
By Denna at dennaseer@h <mailto:dennaseer@h>...
Rated NC-17 for language, sexual references and violence
Keywords: Buffy and Spike.what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. I am not making a profit off of this.
Spoilers: "The Wish" except Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't killed
Summary: Willow pays a visit to Spike while a human rebellion is being
planned.



July 5th 1999, 3:10 AM

"Wake up!" A punch was like a flash of red, making the approaching darkness
fade away. Spike felt the salty, cold taste of blood fill his mouth. His
head seemed to heavy, impossible to raise. Even his eyelids were too heavy
but he managed to look up. The vampire's long silhouette blurred in front of
his eyes. Spike saw a fist raise again, tensed involuntarily in apprehension
but could do nothing to avoid another blow.

"I said stay with me," the vampire said.

This one was someone Spike had seen before, in the hangar who had set the
cattle prod against his back. He remembered his dark impassive face as he
tapped the cattle prod against his thigh. He could tell the vampire was
thoroughly enjoying this.interrogation. The vampire's pale face twisted in a
delightful grin as he saw Spike shiver.

He must've thought Spike was afraid, of more pain, of what could be done to
him as he was cuffed to the chair, wrists behind his back, at the full mercy
of his tormentor. But it was not pain that frightened him; Spike knew
positively that he could handle it, no matter what they'd do to him. Even as
the vaccine's effects weakened his mind and body, he still knew he could
muster enough self-control not to break.

He was more afraid of a truth serum or hypnosis they could use to make him
talk. He had only begun to stupidly realize what he was carrying inside his
body. He had no idea what it could do entirely, but he knew what would
happen if they found out.

What a shame, Spike thought with self-detest, he'd risked everything for
Drusilla, holding something that meant so much more to the world than to him
or her. Letting all his minions die for him because he stupidly thought it
was loyalty. But now that Dru was gone.he had no idea what it was inside him
but he knew that it could spell defeat for the vampires, of which nothing he
wanted a part.

"Let's talk, buddy," the vampire said. "Here, look at me."

His hand gripped on Spike's hair, forcing him to look up. Another blow was
directed right to his face, making Spike's lips go numb even as he knew they
were split and bleeding. Spike coughed and spat blood on the floor.

He didn't talk. He had decided to do this as soon as they had led him into
the interrogation room. Not a word to them, not even his name. He couldn't
afford to let anything out.

So, he looked at the vampire and kept silent.

"Oh, you'll start talking." It didn't seem to faze the creature. "Sooner or
later. And so far."

Spike knew what the thing in the vampire's hands was and he suddenly felt
uprising panic. The cold metal of a cattle prod was pressed to his solar
plexus and at the next moment the world whirled in a blast of pain.

He came round, shaking, feeling numb pain in his cuffed wrists. He must've
sprained them or something. He found himself breathing in small, shallow
gasps, almost akin to sobbing and Spike clenched his teeth in shame,
regaining control. Whining like an abused puppy.how humiliating.

"You don't waste your time, Xander baby, do you? Are you enjoying
yourself?"

The voice came from Spike's side, a soft, smooth beautiful voice. A hand
came, too, long pale fingers brushing through Spike's hair, touching the
corner of his mouth. Blood soaked onto the fingertips.

"Willow," the vampire said, "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"I said I would, didn't I?"

The redhead vampire, the one who had murdered Drusilla, moved towards
Spike, lowered on one knee, looking into his eyes on the same level. Her
green eyes, definitely green, seemed to be narrowed as in half a smile, and
Spike suddenly realized the girl's hand was still on his face, not
caressing, just staying there.

"Can I play with him?" the girl asked almost thoughtfully, her eyes never
leaving Spike's. "I hope you didn't hurt him too much."

Spike didn't want to look into those eyes, wanted to look away, and found
he could make himself. So much for his self-control. Xander's voice above
him was sour but not opposing.

"All right, baby, if you want. I have things to do."

Spike watched the other vampire step away and walk out of the room, but his
mind was mostly occupied with struggling to control himself. He shook his
head violently, wrenching out of Willow's touch and losing the contact with
the woman's eyes. His sprained wrists hurt worse; he must have been pulling
on them unconsciously.

"You don't want me to touch you, do you?"

Spike glared at her and kept silent. Willow got on her feet lightly and
paced around.

"And you don't want to talk. You don't appreciate me sparing you from
Xander's attention?"

Spike remembered a flash of steel in Willow's hand as she was going to
check if there was anything hidden inside him. It was vastly arguable
whether Xander was worse than that.

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry. I have all the time in the world to get
to know you better."

And I don't, Spike thought. In two weeks he would be dead anyway, and the
vaccine would be gone.

"You think I need you to tell me something," Willow continued, pacing, her
chin in her curled palm. "Well, you're wrong. There's little I don't already
know about you. William the Bloody or Spike as you prefer to be called, 125
years old, on your way to Paris with your lover Drusilla with just under a
dozen minions. Maybe you were on some kind of daring mission. Not very
successful though, was it? So many dead.because of you. Now tell me, why did
they die for you?"

Spike found he didn't really have an answer to that. His minions had
believed that whatever he carried in his body was more important than their
individual lives. And he had been stupid enough to think that the little
tube in his body was just to make Dru well again.

He couldn't react to whatever Willow was saying, he knew that much. He
gathered his strength to look defiantly at her. A fit of coughing spoiled
everything.

As he stopped coughing, blinking involuntary tears, he saw Willow's mouth
curve into a cruel smile.

"My goodness. You're really sick. What's wrong with you? Is it something
you were doing for someone that's killing you slowly?"

Spike remained silent.

"I know there's something," Willow said softly, almost sweetly. Her
movement was so fast that Spike didn't have time to prepare for it. He
apprehended pain but Willow's touch was gentle, hand sliding over Spike's
ribcage, inside his torn shirt, fingers running over the scar on his side.
"I can find out anytime I want. But you know what? Maybe.maybe, I prefer a
little mystery."

She leaned so close, saying the last words, that it sounded almost
intimate. He felt like bucking, trying to get away, but it would mean that
he was bothered, that the vampire managed to get to him. So, he stayed
motionless. A strand of Willow's hair fell on his face, soft and ticklish.

"You really can't control yourself, can you?" Willow's thumb touched his
mouth, Spike's teeth biting into his lower lip. Strange, he hadn't noticed
he was biting his lip. "All that tough macho Big Bad stuff.you don't deceive
me. Behind that hard surface, you're as weak as anyone else. Just an
immortal boy, and telling the truth, William the Bloody, I like it. Among
all those bloodsuckers, you were the only one still alive inside. With all
your fears, wishes and desires. So human those desires. That's why you fell
in love, isn't it? It doesn't matter now, but I promise you I'll get to all
of them. I know what you want. I know what you fear."

I don't want anything anymore, Spike thought desperately. And fears, who
didn't have them?

"Do you want me to touch you?" Willow asked quietly. "I see how you crave
it, how you lean into my hands. You poor boy.your body knows what feels
good, even if your mind denies it."

Spike protested silently, thrashed, trying to escape the vampire's
closeness. The silk of the woman's hair fell like a curtain over his face
now. Willow's hands pressed on his shoulders, not leaving him even that
small movement.

"I can make you feel good," Willow said. "Tell me you want it."

She slipped on her knees between Spike's thighs, her hands sliding over
Spike's chest and belly, moving his hips apart. It was not like Spike could
bring his legs together anyway, but Willow added to that feeling of
helplessness as her palms lay on the insides of Spike's thighs.

The vampire's face was shadowed but her small mouth looked pink, soft and
smiling. Willow moved to fast again for Spike to notice, and then the blade
was in her hand, gleaming cold metal. Involuntarily, Spike made a short
gasp, and hated himself for it.

"You're afraid I'll kill you."

Spike shook his head. A moment later he realized it was an answer, even if
wordlessly. Willow's laughter told the vampire she'd noticed.

"Or you're afraid I won't kill you at once, but it will make it long and
painful."

The blade traced the line of his scar, without pressure, then went lower,
to Spike's abdomen. He thought briefly about throwing himself forward onto
the knife. It's not like there was a chance to save Dru now, and he would be
dead anyway.

"Or I just might have some kinky sex game in mind."

The blade snipped the belt of his pants, cutting the material just an inch,
and even that little made Spike shudder hugely. The blade was cold but the
vampire's hands were even colder, unavoidable.

"And I'm pretty sure you're no stranger to fun little games, are you? You
need it just as much as anyone else." Willow concluded.

It was true, Spike thought, he was no stranger to even the strangest of
couplings. But her touch, her voice.it wasn't enjoyable at all. It made him
feel tainted, soiled. He found that he wanted nothing to do with her at all.
And he was going to keep it that way, too.

"I'll enjoy playing with you, my blue-eyed beauty," Willow said. Her eyes
and mouth were smiling with a wicked glow.

"Get the hell off me, bitch."

The words came out hoarse and without any real strength. But he looked her
in the eyes. No way was he going to brought down by this whore. Face very
close to his, Willow laughed.

"So, a cat really didn't get your tongue."

Her hands pressed heavily on Spike's knees as she got up.

"But I'm a lady. I have no wish to force you. Break your knees open, wrap
my mouth around your cock, suck you dry, fuck you senseless, make you beg
for more. Anyone can do it. I prefer to go at my own pace. And tell you
what? I like it when they play hard to get."

Willow's long fingers stroked over Spike's forehead and once again there
was no escape from her touch.

"Studying you amuses me. All the little things that you try to hide. Your
fear of being violated.it's endearing, in a way. Almost as much as your wish
to be taken. And your futile hopes that you could have saved your Drusilla.
I know you still think about it. But I also know what you fear worst of all.
And it's not what I or someone else can do to you. It's not even the failure
in your task. It's being alone you're afraid of, right? That the only reason
you weren't alone was because of her. You never knew anyone but her, did
you? You have no one now. I read your history.even as a mortal you were
alone, an outcast. And now that Drusilla is."

Willow suddenly stopped, and strangely, the words she didn't say had more
effect than anything she had said. He noticed just now he was shaking, not
with cold but with despair clenching his heart. Stupid bint, what did she
know? How could she know.Willow's hands lay on his cheeks as she moved
forward toward him like for a kiss.

"That's right, be afraid. Because you won't ever return to her, you will
never see her again. All your life before I impaled your little pet has been
crossed out."

Still shaking, Spike worked his mouth and spat, a bloody clot landing on
the smooth surface of her cheek. Willow's eyes didn't blink. For a moment
she kept holding Spike's face, then whispered quietly.

"You're so much like me." And let go.

~

He didn't quite remember his way back to the cell; his body and mind seemed
to be disjointed. The only thing Spike was sure about was that Willow was
gone, and it made him feel such immense relief that wasn't any room to feel
anything else. He tried to tell himself it was unreasonable, pathetic, to be
afraid of a little vampire who didn't even so much as scratch him. But panic
mixed with disgust soon reached him as he recalled her cold hands stroking
his body and the sound of that velvety voice almost impossible to escape.

Hitting the hard floor of his cell was almost blissful; the cold little
room seemed like a safe haven to him right now. He stayed motionless until
the door was locked and then looked up.

The skinny blonde girl in her torn blue shirt was already there, crouched
at the wall, her huge hazel eyes looking at Spike warily, somewhat
questioningly. The girl's face was streaked with drying tears and there were
fresh bruises all over her body.

She, Buffy, could be an imposter, Spike reminded himself, put here to pry
into Spike's secrets. And also that she was Slayer reached his thoughts. But
he might have questioned that too. This frail, broken child didn't seem like
much of a fighter, let alone a warrior. He had to treat the girl with
suspicion, always be on the alert. Tears and bruises meant nothing; they
certainly wouldn't have made him sympathize before.

"Hey," Buffy said in a small voice. "How you doing?"

If she didn't want to get anything out of Spike, why then would she talk
all the bloody time, ask those stupid questions, say those stupid things?
Maybe, they promised her some indulgence if she found out for them what they
wanted from him. Spike looked away deliberately, wiping his face with his
palm. His nose still trickled blood; the vampires here really had a heavy
touch.

Not looking at his cellmate, he got up on his feet and walked to the bucket
of water, squatting at it and washing his face. Cold drops leaked over his
chest and suddenly Spike's control snapped. Unable to be impassive anymore,
he splashed the water all over himself, rubbing, scratching his skin,
desperately trying to get the feeling of Willow's hands on his body.

No, there were no physical traces, but the feeling didn't seem to go away,
clinging to his skin as Spike kept on rubbing his skin in despair. There was
a ringing in his head that made all other sounds vague and distant but he
still realized that the little bint was saying something again, in a hasty,
thin voice.

He didn't want to hear Buffy, didn't need the other's meddlesome attention.
His hands, numb, were awkward and his fingernails, scratching feverishly,
caught the line of the scar. Fresh blood sprinkled from under it. Pain and
the feeling of hot fluid sliding on his chest sobered Spike. He slumped on
his knees, obscurely aware of Buffy's presence behind him. The girl hovered
uncertainly, her small pale hands clasped together. Not wanting to see him,
Spike turned his face away from her.

"You're hurting yourself," Buffy said. She knelt on the floor next to Spike
and he started away from her unconsciously. Why did they all try to touch
him.the girl was not one of them, of course, not a real enemy anyway. He was
beginning to realize that the world down here was a lot different than the
world he was used to. "Here, take this."

Buffy rummaged in her pants, not into a pocket but between the cloth and
her body and pulled out a piece of white material, quite clean, and handed
it to Spike. Spike looked over the reached hand at the girl's pale, badly
bruised face.

Why did they have to beat her like this, he thought absently. Buffy's
midriff looked sore and was covered in black and blue marks as well. Surely
Buffy had been too broken to even want to fight anymore and could hardly
cause any trouble. The white cloth in her hand trembled slightly.

"What's it for?" Spike asked suspiciously. His voice came out scratchy; it
really hurt to speak.

"To stop the blood."

"I don't want anything from you."

The girl shook her head and shoved the cloth into Spike's palm. The
material still felt warm with the heat of Buffy's body.

This little handkerchief was probably the only thing Buffy owned, Spike
thought suddenly and shook his head at this strange kindness. He sighed; he
didn't have the strength to fight anymore so he pressed the cloth to his
scar. Blood soaked through it quickly but he held it pressed and felt the
bleeding stop little by little.

Buffy got up but kept looking at him, her head tilted slightly. Half with
annoyance, half with gratitude, Spike glanced at her, meeting the girl's
eyes. Her eyes were a deep hazel and they held a wisdom a young woman like
her shouldn't have. And something sparked in her eyes. Intelligence and
strength. He no longer doubted that this girl was the Slayer. But those eyes
were marred with tragedy and fear. For a moment Spike found himself
wondering how the girl would look without that terrorized expression in her
eyes.

Strange thoughts.he shook them away quickly.

"Thanks, Blondie," Spike said finally.

"Did they rape you?" Buffy asked in her girlish, lilting voice.

Spike flinched as if slapped, staring up at that young face. How could she
talk so matter-of-factly about that? Like it was to be expected. He sought
Buffy's face for signs of gloating or mockery but found none, just something
else.almost sympathy.

"No." he said through clenched teeth.

"I just thought.you were washing yourself like crazy."

"It's none of your business."

"Fine," Buffy stepped away. Spike knew that his intensity had told her off,
and if that what it took to keep the Slayer away from him, he would do it
again.

The girl settled down in a nest made from her blanket against the far wall,
not looking at Spike anymore. Buffy's fair bangs fell over her eyes in some
sorrowful, dispirited manner. Spike thought it was no good to think about it
and turned away. His mouth felt parched and he gathered some water in his
palms and swallowed it. Cold water didn't feel so good anymore. In fact, it
felt like liquid fire in his inflamed throat and seemed to land like a stone
in his stomach.

Spike shook himself, denying the weakness of his body, getting on his feet
and picking up his blanket.

Cor, he was soaked. He hadn't noticed it while trying to wash himself but
now wet clothes were clinging to his body. He huddled and paced a little,
trying to dry himself off.

"Did you.did you confess?"

Buffy's voice made him stop, made him look at the girl again. Wrapped in
the blanket, the girl looked particularly frail, just her pale face and
small hands visible.

"And what was I supposed to confess?" A sharp movement as he looked away
from Buffy made pain lance through his head and Spike had to catch the wall
so he would not fall.

So, the little whore was prying after all, wasn't she? Not that Spike
doubted it, but it still made him feel somehow disappointed.

"Whatever they wanted you to confess."

"I haven't done a soddin' thing."

He thought Buffy would laugh at him, would demonstrate disbelief, but the
thin voce was calm, thoughtful.

"It doesn't matter. I didn't do anything either. Well.maybe I did. But it
was more like being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was just in that
warehouse with all those people, and they didn't do anything too. But they
confessed everything. And I confessed, too."

Involuntarily, Spike wanted to learn more about where she came from and why
she was here but didn't have time to start.

"Don't confess anything," Buffy said suddenly and her eyes blazed with a
horrid intelligence that suddenly reminded Spike of all the Slayers he had
killed before. Those were the Slayer's eyes right then. "Once you do, they
won't be interested in you anymore. They'll kill you then. So, try not to do
it for as long as you can. Only.one day you'll just feel like you can't
anymore, and you'll want to die."

"Why didn't they kill you, then?"

It was not that he needed the answer to this question so much, partly Spike
felt that he knew, could read it in the finger-shaped bruises on Buffy's
arms, swollen red traces of bites on her collarbones. And yet the girl's
words were not what he expected, Buffy's voice sounding flat and simple, all
the expression gone from it.

"Maybe, I'm already dead."

Another abrupt turn made the cell around him spin. Spike wanted to look at
Buffy, to see the girl who'd said such a thing but all he could see was
floating shadows around his eyes.

"You'll fall down," Buffy stated.

So what, Spike wanted to say. Now really, wasn't the girl stupid? She
claimed to be dead inside, and yet here, was concerned with whatever
happened to him and never stopped interfering with that schoolgirl shyness
no matter how Spike tried to drive her away. He pressed himself to the wall,
seeking support for his weak legs, but it seemed to be too little. The
blanket slipped on the floor as Spike shivered. His clothes were so wet and
they just wouldn't dry; he tried to pull his jacket tighter over himself but
with the tattered as it was it didn't want to stay together. He thought
about picking up the blanket, tried to reach for it, and almost lost the
precarious balance that he had. He struggled as much as he could, trying to
stay upright.

"Let me."

For some reason Buffy's voice sounded not from afar but very close. Weird,
Spike didn't even notice the girl get up and walk up to him. With his
attention dispelled like this, he really was in danger, wasn't he?

"Let me, I won't hurt you." Buffy gave his hand to him, not touching Spike;
she'd probably learned something, after all. "You're such a mess."

"And you're better?" Spike mumbled. What ever did Buffy want from him
again? But the outstretched hand looked like a possibility, like another
prop to support himself. And it probably was warm.

It wasn't; Buffy's fingers were thin and icy, but by then Spike didn't care
anymore. He clasped Buffy's hand, leaning heavily against the girl. His
pride reminded him that he should've said no, especially to a Slayer, but
his body felt too feeble for struggling. Somehow Buffy picked up her
blanket, put Spike's arm around her neck and walked him to another wall.

Then she let Spike slip down onto the floor and started settling down next
to him. For a moment, Spike's shirt swept open and he felt Buffy's smooth
stomach pressed against his bare skin.

"Did you really need to soaked head to toes?" Buffy cursed softly.

"You don't have too." Spike started, but his mind became fuzzy and blank
almost immediately. A burning pain seared in his temples and he stifled back
a groan.

"I don't have to," Buffy agreed. "It's just.I hate being alone. I think
I'll be alone again soon, when you die. So, before then."

"I'll die in three weeks," Spike said. "No, already less. Two weeks." He
didn't know how these words happened to slip out of his mouth and cautiously
he looked up at Buffy wondering what the girl would figure out of them.
Buffy sighed, shaking her head, light strands of hair falling over her
golden eyelashes.

"If you say so."

She obviously thought Spike was delirious. It was a good thing, of course,
but for a short while Spike wanted to reassure her, to make her believe he
was serious, he knew what he was talking about. He felt like telling Buffy
everything, about Drusilla, about the thing in his stomach, about his plans
to get out of here. He wanted to tell Buffy about Willow and the vampire's
touches and maybe, Buffy could say something that would make him feel better
about it all, would make him stop feeling soiled and trespassed.

But of course Spike didn't say anything like that. He felt Buffy's narrow
shoulder under his cheek and wanted to back away, break the contact. He had
to stop showing his weakness like that, had to stop enjoying the other's
closeness and warmth so much.

He even managed to shift a little before Buffy muttered in a sleepy voice.

"Stop fidgeting. I'm trying to sleep."

When did the girl have time to fall asleep? And why didn't she seem to mind
Spike's wet clothes and all the inconvenience together? He sighed, leaning
against Buffy's shoulder again, and felt a thin arm wrap around him. Spike
thought some more about getting free and then whispered resignedly.

"You should be glad I'm too damn sick to break your arm and suck you dry."

Buffy's breathing was soft and steady, so maybe she didn't even hear, and a
few moments later Spike fell asleep as well.

~

6:16 AM

Sand leaked in through every crack. No matter how you tried to keep it out,
no matter how diligently you cleaned, it still layered the furniture with a
film of golden yellow. Only the screen of the computer that shone with green
letters was untouched by the desert, protected by a cloth tent.

The man brushed the seat of the chair absently and sat down. His other palm
covered a nearly empty glass with a habitual, almost unconscious gesture.
His eyes, peering behind thin-wire glasses, inflamed with the constant
irritation of sand, never left the numbers on the display.

"Almost there," the man whispered, "Just a little more."

On the surface of the table, a sketchy drawing of a rose he'd drawn half an
hour ago became blurry and powdered. With lazy fingers he resumed the
contours, uncurled petals of the blossom. Then his hand returned to the
keyboard, and there was nothing lazy in his movements anymore.

He'd waited so long for this information to be sent. And now he was getting
it, and soon everything would be done. Everything would be changed. Soon
he'd get his opportunity to act, to bring his plans into reality.

Soon they wouldn't be able to deny the truth.

Many considered him a madman. Many considered him a criminal. The man's
expressive mouth twisted into a small grin at the thought and then emptied
his glass in one swallow. He, Rupert Giles, was neither. He was, in fact, a
retired librarian. He knew what he was doing and, more important, what he
was doing it for. He'd always known.

For the last three years he had been fighting for all of them. Ever since
the vampires took over, so swift, quick and bloody. And when he finally
realized that the Slayer wasn't going to come, he knew what to do. He had
adopted a small band of do-gooders, but by the real end it hadn't mattered.

That night had changed it all. He hadn't been there, of course, he had been
battling with a foolish notion that the world wasn't real. God, he was one
bloody oaf. Back then, he was optimistic and ideal. But now he knew better.
But he remembered Oz and Larry not returning after their time in the
warehouse. And it would only be a few months later that they would find Oz
again. Oz, once a quiet, smart young man had been.God, he didn't want to
think about it, but watching him stumbling blindly into the library, coated
with blood and his eyes dazed and confused, he knew that the old Oz was
dead. And he wasn't entirely sure he liked the new one.

Of course, after several failed attempts at stopping the vampires, they had
found them. They barely escaped the high school with their lives, and he
still remembered the helpless screams of those trapped inside. They had run
into the desert, where they stayed for the next six months, and had subtly
and dutifully brought about a small army.

Those cowards in the Watcher's Council; it was easy for them to judge him,
to accuse him of going to far, refusing to accept that the world didn't
belong to humans anymore. But how could he, who'd seen all that, the piles
of dead bodies, the air thick with the rotting stench of bodies burning, how
could he accept it? Those who had fought beside him never judged him. For
them he stayed a hero, no matter what anyone called him.

A rebel, an extremist, a warmonger. Giles shrugged; he didn't care what
they thought about him as long as there were people who helped him. Like
this source that was sending him the plans of a security system of the
biggest prison the vampires had created in California.

Vampires.those abnormalities. How could it happen? The quick, bloody
takeovers, the betrayed truces, the defeat of humans.But he was not going to
give up. At least that hadn't changed. And if the people needed violence to
make them pay attention, well, he would use violence. It wouldn't be the
first time for him. It wouldn't be the first time he risked his life for his
people, even if his people had given up on him, had accused him and
convicted him for the sake of keeping 'good' relations with the demons.

Lies. Lies and betrayal. It all made him sick. In war there were no lies.

The bottom of his glass was powdered with sand but Giles barely noticed it,
pouring another helping of Scotch. With a soft beep the letters on the
screen stopped. Done! A small icon of a message flashed at the bottom corner
and he clicked on it.

He chuckled to himself. There was once a time when he didn't know how to
turn on a computer let alone this much. Funny how war changes you.

"Good luck."

No signature. He'd probably never know the person who was risking their
reputation, and maybe their life to give him this information.

He got up, called, and people flooded the room, his men, thrilled, ready to
act and pushing each other to get a good look at the screen.

Nothing was impossible with his people, Giles was sure of it.

"This prison looks like a mean place."

"So far, so good. After we make them see what those monsters do, they won't
be able to deny anything."

"When do we start?"

"No reason to waste time."

His boy said the last phrase; even without looking Giles could recognize
that voice, the tone, out of thousands. A hard, cold sound, like a click of
a gun lock, of one of those heavy, shiny guns Oz was so fond of. Slowly,
Giles turned back and felt his heart sink, inevitably as it always happened
when he saw the boy. How many years had they worked together? Three, four?

The thin figure was hidden under a long sleeve sweater, sleeves almost to
the tips of his fingers, turtleneck high up underneath Oz's chin. His eyes
stared back at Giles openly, confidently, and almost with challenge.

"Of course, Oz," he said, reaching his hand and patting him on the back. To
anyone else, it would have been a companiable gesture. And it was supposed
to be. But at once Giles knew it was a mistake, knew it even before having
done it. The movement Oz made to withdraw from him was restrained,
practically unnoticeable, but Giles noticed it all right.

Did he expect it to be different? It would never be different. After what
those vampires had done to him for those couple months, he wouldn't let
anyone touch him. Even a pat on the back from an old friend.

"When we do this, everything will change," Giles said, trying to hush his
feelings of regret, "We'll get our honor back, our good names back."

His men replied enthusiastically. So many of them had warrants issued on
their names, the rewards announced for their heads, like he did. None of
them was a criminal. They all simply wanted justice, didn't want to put up
with the rule of bloodthirsty demons that had the control of all their
lives.

The moment they all left, Oz turned to him, his hazel eyes narrowed and
flashing. The voice was so flat it seemed there was no expression in it at
all, making it sound all the more dangerous.

"If you touch me again, I'll break your fingers, Rupert."

"I'm sorry, Oz. It was just a pat on the back, you know I meant no harm.
Just good luck for the merry chase ahead, right?"

"You're drunk."

"I am not."

It was just the third glass today, he knew his limits. Anything more would
make the world fuzzy and unclear. The third glass was the one that made
things easier, more tolerable.

"What if your people saw you like this?"

"They saw me. They didn't notice one bloody thing. It's just that you know
me so well, Oz."

Oz's eyes hardened even more. His frown distorted his smooth face. Giles
shook his head. No, nothing would be different. Every day it would be like
this, and those vampires were to blame.

The light of the rising sun, blood red, seeped through the small room in
the window, turning the clear liquid of Giles' Scotch first into rose, then
scarlet. It looked like wine now, but you could hardly get wine anymore
nowadays.

Maybe, there would be a time when he would drink wine again, Giles thought.
If everything went as they planned with their new operation, things would
change. He wouldn't need to hide anymore; you would be able to walk alone at
night with no fear. And maybe Oz would be different, too.

"I'll go check the flyers." Oz muttered, walking to the door without
looking back.

"Oz." He couldn't let the boy go like that. "Do you think we'll make it?"

He watched the boy stop, narrow shoulders deliberately straight.

"Don't you dare not to. Do you hear, Rupert?"







This Temptous Rage 4/14 Series Incomplete
Chapter 4: Let Fate Lead The Way
By Denna at dennaseer@hotmail.com <mailto:dennaseer@hotmail.com>
Rated NC-17 for language and violence
Keywords: Buffy and Spike.what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. I am not making a profit off of this.
Spoilers: "The Wish" except Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't killed
Summary: Spike must choose between his demon and his conscience.



July 5th, 11:23 AM

The hand was clenched on Spike's jacket so tight that the knuckles were
contoured white. For a while Spike peered at the thin fingers, aware of
someone's body pressed up against his and sighed, remembering. The girl, his
cellmate. The Slayer, Buffy. Somehow they changed position during their
sleep and now Buffy's fair head lay against Spike's chest, the girl's breath
ticklish on his skin.

His first impulse was to move, to shake the girl off, had Buffy not clasped
to him so hard. As it was, Spike decided he would bear it for a little while
longer. Her slow breaths left clouds of white in the freezing air. So, it
must be day now.

Buffy moved suddenly, just a few moments later and raised her head. Her
eyes, wide and still sleepy, stared at Spike through the strands of blonde
hair.

"We overslept," she said in a husky, drowsy voice.

"Overslept what, Slayer?" The strange comfort of their closeness was gone
as Buffy sat up, and Spike's own voice sounded hard and unfriendly. "Are you
late for an important appointment?"

Quite unexpectedly, Buffy giggled. A moment later the girl was on her feet
and walked to the door, picking up the rations and cup of blood off the
floor.

"Great, I knew it. They're not good anymore."

"I'm not thirsty," Spike shrugged, "Let alone hungry for some stale
biscuits." It was not quite true; he was a bit thirsty. He knew he didn't
have a fever at the moment but his head felt too light, swimming, and it
could have been from not drinking much the last few days. But he supposed he
ever got truly hungry.bloody hell, in his condition he knew he couldn't take
on the Slayer, no matter how broken. And he strangely found himself not
wanting to.

"Then I'm throwing them away," Buffy declared. Strange, the girl didn't
seem to be even aware of the possibility that Spike could just turn on her.
He had the feeling she would welcome her death with open arms though. Spike
watched the girl splash some water on her face over the bucket, teeth
chattering. "You know, Spike, what I'd really want right now? A cup of
really, really hot milk with ten scoops of Choco Mix like my mom used to
make."

Spike wanted to say something harsh about Buffy's preferences but then
thought that hot chocolate sounded truly good. He'd had it once, at a hotel
in Liverpool, with little marshmallows in it. Drusilla came to him and gave
him one of her little lectures that she wasn't a mortal boy anymore, that
his new chocolate was their blood.

Drusilla was dead; dead because of him. Recalling that, and recalling how
few days he had left hit like a cold shower. Spike got up on his feet and
winced in pain. The cloth, once white but now stained brownish-red, was
stuck to his side. He pulled on it and the pain grew sharper as a thin
trickle of blood slid down his skin.

"Wet it," Buffy said. There was a flicker of sympathy in the girl's eyes.
Spike frowned. He still couldn't make a conclusion about the Slayer. Was she
a fraud, a traitor to use against him? And if yes, then how could the girl
look and act so guileless, so innocent, so.sweet? Something that almost
made Spike have fancy ideas of touching Buffy, her wide-eyes face and soft
hair, of finding a word for her that wouldn't be abusive or harsh, but nice,
gentle.bloody fancy ideas indeed. Spike surely had enough self-control not
to have them.

And if to think about it, Buffy was far from innocent as one could be.
First of all, she was the bleedin' Slayer. One who had seen more death,
blood and carnage in her time than any girl like her before. And second, her
body was a toy for the vampires to pleasure themselves with, and she didn't
even hide it. All the rest was an illusion.

But then Spike spent two nights holding the girl, and even though his mind
repeated to him in an unavoidable voice that it was nothing, his body still
remembered it.

"Wet it," Buffy repeated. "It'll get off easier."

"I know," Spike muttered. It really did, as he squatted next to the bucket
and drenched the cloth with cold water. The bleeding was quite small,
already stopped by the time the material came off. Spike occupied himself
with it pointedly, not looking at Buffy who crouched on the other side of
the bucket, eyeing him curiously.

"I know, I know." Buffy said, "I bet you do. You just know everything,
don't you?"

Buffy's small hand dipped into the water and splashed some on Spike. For a
moment Spike looked at her, unable to believe the girl did it on purpose.
Buffy met his gaze with a brash, almost fearless smile.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"For fun."

"Fun? Is that soddin' fun for you?" Almost unexpectedly for himself, Spike
reached to the bucket and splashed a handful of water at Buffy. The girl
shuddered and laughed.

"Isn't it?"

Another spray of water hit Spike's face. He ran his fingers through his wet
hair absently. Buffy giggled as water doused her, trying to avoid it and
landing hard on the floor. There was something nervous, nearly hysterical in
her laughter and Spike recalled Buffy's eyes red with tears yesterday. The
girl's moods were swinging.but how could she be stable, in a place like
this? Spike had only spent a day and a half here and he already felt
something breaking inside him.

"God, I'm so cold," Buffy mumbled. Her lips were blue but she didn't look
entirely unhappy.

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Shut up." Buffy got on her feet, walked up to Spike, reaching for his
hand. After a moment of hesitation Spike took it. "Come under the blanket."

It came to Spike's mind that there wasn't much chance of them getting warm
in their soggy clothes, but there was nothing else to do and Buffy didn't
suggest anything, despite what Spike thought of her. She just wiggled next
to Spike until he growled at her, then she went quiet.

Minutes passed in silence, the heat of her body fighting off both of their
cold and wetness little by little. Spike found himself mesmerized with the
steady movement of Buffy's heart against his side. It was strange to think
that just two days before, he would have jumped at the chance to destroy
this Slayer.

If only he could sure he could return to where he once came from.so this
insanity could stop.

But he had to return to his world, could afford not to! It was a priority;
it was what he had to think about. Already two days were wasted here and he
hadn't come even close to escape. At this rate, Willow's words would turn
out to be true. He would never taste freedom again, that he would die here.

Willow. Spike's stomach lurched at the thought of the vampire. His mind
refused to recall what else Willow had said and done, and it was exactly the
same reason why Spike made himself recall. Willow was interested in him, so,
maybe he could use this to his advantage.

Oh no, he wouldn't! An involuntary shiver went through him, so strong it
made Buffy turn to stare up at him. Spike shut his eyes tightly, not wanting
to meet the girl's gaze. Somehow, Buffy was responsible for this thought
coming to Spike's mind at all. Buffy who had no qualms with using her body
to get through any situation.

It all made Spike feel faintly sick. But the truth was there was no other
way, no breach in security of the prison he could use. And he liked to think
of himself as a talented lover; if he could make Willow drop her guard.that
at least would give him something to start with.

Why did it have to be so unbearably difficult? He was not some sensitive,
insipid virgin. He had no troubles with dabblings of the flesh, why should
this Willow be more difficult that any other blood-sucking chit?

"Slayer," he called in a suddenly harsh voice.

"Ugh?" The girl's cheek was soft and warm against his shoulder and for a
moment Spike didn't want to go further, wanted just to stay as he was.and
let time slip away from him irreversibly.

"Tell me.about yourself. When did they start.using you like that?"

He felt Buffy recoil from him minutely. The silence was very long,
especially taking into account how eagerly Buffy chatted about everything,
and Spike added awkwardly:

"Can you tell me? I need to know."

Did he need to? What kind of answer could Buffy give him that would be
useful? Or did he just want to derive courage from the knowledge that
someone had been in a similar situation?

Of course, the Slayer's situation couldn't be similar. He, Spike, was doing
this for a purpose.

"I didn't do this kind of thing before I got caught if that's what you're
thinking," Buffy replied coldly. "When you're outnumbered nearly a hundred
to one what else can you do?"

"Was there no other way?"

"Maybe, there is, I dunno. But I don't have much of a choice. I learned
that I couldn't fight back a long time ago. And after a while, I didn't even
bother to try to escape. They keep me alive.because I'm the Slayer. And I
guess part of me thinks that if I'm not the Slayer anymore, they'll kill me
and I'll be in peace. But.t-they don't ever get sick of it.

"I don't do this because I enjoy it. They hurt me every time. They rape me,
Spike." She looked him hard in the eyes. "I'm not anyone's whore. And it
would do you well to remember that."

In surprising embarrassment, Spike broke his gaze with the Slayer. He
rubbed his temples; his head was throbbing and Buffy's words made his
headache even worse. Maybe, it was because of his repressed wish to ask
more, to ask different things of her. How it must have felt to be locked
here alone with only the knowledge that they would come for her again. How
long did she fight? Did she ever think she would be free?

Pointless questions.

"It was better on my own," Buffy continued and her voice grew animated
again. Spike felt a slim arm intertwining with his again, and for some
reason this touch didn't cause him aversion. He was almost pleased his
questions hadn't put off Buffy, although why would he feel like this? The
girl was nothing to him. "Before all this. I was good at my job. Really
good. And I traveled a lot. Sometimes I even had fun, if you can believe
it."

Fun.what a strange word, Spike thought. Fun like splashing each other with
water? Stupid idea.but for a moment Spike thought he would miss Buffy's
ideas. If his plan worked, he'd get out of prison. And Buffy would stay.to
die here.

He shook his head. He had to concentrate on other things, on whether he
would be able to fascinate the vampire long enough to make Willow give him
some slack.

The day shift was coming to an end. Buffy, who'd seemed quite comfortable
before now and kept babbling even though Spike hardly answered, went quiet
and somewhat tense. Submerged in his own scheming, Spike decided not to pay
attention.

Finally their rations landed on the floor and Spike felt how this sound
made Buffy flinch. The girl probably had another mood swing as her eyes
became huge and dark, staring at the door almost unblinkingly. She didn't
even move to take the food.

She's afraid they'll come for her, Spike thought in a sudden flash of
intuition. Just like they did yesterday and probably nearly every night.
This understanding made him dizzy, made his headache worse. Why did he care
what Buffy was afraid of? He had no reason to, he'd spent just a numbered
amount of hours with the Slayer and it definitely wasn't his first reaction
to care for mortals, let alone Slayers.

Buffy didn't matter. He had to think about Willow.

The door slid open but the vampire standing there couldn't be compared to
Willow in any way. This one was The Master. The one who'd taken Buffy with
him yesterday.

Spike felt how Buffy pressed herself to him, apparently without noticing
it, so closely that for a few moments Spike could feel the wild beating of
the girl's heart through her ribcage. He clenched his teeth, telling himself
it was none of his business. He had to mind his own things.

"I see you two got cozy," The Master said, arms folded across his chest.
His colorless lively mouth moved, twisting in irony. There was something so
loathsome in his tone, almost sickening. Spike touched his temples
unconsciously, the headache made him queasy. Buffy didn't lean against him
anymore. She sat very straight and frozen, her eyes locked on the vampire.

"What are you staring at, honey?" The Master asked almost mildly. His voice
was completely unlike Willow's but that little tone in it of fake
indulgence, of softness that was used to distract and lull, Spike
recognized. "Come to me.my personal little slut."

He watched Buffy get up and move to the door, the vampire's long fingers
running over the girl's shoulder. Spike got up on his feet as well; his
voice had a cracked, toneless note in it as he spoke:

"I want to see the vampire Willow."

"Oh?" The Master turned back to him. Spike noticed that in the corridor was
another vampire, blank-faced and silent. It was Xander, the vampire that had
beat him the day before. "You do, don't you?"

Briefly, Spike saw a flash of surprise in Buffy's eyes, but he didn't want
to look at the girl, he needed to concentrate on his task.

"Yes, I do," he confirmed quietly. It was not that the vampire needed his
confirmation. The creature's black eyes seemed to be devoid of any
expression but his mouth was curved in a sadistic grin.

"What a pity. I don't think Willow would like to see you."

How much he wanted it to stop there, not to go any further. But Spike knew
he had to and pushed himself into continuing.

"Maybe she will if you take me to her."

The burst of laughter from the Master was long and loud. It even brought
humor to Xander's face, a wan smiling appearing and disappearing just as
quickly. The Master looked down at Spike, obviously exhilarated.

"Do you really expect me to do it? And why do you want to see her, anyway?
Oh wait a minute, I think I already know."

So, the Master had already caught on. The rotten creature had guessed it
right, no doubt.

"Well, if you ask real nice, pretty boy, maybe, I'll agree to it. Or more
likely, I'll just kill you." The Master's bony fingers caressed Buffy's face
absently. Spike's gaze just slid over the girl. He refused to meet Buffy's
eyes, not wanting to see the hurt in them.

"Take me to Willow or there will be trouble."

A flash of anger dilated the Master's pupils, making them glassy. Spike
watched him step forward as the long fingered hand sought for the cattle
prod, and braced himself for pain. The muzzle of the rod pressed to his ribs
but he didn't see it, not looking away from the Master's face. He struck his
fingernails deeply into his palms that they bled.

"Master," the quiet voice of Xander came. "You know you can't."

Can't? Why not? It didn't make sense.but the shot never came. Instead of
that, the Master's face rippled, and suddenly the vampire stepped away from
him. Spike swallowed, the spittle feeling sharp like broken glass in his
throat. The Master was breathing hard, staring at him.

"You know that he's Willow's. The deal you made." Xander continued.

"Shut up!" The Master turned to him. "Shut the fuck up, Xander!"

But it was already clear, and Spike felt dizzy with the realization. For
some reason he was only available to Willow, either if this was a deal she
made with the Master or she was protecting him from the vampire for some
reason. And The Master couldn't touch him.

"Yeah, right. I can't lay a hand on you.for now. But at least I have
someone to vent my anger out on."

The vampire moved so fast, Spike barely noticed it, turning his hand with
the cattle prod into Buffy's stomach. Spike heard a short cry Buffy made as
the shock hit her, watching mortified as the girl's thin body collapsed on
the floor, racking in convulsions. He became aware of The Master observing
his reaction only a few moments later.

"Willow can have her toy," The Master said. "But I have mine, and I'm free
to do whatever I want with it."

Buffy finally stopped shivering, sitting up shakily onto the floor. The
girl's breath was coming out in short, uneven gasps, almost like sobs and
Spike recalled the agonizing pain in his chest the prod had brought. He
clenched his fists even harder, catching Buffy's unfocused stare, as if the
girl was not quite lucid. A little trickle of red rolled out from the corner
of Buffy's mouth.

"Did you enjoy the show, child?" The Master talked without looking at him,
coming up to Buffy, pulling the girl up on her feet. Buffy still looked
disoriented, her eyes sliding over Spike without recognition. And at the
next moment her gaze locked on Spike's with a weird expression. There should
have been resentment, but there was not. There was what looked like a rather
strange hope, as if he, Spike, was the only one there that could help her.

Maybe it was true. If only Buffy didn't have to pay for his impertinence.

"Not really. I'd be a bit more creative meself." He said, trying to make
his voice sound nonchalant. There was no point in saying something in
Buffy's defense, he told himself; all that would do would piss the vampire
off even more.

"Too bad. But the traditional biting and punching and kicking just doesn't
do it for me after four hundred years. You have to work with technology
nowadays. But then again."

The Master's long bony fingers clasped on Buffy's arm, tossing the girl
against the wall. The cry Buffy made at the impact made Spike want to close
his eyes and ears.

".the traditional method works just as well."

It probably would be easier if Buffy fought or screamed like a Slayer
should, didn't just take it with this withdrawn, blank expression in her
eyes. It looked as if she were retreated inside herself, maybe somewhere
where the pain wasn't there.

"Stand up," The Master said disdainfully, yanking Buffy up on her feet. The
girl's thin arm was already marked with fresh, finger-shaped bruises. Her
teeth were chattering again, but not with cold. The whole of Buffy's body
was shaking. The vampire's fingers pressed under Buffy's chin, making her
look up. Spike could see how the girl's throat worked as she tried to
swallow. There was more blood trickling from her mouth.

"Give me a kiss, little flower," The Master said.

Spike looked away in disgust. A part of his brain reasoned that the same
thing would probably be happening to him soon enough. But mostly he didn't
think anything at all, just sick and faint.

"Master," Xander said, "Let's take her back to the barracks now."

"Yes, enough," The Master agreed lightly, "Just one more little thing."

Spike winced as the vampire was next to him again, the creature's long arms
wrapped around Buffy's shoulders.

"I don't want you to feel guilty, pretty boy, for bringing it all on your
friend here."

The Slayer's not my friend, Spike thought harshly, nothing like that. The
misery in the girl's eyes was almost impossible to bear. I don't have to
think about it, Spike reminded himself, I have to think about getting the
hell out of here. But this thought didn't have real strength behind it. All
his thoughts were a mess; it might've been because of his sickness.but
somehow he couldn't be sure of that. He couldn't be sure of anything.

"In fact, the little whore likes it rough. I know it for sure," The Master
said. Buffy's face was nearly void of any expression, just her lips trembled
She must've been in pain, Spike realized; her arm was twisted behind her
back at a very wrong angle. "Don't you, Slayer?"

A push made Buffy's arm wrench up a bit more and a short cry escaped her
lips. Her eyes went unfocused for a moment.

Please say that you do, Spike thought, and let it be finished. Let them
take her away to the barracks or wherever they were going and leave him to
pursue his own aims alone. Let him stop seeing all this.

Memories flooded him suddenly and unexplainably. Buffy's small hand
clasping on his as she pulled Spike onto his feet, her giggling, childish
voice asking another pointless question, their shared warmth just a little
time ago.

And now the girl was standing there in front of him with her eyes nearly
black with pain and her lips almost white, with the vampire demanding her to
say those words, to humiliate herself even further.

"What's wrong, Slayer?" The Master repeated. "Tell him how much you like
it."

For a moment it seemed Buffy was going to say what the Master wanted her
to, what Spike wanted to hear from her. Then she made a sharp intake of
breath and kept silent.

"Master," Xander said in a bored voice. "Let's go. Others are waiting."

"Just a moment. Something's wrong with my slut. She's forgotten who she
belongs to."

The Master's movements were too fast again. Buffy was pushed away, slumping
against the wall. For a moment Spike felt relief, almost believing that
somehow it was all over, but the expression of desperate apprehension in
Buffy's eyes told him it wasn't.

"So you don't like me," The Master said. "I'm really hurt. But that's all
right. I know who you'll like. Xander, bring Oren here."

The words didn't have much meaning for Spike but the expression of wild
terror filling Buffy's eyes shocked him. The girl scrambled up on her knees
hastily, reaching for The Master. The Master stepped away just so the flap
of his shirt brushed against Buffy's fingers.

The girl's voice was so small it practically made no sound at all, coming
in disjointed and desperate.

"Please.please, Master.don't.I'll do whatever you want me to.please,
Master.I like you, I like what you do, I like everything."

Her voice broke. She was shaking so hard she could barely speak. A feeling
of premonition seized Spike, the knowledge that something that frightened
the Slayer so much couldn't be good, and probably not good for him either.
Xander stepped in, holding a black were-dog by a leash.

This one was bigger than the others that had guarded the boat he was caught
in. Its dark muzzle with small red eyes was wrinkled and leathery. Xander's
face was blank as he held the creature at his feet.

"Here, here," The Master said, stepping away. Spike saw how even residuals
of hope were gone from Buffy's gaze, shock making her eyes dull and
unseeing. The girl crouched on the floor, hugging herself, as if the barrier
of her thin arms could ever be enough protection. It seemed she couldn't
bear to look at the dog, and yet was bound to look at it, hypnotized.

"Perhaps you'll enjoy watching this, pretty boy." The Master said to Spike.
Xander unleashed the dog quietly, his face impenetrable.

The creature rushed forward, its strong body pushing Buffy down, its paws
on the girl's chest as its muzzle shoved against the girl's face and neck.
With a sick feeling Spike recalled his own stand against a were-dog, the
pressure of the heavy body, the seeking snout butting into his chest. Buffy
made just one sound, a choked gasp as the dog pushed her, and then went
silent. Spike could see blood leaking from her arms under the dog's claws.

Spike's habitual mantra, about getting out of here, about what he had to
do, didn't work anymore. The Master stepped a bit closer.

"Come on, Slayer. Don't fight. You know you won't win."

The dog backed away slightly, as if waiting for a sign to attack. Buffy's
head rolled, her eyes closed tightly. Her chest was fluttering as if her
breathing was troubled. Spike wondered if she was even conscious. She
probably was just to far into shock.

"All right, Oren. Go ahead."

Understanding hit Spike at the same moment the dog growled, plunging
forward again, its muzzle against Buffy's midriff, its teeth scraping the
girl's side. He saw a trickle of blood, and then it all swirled around him
as he threw himself forward, his body impacting against the dog's as he
pushed it away from Buffy.

So much for minding his own business, he thought absently.

The dog must've been confused for a second, letting him push it away, but
at the next moment it came back around and jumped. Spike didn't resist its
weight, rolling on the floor. Oren was over him, pinning him down, the dog's
huge head with bared teeth bent down.

"Take him, Oren," The Master said. "He's all yours."

The dog obeyed immediately but even as the words sounded, Spike threw his
hands forward, catching the heavy muzzle, pushing it away from his face. The
creature struggled against his grip, growling low and pressing down. He knew
he would die if his hands wavered. Most possibly he would die in any case.
He kept holding, not knowing how long he would be able to keep the muzzle
away from his throat. Like through a thick cloth, Xander's voice reached
him:

"Should I call it off?"

"Don't," The Master answered lightly. "I want to see this."

His fingers were too weak. The muscles in his arms screamed in agony and
with every movement Spike knew he had less time for the one move he needed.
Spittle fell on his face from Oren's muzzle. The dog's tiny eyes glared at
his face unceasingly.

It was a matter of speed, and how could he hope to be faster than this
werewolf? But he did do it, loosening his grip momentarily. He quickly
recaptured the huge head again before it could reach his throat and twisted
abruptly. His wrists flared in pain and for a split second he thought
nothing happened. Then a soft cracking sound told him the dog's neck was
broken.

Oren's paws still continued scrubbing at his chest, tearing his shirt and
skin, but the creature was already dead, blood thirst and hatred draining
from its cruel eyes. With a last effort Spike wrenched himself out from
under the dog before it slumped with all its weight upon him.

The room swayed and danced in front of his eyes, the light in it not yellow
anymore but red and black. He was vaguely aware of the presence of two
vampires there, hearing Xander's shocked voice repeating:

"He's killed it. He's killed it."

Spike made an unsure step and slid down on his knees next to Buffy. His own
voice sounded strange to him, his hands felt alien as he touched the girl.

"Are you okay, luv? Can you hear me?"

He felt Buffy move, and a moment later the girl was over him, pressing
herself to him, her thin cold arms wrapped around Spike's neck, the grip
almost painful as she shivered.

"S.Spike." The word came out stumbling but the hands touching his face,
petting it, seemed to know what they did. Spike thought about breaking free,
about this closeness not being right, that holding a Slayer was practically
blasphemy, but couldn't find enough in him to separate himself from Buffy's
embrace. "It could kill you," Buffy whispered, her cheek pressed to Spike's
shoulder. "It could kill you."

"Well, now something else will kill him," The Master interrupted. Spike
looked up at the vampire and saw the cattle prod directed at him. Now he did
push Buffy away, with a reasonable thought that it wouldn't do very good for
both of them to get hit, but this thought was the last thing he had time for
before pain seized him in white hot flame.

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