His lungs burned and his eyes stung, as the water enveloped his tiny head. He counted slowly and patiently to himself, waiting for the moment when he would be privileged with the taste of fresh air. It finally came, and he took big, greedy gulps.

"No, mummy, please!" he gasped, gripping at the toilet bowl with all his might. But his desperate pleas were ignored, and he felt his head be shoved under once again, the bitter water filling his mouth...

His eyes opened with a start and reality came crashing down upon him. He groaned, and dug his face deep into the depths of his welcoming pillow. Sunlight poured in through the open window, casting a familiar gloom upon the disheveled apartment. A disarray of dirty clothes and beer bottles lay scattered about the small room, and the sound of a ringing telephone could be heard in the seemingly far off distance.

Spike Tyler lifted his head and glanced at the ringing machine.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, and picked it up. "This better be good, mate."

"Tyler? Get your lazy ass outta bed and meet me at 614 Crawford Street."

"I got plans today, Willy."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It's called sleep. So piss off."

"It's almost noon, asshole. Meet me at 1:30. Don't be late."

Spike listened to the sound of the dial tone for a second longer than necessary, before placing it back on the receiver. He sighed, and ran a tired hand through tousled bleached hair.

Ten minutes later, he was out the door.

~~~

"You're early," Willy noted, glancing up at the approaching figure.

"Don't get used to it. What do you want?"

Willy Thompson stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyeing his friend with a cautious apprehension. He shifted uncomfortably on both feet, and Spike noticed the small beads of sweat forming just above the skinny man's brow. He was nervous.

"You and me Tyler--we've been friends for a long time, yeah? We've seen a lot of scary shit together, but we make it through, you know?"

"Out with it," Spike ordered.

"Right. See, the point is, sometimes sacrifices need to be made... risks gotta be taken. Friendships reach that place where you gotta make choices. Know what's important..."

"How much are we talking?" Spike interrupted, finally catching on to his friend's ramblings.

Willy gulped. "Five hundred grand."

"Fuck! What's the deal?"

Willy started fidgeting again, his breathing steadily increasing. "Well, you see, I know this guy," he started, wiping his dark, greasy hair out of his eyes. "And he's sorta got this problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"A big problem... with his chick."

Spike's eyes darkened, not liking this new direction. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He paused. "He wants her dead."

"What?!"

Willy reached into his bag and pulled out a few items, handing them to Spike. "So, here's the gun. Here's her address. Keep me posted, and uh... don't get caught."

He gave the taller man a pat on the back and shuffled past him. Spike grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down into a nearby chair. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You've got to be shitting me!" he said, incredulously.

"I shit you not, friend. I'd do it myself, but you know, you got that whole misogyny thing goin' for ya..."

"I'm not killin' anyone."

"Now, now. Let's not make any rash decisions here. You did catch the money part, right?"

"Yeah, I get the idea. But I'm not killin' anyone."

"She's probably just some hooker who did him wrong," Willy tried to reason. "You'll be doin' the world a favor!"

Spike paced back and forth, his hands behind his head. "Willy, I can't. I'm sorry."

Willy stood up, taking a deep breath. "Listen, pal. When you find her, just pretend she's that dead mother of yours. It'll make it a whole lot easier."

"Fuck you."

"I'm just sayin'! There's five hundred grand on the line here. Offers like these don't happen everyday..."

"Yeah, I know," Spike said, trying to gather his thoughts.

"You know what? Why don't you sleep on it. Go back home to your smelly apartment and think it over once or twice. Then gimme a call tomorrow mornin', alright?"

"Willy..."

"Think about, Tyler. It's the chance of a lifetime."

He flashed Spike that cooky grin of his and then disappeared out the front door. Spike watched him leave, then stood alone in the musty, old house contemplating his options: waste a good-for-nothing chick and score it big... or don't. He sighed.

He wasn't a killer. But he sure as hell was no saint. If given a good enough motive or reason, he could go through with it. But five hundred thousand dollars should have been a good enough reason. So why was he freaking out? She was a girl. Probably of the worst kind. He knew about Willy's "friends" and what kind of people they were. He probably would be doing the world a favor. One less immoral female roaming the streets, doing their best to corrupt a good man's heart. Because they were all the same. A bunch of decadent, self-indulgent bitches.

Spike shook his head. This wasn't a personal issue. It was professional. He could do this. Swallowing hard, he looked at the items Willy had given him. He set the gun down on the table and studied the piece of paper and small photograph.

Her name was Buffy Summers. She looked young--barely twenty. She had light blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders and striking green eyes. Her gaze was focused somewhere just behind the photographer, but an innocent smile grazed her lips, signifying that she was posing for the camera. If Spike didn't know any better, he'd say she looked like a nice girl with a heart of gold.

But fortunately for him, he did know better. And he knew this girl was no different from the others.

He put the information in his pocket and turned to face the door. The gun still rested upon the wooden table behind him, practically begging him to take it. He thought about it. Then took a step towards the door. He thought about it one last time, before quickly turning around, snatching the weapon, and hurrying outside into the afternoon sun.

~~~

It was nearly midnight.

Spike sat on the edge of his bed, studying the picture before him. He hadn't been able to think of anything that day, other than Buffy Summers and the decision he had only a few more hours left to make. He wondered what this girl could have done to drive her lover to wanting her dead. Steal from him? Lie to him? Cheat on him? He figured that last option. A woman could never be satisfied.

The more stories Spike made up in his mind, the less guilty his conscience felt. But it still didn't make the decision any easier.

With a weary sigh, he leaned back in his bed, taking the photo with him. He stared at it, up until the moment his eyes closed, and sleep finally took him over.

~~~

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I went too hard on you last time," she cooed, running a hand over his bare chest.

His mother cackled in delight, as the fire burned out, leaving yet another scar on her young son's body.

~~~

"Willy? Willy, it's me," Spike said into the receiver, not giving himself another moment to think. He was still covered in sweat from his recurring nightmare, as he gripped the phone tightly in his hand.

"Yeah, buddy?" his friend asked, hopefully.

A beat.

"I'll do it."

"Same place. Tonight at ten."

He hung up the phone. It was done.

Buffy Summers stepped carefully down the spiral staircase, the sounds of her parents' bickering voices floating from the kitchen. As soon as she reached the bottom, Pepper was immediately at her side. She reached down, feeling for the leash, and let the large, grey dog lead her into the adjacent room. The yelling got louder with every step she took, signaling her that she was proceeding in the right direction. Buffy could never be too sure these days.

"Oh, Buffy, there you are! I was about to send up one of the maids to make sure you were alright. You really shouldn't let Pepper leave your side," Joyce Summers scolded upon noticing her daughter lingering in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I was just listening to music," she explained. "Are we still going out for supper tonight?" Buffy could hear the simultaneous sighs coming from her mother and father.

"No, sweetheart. Your father has to work tonight. We'll have to order out."

Hank immediately became defensive. "This is an important client!"

"Hank, don't raise your voice in front of Buffy."

"I'll raise my voice if I damn well feel like it!" her father blasted.

Buffy flinched and clasped her hand tighter around Pepper's leash. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a half an hour," she said quietly, turning on her heal.

"Honey, I don't like you taking these walks at night. You know that," Joyce quickly interfered.

Her daughter continued walking towards the door. "I'll be fine, Mom."

She then reached out until she found the door handle and slowly turned the knob. Pepper ran out in front of her, always ready to lead the way, as Buffy closed the front door behind her. She sighed when the cool night breeze grazed over her skin. She always loved being outside--especially at night. She loved the sounds, the smells... everything about it. Of course the fact that it was dark out had nothing to do with her love for it, because everything was dark to Buffy. Walking outside on a bright summer day was like walking into a pitch black room. But she was used to it now. Almost three years had gone by since the accident, and Buffy had become very familiar with her surroundings. Sometimes she almost left her trusty guide dog inside and ventured out into the night alone.

But she never did. Pepper was always at her side when she left the house, making sure Buffy was safe and sound. She knew that she was taking a risk every time she stepped out into the welcoming outdoors, but sometimes risks just needed to be taken. It was hell being cooped up in that mansion-sized house all day. Some fresh air was almost a necessity to Buffy. So no matter how dangerous her decision was, she somehow felt like it was a vital part of her life.

But that's nothing knew to you, is it, Buffy? Risks, danger... It's what got you into this whole mess in the first place, her subconscious reminded her, and not for the first time. That fateful night three years ago haunted her day after day. The screams. The shattered glass. The blood. All that blood...

Buffy cringed and quickly shook her head of the disconcerting thoughts and images. It wasn't smart to let her guard down when she was outside on her own. It's not like she lived in a shady neighborhood or anything--no, quite the contrary, really. Her father, Hank Summers, would never even think of moving his family into anything less than a perfect house in a picture perfect neighborhood. And Buffy was used to it by now. Always getting what she wanted, always getting her way... especially now. People pitied her in this rich town, located a few miles outside of LA. Almost everybody knew about the accident. About her condition. And that only made them shower her with expensive, new clothes and big, fat checks. But in all these three years, Buffy never once got the only thing she yearned for since that night.

To open her eyes and see the world.

It never happened. And never would. And Buffy was pretty much okay with that fact now. She no longer felt like she did during the few months after it happened. Those long, hard, brutal months.

Buffy remembered those months as if they only occurred yesterday. The shock, the denial... the pain. She had cried herself to sleep for almost a year. One time, in a fit of desperation, she even took a knife to her wrist. As she stood over the kitchen sink, steak knife in hand, her mother walked in to put the groceries away. Needless to say, an appointment to see the local psychologist was scheduled for the next day. Doctor Thomas had regarded her, his voice full of pity, and asked, "How are you feeling today, Ms. Summers?"

Buffy stared ahead of her into the sea of blackness and replied, "My boyfriend is dead and now I'm blind. How would you feel?"

That was the last time she ever spoke with Doctor Thomas. She had promised her parents that she would never attempt to take her life again, and she always stayed true to that promise.

Overall, Buffy Summers was a good girl. One of upstanding morals and values, loved and raised in a respected home and family. She was personable and outgoing, and always used her manners. Some days she felt like she didn't deserve such a heavy burden. Not being able to open her eyes and actually see was sometimes more than she could bear. But then there were other days when she was thankful for whoever was watching out for her. She could have easily died that night--heck, she almost did die. The doctors said it was a miracle. Yet, still, she wasn't let off the hook without a price. And what a price it was.

Buffy sighed to herself, trying not to think too much about it, as she walked along the familiar sidewalk with Pepper trotting happily in front of her. She could hear the dog's nails click against the pavement with each step they took, informing her that they were still on the correct path. As they soon reached the end of their nightly walk, Pepper instinctively began to turn around and lead Buffy back home.

Only she stopped for a moment when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She was extremely receptive to everything going on around her, so when the faintest noise of a new presence alerted her, Buffy immediately stopped what she was doing and listened carefully.

Sure enough, the sound of someone walking towards her could be heard in the distance. She swallowed back a lump of fear in her throat, wondering how much further it was to her house. Buffy never worried about being abducted or harmed during her walks at night with Pepper--the only danger she ever suspected was getting lost or falling down. And just because someone was walking over to her, didn't necessarily mean they had cruel intentions. It's just that never once had Buffy ever run into anybody else on her nightly excursions.

Taking a deep breath, she decided not to stick around to find out who it was. Loosening her hold on Pepper's leash, the dog immediately resumed her step, carrying Buffy along down the sidewalk.

~~~

Earlier that Night

"Breathe, Tyler. You can't do this if you don't."

"Shut up. I'm tryin' to think," Spike snapped, his heart rate steadily increasing with every nervous breath he took.

"Are you sure you're gonna go through with this? 'Cause if you screw up..."

"Willy, I'm fine. Just... run it by me one more time." He finally stopped pacing, and faced his friend.

"Yeah, so you're this cop, right? You find the chick and show her your shiny, new badge, tellin' her that the father figure's in trouble--"

"Hank?"

"Yeah. Hank Summers."

"Right. So I tell her to come with me..."

"Exactly. Then you take her to the place and blow her brains out."

Spike started pacing again.

"It's easy. You just pull the little trigger and it's done."

"It's not that simple," he reminded.

"Sure, it is! Now, you got everything? Her address, the gun--"

"Wait, where am I takin' her again?"

"It's 'bout an hour north of here. Here's the directions."

He handed him another slip of paper, the ink barely legible. Spike frowned.

"Why here?" he wondered, trying to make out the blue scribbles in his hand.

"Don't know. Didn't ask."

He sighed. "Who is this guy, anyway? Did he even say why he wants her dead?"

"Again, didn't ask."

"Christ, Willy, you do realize I'm going off to kill someone, right?" he told him, flustered.

"Yeah, I got the memo. It's just none of my business. This guy is pretty shady, you know. If you say the wrong thing or ask the wrong questions, he'll waste you on the spot."

Spike paled.

"Look, Tyler, I know this is askin' a lot. But just think of the reward. Five hundred grand..."

"Right. Think of the money."

"That's my boy. Now go kill."

Willy picked up Spike's keys from off of the table and tossed them to him with a wink. And then he was gone.

Spike swallowed hard, stuffing the directions into his pocket. He already knew how to get to Buffy's house. Memorization comes easy when it's all you think about. But he had no idea where this no-name place was or why he had to do the job there. So many questions, so little time. He sighed and walked out the door.

It was a short drive to the Summers' residence. No more than about ten minutes, anyway. It didn't give Spike much time to think, but considering what he was about to do, that was probably a good thing. He pulled into the large cul-de-sac, eyeing the big, white house. He rolled his eyes at the gigantic homes that stood before him, cursing out the filthy buggers who were rich enough to buy them. Spike didn't expect Buffy Summers to live in such a neighborhood--he had figured she would reside in the bad part of town. The area in which his friend Willy was all too familiar with.

His gaze suddenly settled upon the front door of the Summers' house. Out walked a small, blonde girl, holding onto the leash of a grey dog. She was wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a white halter top that tied around her slim neck. She didn't seem like the "hooker" type Willy had mentioned. Hell, she looked even more innocent than she did in the photograph. Her hair was down, grazing past her shoulders, and bouncing behind her as she walked. Spike again wondered what little Buffy Summers could have done to incite such an unforgivable vendetta against her.

"There's always somethin'," Spike mumbled under his breath, watching as she and her dog walked unknowingly down the darkened sidewalk. He decided to follow her until she was furthest from her house, and then approach her.

Putting his black DeSoto in drive, he immediately drove out of the circle, eyes never leaving the unsuspecting blonde. He ended up parking his car along the opposite side of the road, waiting for his moment to make himself known. It soon came when he noticed her begin to turn around and head back home.

"Now or never, mate," Spike said, carefully opening the door to his car. He stepped out onto the empty street, trying to get his nerves under control.

Then, with a deep and shaky breath, he began to walk towards her.

"Oh!" Buffy gasped as she turned around, coming face to face with more darkness. The strong hand clamped over her shoulder, startling her to the point of almost dropping Pepper's leash.

"Buffy. Buffy Summers?"

She swallowed hard, trying to look casual. "Y-Yes."

"I'm Officer Tyler," he said, regarding her carefully. She seemed to be looking somewhere just behind him...

Buffy sighed in relief, though her heart was still racing. "You frightened me."

"My apologies. Anyway, I have to ask you to come with me."

"Is there something wrong?"

"'Fraid so," he explained. "It's about your father."

"Is he okay? Is he hurt?"

"I'll fill you in on the way."

Buffy frowned, confused. She had only been gone for about twenty minutes. What possibly could have gone wrong? And where exactly was he going to take her? "I-I should really take my dog home first."

"No time. Now if you'll just follow me..."

"I'll only be a minute," she insisted.

Spike clenched his jaw. And why did she keep staring off into space? If he didn't know any better, he would say she was--

"Do you know what happened?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm supposed to escort you to the hospital. Your mum's already there."

Oh, God! Buffy thought. Her mind was racing with possible scenarios. Had he had a heart attack? Had he fallen down the stairs? But then, what if this man was lying to her? "Are you really a cop?" she finally asked.

"'Course I am. Here." He sifted through his pocket and pulled out his old, silver badge. "Sorry I'm not in uniform. I'm workin' on an undercover case."

Buffy held out her hand. He placed the badge in her palm. She rubbed her fingers over it lightly, pretending that she actually saw it. She didn't like people to know she was blind--especially complete strangers.

"Ready then?"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. And then she dropped Pepper's leash. The dog immediately trotted down the sidewalk towards Buffy's house.

"Right then. Let's go."

Buffy just stood there, unsure of which direction to proceed in. She silently cursed to herself, realizing that she would have to tell him she was blind. "Um, Officer?"

Spike turned around and noticed her frozen on the sidewalk. "Yeah?"

"I, um... I-I can't see."

"Beg your pardon?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what she was telling him. Then he realized. She was blind. "Oh."

"I'm sorry. But, could you...?"

Spike gritted his teeth together, wondering why Willy failed to fill him in on this little detail. He briefly wondered if this would make the job easier... or harder. "Uh, sure. Here." He approached her, and awkwardly placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her towards his black car.

Buffy sucked in a breath at the feel of his warm palm on her bare skin. But she quickly brushed the sensation aside. "Thank you, Officer."

"Call me Spike."

"Spike? Is that a nickname or something?"

He shrugged. "More or less."

She nodded, and fumbled for the door handle. God, I must look like such an idiot.

Spike noticed her struggle and sighed. "I got it," he said, and swiftly opened the passenger door. Buffy slid her way inside.

She decided it smelled like cigarettes and leather. Not something she expected from a cop car, but it wasn't unpleasant. Quickly getting herself situated, she reached out in the direction of the seatbelt and clicked it in place. She heard Spike get in and shut his door. A few seconds later, they were driving away.

Spike took a deep breath and clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He instinctively reached for a cigarette, his hands slightly shaking.

Buffy heard the sound of a lighter, and smoke immediately invaded her nostrils. "That can kill you, you know."

"Yeah," he said, as he breathed in deeply of the nicotine and blew it out through his nose. "Lots of things can."

"That's bleak."

"That's life."

Spike's cell phone rang, startling them both. He reached into his pocket, partially grateful for the distraction. "Hello?"

"Tyler? You waste her yet?"

"Uhh..." He glanced at Buffy. She was smiling pleasantly out the window. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Yeah, this is Officer Tyler. And no."

"Hurry it up already!"

"That's great news. I'll be sure to tell her."

"Whatever, pal. I'll call you later."

"Thanks. Bye."

Click.

Buffy looked in his direction. "My dad?"

"Oh, uh, no. The hospital. Looks like he's goin' to be fine."

"What happened?"

Spike raked his mind for the most believable lie. "Thought he broke his arm. Just a fracture though."

She sighed in relief. Nothing serious.

They lapsed into silence before Spike decided to break it. "So, how old are you?" Why do you bloody care?

"Nineteen. You?"

"Twenty-eight."

Buffy nodded. "I wonder where I'll be when I'm twenty-eight..."

Dead. "Probably off makin' millions. That's what you wealthy-types do, am I right?"

"That's what my father does. I don't see me having much of a future."

Well, he couldn't argue there. So he didn't. And it was silent again.

Buffy leaned back into her seat, her thoughts drifting to the mysterious man beside her. He sure didn't seem like a cop. Then again, the only time she'd ever encountered the police was when she was unconscious, so that didn't really make her a very liable source. But she figured he would be talking into some walky-talky contraption or getting reports over a static-y radio. Internally shrugging her shoulders, she placed her head against the headrest and sighed.

Spike realized that he did luck out to an extent. He wasn't sure this girl was going to buy the fact that he was cop, but wasn't in uniform and didn't have a cop car. His old badge and an "undercover" persona were the only things going for him. If he had more time to plan, one of his buddies from the station may have helped him out, but one day was definitely not enough time to plan. Thankfully, this girl was not only blind, but she seemed rather naive as well.

Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he tossed it out the window and rolled it back up.

"How long have you been a cop?"

Spike glanced at her, not really in the mood to answer any of her questions. It probably wasn't a smart idea to get in good with the woman you were about to murder. "A while," was all he said.

Buffy hated not being able to see him. Of course she always hated not seeing the people she spoke to, but for some reason, she hated it extra. Whenever she had a conversation with somebody, especially a stranger, she needed to have some sort of physical contact with them. Otherwise she felt like she was talking to herself or that they weren't paying attention to her. It was something she had done ever since she became blind, and it usually freaked people out. Sometimes she would reach out and rest her hand on their shoulder, or touch their arm. They didn't understand her need for that connection.

So it was a natural reaction for Buffy to extend her hand and place it gently on his thigh as she asked her next question. "Did you always want to be a cop?"

Spike looked down at the hand now resting upon his jean-clad thigh. What the hell is she doing? his mind wondered. The obvious answer was that she was one of those touchy-feely birds just trying to hit on him. Naive, my ass. "No," he finally answered.

He's not pulling away from me! Buffy inwardly shouted. It seemed like everyone she spoke with pulled away from her. Like she was some sort of freak or something. She smiled. "What did you want to be then?"

So many bloody questions. Maybe he should just shoot her now so she shuts up... "Don't remember."

Buffy seemed to finally get the impression that he wasn't in the mood to talk. His voice held a lot of irritation and she suddenly became embarrassed that she upset him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I was just curious."

"S'alright. I just... have a lot on my mind is all." He glanced down at the hand still resting on his leg and shifted in his seat.

She was tempted to ask what was on his mind, but held her tongue. She didn't want to get him anymore annoyed with her. Buffy hated it when she annoyed people--especially people who sounded cute. Sexy even. With that lulling voice and velvety British accent... yeah, definitely sexy. But unfortunately for her, she would never know. Besides, he was too old for her, anyway.

But, even so, Buffy was lonely. She hadn't had a boyfriend since...

And Angel doesn't count. Sure he's always been there for her, before and after the accident, but she never had any romantic feelings for him. He comes around all the time, hoping that one day she'll change her mind, but it's not likely. Angel's sweet, but he's not... well, he's her father's choice.

Spike looked over at Buffy to find her deep in thought. Part of him was curious as to who wanted her dead and why, but part of him also didn't want to know anything about her. The less he knew, the easier it would be. Curiosity took over his common sense and he asked anyway, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

And that sounded much more interested than he had intended.

Buffy jerked her head up, slightly taken off guard by the sudden question. Why did he want to know about her love life? Maybe he likes you... she thought. Then she shook her head. Yeah, right. He did catch the blind part, right? "No, not really. Well, if you asked Angel, he'd say otherwise..." she chuckled.

"Angel?"

"Yeah. He's the guy who's not really my boyfriend, but really wants to be. You know the drill."

Bingo. "And you don't fancy him?"

"Not so much. He's the son of one of my dad's co-workers. I've known him for a while now, but we've never been more than friends," she explained.

"I see."

"What about you? Seeing anyone?"

"No," he replied, a little too adamantly.

Buffy arched a brow at his tone. "Bad break up?"

He scoffed and reached for another cigarette.

Guess so, she sighed, and eventually pulled her hand away from his leg. A few more minutes passed and Buffy wondered how much longer this drive was going to be. She didn't recall the hospital being so far away. "Are we almost there?"

Spike eyed the piece of paper sitting on his dashboard and took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said. "Almost."

Joyce Summers poured herself a cup of hot tea, glancing nervously at the clock. Buffy had been gone for almost an hour now, and she was becoming extremely worried. She decided to give her about five more minutes before she called the police.

With a heavy sigh, she took her beverage with her into the spacious living room and took a seat in the recliner. The minutes passed by slowly, until she finally heard the soft whimpers coming from the front door. Joyce sat up instantly, setting down her mug.

"Buffy?" She stood from the chair with a frown, straining her ears. Then she realized that they weren't human whimpers. Her heart stopped. "Pepper..."

Joyce ran to the door at lightening speed and whipped it open. Pepper sat there, whimpering and wagging her tail.

Alone.

"Oh, god. Where's Buffy?" She quickly let the dog inside and dashed over to the telephone. Dialing the numbers with a shaking hand, a sob almost escaped her lips when Hank answered. "Hank! Oh, Hank."

"Joyce? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Buffy! She... she's..."

"What is it?"

Putting a hand to her rapidly beating heart, she choked out: "She's missing."

~~~

Twenty more minutes passed, and Spike spared his passenger a glance. It looked as if she had fallen asleep. He took a deep breath and plucked the piece of paper off of his dashboard. He read the rest of the directions silently to himself:

After you turn on Huntington Blvd., go straight for about three miles. There's a narrow dirt road to your right, heavily surrounded by trees. Turn. Drive up about a mile or two and then pull off to the side of the road. Shoot the girl. Take the body deep into the forest and bury it there. The grave has already been dug and there's a shovel waiting for you. Bring a flashlight and you'll see where I'm talking about. Good luck, friend.

The body. Bloody hell. He had completely forgotten about that part.

He set the directions back down, his entire body tense. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest, and only started beating faster when he noticed the narrow dirt road Willy spoke of. He slowed down and turned, the sound of gravel crunching beneath his tires the only thing audible in the still of the night. He drove up four miles, just to be safe, and then pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Buffy stirred in her sleep when she heard the engine turn off. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned tiredly. "Are we there?"

Spike swallowed hard. "Yeah." He could barely make her out through the darkness, but the moon provided just the right amount of soft light to aid him in his task. He reached over her lap and opened up the glove compartment.

"What are you doing?" she wondered, curiously. "Aren't we going in?" Not waiting for his response, she attempted to open her door. It was locked. "What's going on?" Her eyes were now wide, slightly glazed with fear.

Spike ignored her and continued to sift through the items in the small compartment. His hand finally came in contact with cool metal and he pulled out the gun.

"Spike, please talk to me. Where are we? What's happening?" she pleaded, desperate for some answers. She didn't remember being this scared in a long time. She was in a car with a stranger, who was acting more and more suspicious by the minute, and she couldn't see a damn thing. Was he going to hurt her? Kill her, even? But why would he do that? They didn't even know each other. What the hell was going on? His voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Quit your frettin', blondie. I'll make it quick."

She gulped. "Make what quick? What are you talking about?"

Spike took a deep breath and turned in his seat to face her. "I'm goin' to kill you," he said bluntly.

Her bottom lip began to tremble. "Why?"

"Because someone out there wants you dead."

"So you're a hitman or something?"

"Or something."

Buffy closed her eyes and opened them, and they were freshly coated with tears. "Please don't do this. I-I can get you money. Anything you want! Just please... please don't hurt me."

"Don't want your money. Don't want anything from you." His voice was calm, despite the fact that he was getting dangerously close to chickening out. Her desperate pleas and frightened eyes were almost enough to make him call the whole thing off. Get a grip, mate!

"Spike, please. I--"

"Knock it off!"

She froze. "Wh-what did I do?"

"Stop sayin' my name like you bloody know me."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Me too." He cocked the pistol.

"No! Please!"

"Shut up."

"I'll scream."

In response, Spike reached over and switched on the radio dial. He turned the volume up as high as it would go, and Guns N' Roses blasted through the speakers. Buffy tried to protest, but she couldn't even hear her own voice. She tried to reach for the dial, but couldn't find it. Oh, god.

In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your
knees, knees...
I wanna watch you bleed

Spike's breathing became more labored as the music pierced his eardrums. Buffy was openly crying now, the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.

Welcome to the jungle
We take it day by day
If you want it you're gonna bleed
But it's the price you pay

He raised the gun to her head, holding his arm with his left hand to keep it steady. Still it shook, as sweat dripped down his chiseled face.

Welcome to the jungle
Feel my, my, my serpentine
I wanna hear you scream

He couldn't look at her. That's what was making this so hard. So he closed his eyes tightly, trying to pictures something other than her head exploding all over his car. Various images played throughout his mind, and when he opened his eyes, Buffy was no longer there. She was someone else. She was...

"Mother," his voice cracked.

Welcome to the jungle
It gets worse here everyday
You learn to live like an animal
In the jungle where we play

Buffy looked up, wishing she could see his face. Maybe then she could get through to him somehow. He didn't want to do this. How could he? She never did anything to him. And who would want her dead? And why did he just call her mother?

Buffy flinched when the head of the pistol suddenly collided with her temple.

If you got a hunger for what you see
You'll take it eventually
You can have anything you want
But you better not take it from me

"Bitch!" he shouted, his eyes dancing with hate. Buffy screamed but he didn't hear her. Didn't see her.

All he saw was her.

"Please! Stop it! Stop it!" she begged.

"Shut your fuckin' face!"

You know where you are
You're in the jungle, baby
You're gonna die

Spike pressed the pistol harder against her head, but she kept laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

"Stop laughing! I'm goin' to kill you, you stupid bitch!"

"I'm not laughing! Please don't kill me!" Buffy cried.

In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your knees
It's gonna bring you down

He put his finger on the trigger and closed his eyes, letting his emotions take him over. He thought he heard screaming in the far off distance, begging, pleading for him to stop. But the laughter surrounded him. Her laughter. And she was laughing at him. Always at him.

"Gaaahhh!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse and desperate.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger...

... his phone rang. He didn't hear it, of course, but he felt it. The incessant vibrating in his pocket. This seemed to bring him back to reality and he opened his eyes.

Buffy sat there, huddled in the corner of her seat, tear stains shining on her face beneath the moonlight. Spike quickly flipped off the radio and fumbled through his pocket for the phone. He could taste his salty sweat on his tongue as he opened his mouth to speak. "H-Hello?"

"It's me, Tyler."

He swallowed and glanced over at Buffy. She was shaking, her knees drawn up to her chest. "Willy?"

"You didn't kill her yet, did you?"

Spike shook his head, but then realized Willy couldn't see the gesture. "No," he said. "I was just about to..."

"Good," he replied, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Because there's a new plan."

"What?"

"New plan," he repeated. "You're not gonna kill her."

"But I thought--"

Willy cut him off with a grin. "Yet."

"She's dead! Oh, god!" Joyce wailed, burying her face against her husband's chest.

He patted her head. "She's not dead. We'll find her."

The police officer stood in their doorway, taking notes. "So she left around eleven o'clock. Is that correct?"

Joyce nodded, tears coating her face.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Why on earth would you let your blind daughter outside on her own at that time of night?"

"She takes nightly walks with Pepper every day. She's done it ever since--"

"Wait a minute," the cop interrupted, realization clear on his face. "Buffy Summers. She's--"

"Yes," Hank replied, looking away.

The officer cleared his throat and continued the interrogation. "And you found the dog at your door around midnight?"

Joyce nodded again with a sniffle.

"Does your daughter have any enemies? Do you know of anyone who'd wish to harm her?"

"No!" she insisted. "Everyone loves Buffy."

"I see. Has she had any problems at home? Any reason to... run away, maybe?"

"Of course not," Hank answered. "And even if there were, she would always take Pepper. She must have been kidnapped."

"Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet. A person is only considered missing after twenty-four hours."

"I can't wait that long!" Joyce said. "My baby is gone. I'm not going to sleep until I find her."

He jotted down some more notes. "Do what you must, Ms. Summers. But by law, a person is only considered miss--"

"I don't give a damn about the law!" Hank shouted. "There has to be something we can do before then."

The cop sighed. "I'll tell you what. We'll hook up a tracking device to your telephone. There's always a possibility that a ransom may be involved. If somebody calls, saying that they have your daughter, we'll be able to record their location."

They nodded in agreement.

"Which leads me to my next question," he continued. "Do you have any enemies, sir?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're a very wealthy man. Is it possible that someone has taken your daughter to either get back at you or collect a hefty sum of money?"

"Well, I... no!" he replied. "I mean, I don't think so..."

"But it's possible."

"Anything is possible."

The officer nodded. "I promise you we'll look into this. If Buffy is still missing by tomorrow at midnight, give us a call. We'll place a missing person's add immediately and get LA's finest police on the case."

"She could be dead by then," Joyce murmured.

He nodded, solemnly. "Anything is possible."

And with that, he left the house, leaving Joyce and Hank alone in their tearful embrace.

~~~

"A month?!" Spike asked incredulously, gunning it down the deserted road. "No bloody way."

"We gotta let it cool down!" Willy insisted on the other end.

"There's no way I'm shackin' it up in some hotel room with this bint for a month."

"C'mon, Tyler!"

"Two weeks," he tried.

"Three."

Spike sighed. "Fine."

"I'm tellin ya, it's for the best. I'll work out the money issues, promise. You just keep an eye on the girl, yeah?"

"Run it by me again."

"Again?" Willy groaned. "Alright, alright. You take the girl to the hotel and get a room. Ask for Vince, 'cause the guy owes me a favor. He'll get you the room for free and shit. Anyway, take her there and keep her there. I'll do the whole ransom thing. Then when we get the cash, you can kill her."

"What's the point? Isn't the five hundred grand enough?"

"Dude, her father's loaded. We can get a whole shitload of money from him."

He shrugged. "Alright then."

"Vince will cover for you if the cops come a knockin'. But this place is pretty off the map, so you don't need to worry. Just don't let her out of your sight, ya hear?"

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Good. So we'll let things cool down a bit and I'll contact you again when I'm workin' on the ransom," Willy explained.

Spike nodded. "Keep in touch."

"You got it, Tyler."

Click.

It was silent then, before a tiny voice could be heard. "You'll never get away with this."

He looked at Buffy. She was still huddled in the corner of the seat, holding her legs tightly to her chest. "We'll see."

She closed her eyes and opened them. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you. Someone wants you dead."

"Who?"

"Didn't ask."

"Why did you call me mother?"

Spike almost slammed on his brakes. "What?" he demanded.

"Before," she swallowed. "You called me mother."

"No, I didn't." But he knew he did. He remembered the vision with perfect clarity. Somehow his fucked up brain had produced an image of his dead mother.

"You're crazy, you know."

"I know."

Buffy didn't know what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut. She was scared. Terrified, even. She had no doubt in her mind that this man would have killed her if his phone didn't ring. If his eyes held as much fury as his voice did, Buffy was glad she couldn't see them. "What do you want from me, Spike?"

"I told you not to say my name like that!" he blared.

"I'll say whatever the hell I want to say."

Spike quirked an eyebrow and glanced at her. She was facing away from him. "Take a moment to think about who has the gun here and then say that again."

She turned her head to look at him, and Spike could have sworn she was staring directly into his eyes. "I'll say whatever the hell I want to say."

He clenched his jaw. "Don't want a damn thing from you."

"There has to be something. Sex? Is that what you want? Then, please. Just get it over with and let me go."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," he sneered.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"I'm goin' to say this one last time, love. I don't want anything you have to offer, alright? Especially not that."

"Are you gay or something?"

"No."

She sighed. "Whatever."

Spike eyed the gun now resting on his dashboard. He wasn't going to use it, he knew that. He could make all the threats he wanted to her, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Would he have gone through with it if Willy hadn't called? Possibly. Probably. But that's because he was running on pure vengeance. Not because he wanted to. As much as he hated the female species, Spike was not a killer.

And gay? Bloody hell. No, he was definitely not gay. He was attracted to women, but that's all it was. A quick fuck. He never had an emotional connection with any of them. Not since Drusilla, anyway...

"Where are we going?" she wondered, her voice breaking into his not-so-fun thoughts.

"Away."

"How far?"

"Farther."

Spike took the new set of directions out of his pocket. They had been on the road for over an hour already, and there was still about another hour left to go.

"You're holding me for ransom, aren't you?"

"Well, well. Looks like there is a brain amongst all that blonde."

Buffy closed her eyes. "I'm smarter than I look, you know. I've seen a lot."

"Metaphorically speaking?"

"I haven't always been blind," she spat.

He shrugged. "If you were so smart, why would you get in the car with a bloody stranger?"

"I thought you were a cop. And I thought my family was in trouble. It was enough to bring my guard down."

"Good on me then."

"Yeah," she laughed derisively. "You're a real prince."

"It's nothin' personal, I'll have you know. I've got a job to do."

"And money is more important than a human life?" she asked in disbelief.

"Your human life, yeah."

"What did I ever do to you?"

"You're a bloody woman. What haven't you done."

Great, she thought. Not only is he psycho, but he's also misogynistic. "I thought you said it wasn't personal."

He paused. Maybe she was right--maybe it was personal on some level. "Doesn't matter," he said.

"So you're going to murder me because some girl did you wrong?"

"You have no idea what I've been through."

"And I don't want to know," she told him, sinking father into her seat.

Spike glanced over at her. He could tell she was trying to be tough, but her hands were shaking. "How did you become blind?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't."

"Then I'm not sharing."

He sighed, taking out another cigarette and lighting up.

"Are you sure you don't know who wants me dead?" Buffy questioned.

"You would know better than I do."

"I don't have any enemies."

Spike snorted. "Right. A bloody peach, you are."

"It's hard to have any enemies when you don't have any friends."

He frowned, noting the sadness in her tone. He ignored it. "And that Angel fellow?"

"What about him?"

"You said he was your friend."

"I guess," she shrugged. "But we're not close. He just wants to get in my pants."

He rolled his eyes. "And you never stopped to think that Angel might be the one?"

"The one?"

"Who wants you dead."

"Oh." She paused. "No. Angel would never hurt me."

"If you say so."

Buffy swallowed, her thoughts scattered. There was no way Angel could be behind this. Sure, he was sort of possessive. And he didn't have the most pleasant of tempers. But he cared about her. Maybe even loved her. It couldn't be him...

Spike ground out his cigarette and reached for another, cursing under his breath when he realized he was out. He then glanced up at the clock. 1:53. Hopefully they would get there by 2:30 and this bloody car ride from hell would be over with.

At 2:30 on the dot, the black DeSoto pulled into the vacant parking lot. He parked the car behind the run-down hotel, in an area shadowed by trees, and killed the engine. Buffy remained in her seat, her eyes closed.

Spike knew she wasn't sleeping.

"Let's go," he said, his voice gruff. He saw her flinch, but otherwise she was still. "Bloody fuckin' hell..." Spike got out and stormed over to the passenger's side. He whipped open the door and pulled her out by the arm.

"Ow! Let me go!" she demanded, trying to pry herself free from his powerful grasp. His fingers bit into her flesh as he yanked her out of the vehicle.

Spike's grip didn't loosen, as her feet clumsily hit the cement. He shut the door behind her and dragged her through the parking lot.

"I said, Get. Off. Me." Buffy tugged her arm as hard as she could and Spike finally let go. She stumbled and fell backwards, her butt hitting the pavement. Darkness continued to surround her and she suddenly found herself more frightened than she did when Spike was manhandling her. Her bottom lip began to tremble as she sat there, fingers sifting through the small rocks beneath her palms. It wasn't long before the strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her back to her feet. "I hate you," she seethed.

"Mutual."

Buffy reluctantly trudged along next to him after his hold on her loosened. Somewhat.

They entered the grungy looking hotel and approached the front desk. A heavy, balding man sat there, his potbelly hanging out and layers of dirt beneath his fingernails.

"Uh, I'm looking for a guy named Vince," Spike said to him.

He took a big bite of a greasy cheeseburger before answering. "You're looking at him."

"Right. Willy said you'd get us a room."

He put the sandwich down. "Are you Tyler?"

"Spike Tyler. Yes."

"And this is... ?" He gestured to Buffy.

"Yes."

Vince eyed Buffy with an approving leer. His gaze ran up and down her well-toned body. "It's a pity you gotta--"

"Can we just get the room?" Spike sighed, anxiously.

He tore his eyes from the blonde's partially exposed belly. "Yeah, alright." After rummaging through a small drawer, he finally pulled out a key. "Room 242. It's our biggest."

"Thanks. And you'll cover for me?"

"Cross my heart."

Spike nodded and pulled Buffy in the direction of a small, wooden staircase. "Watch your step," he mumbled.

Unfortunately, he spoke too late and Buffy tripped on the first step. For some reason, she almost started to cry. Never in her life had she felt more helpless.

Spike regarded her, immediately noticing a change in her demeanor. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and her face looked as if it would crumble at any given moment. She ineptly reached for a railing to hold onto, but there was none. Cursing under his breath, Spike reached down and scooped her up.

To his surprise, she didn't struggle. It was almost as if she had given up. He walked up the stairs and she held onto him weakly and halfheartedly. He quickly put her down when they reached the door to their room. Spike fumbled with the key for a moment before pushing open the piece of rotting oak and stepping inside. He snatched Buffy's wrist and she followed suit, the door squeaking and slamming shut on its own.

Surprisingly, the room was rather nice. Well-furnished, good lighting, no unusual smells. On the contrary, there was only one bed.

"Soddin' figures," Spike grumbled, shedding his leather coat and placing it over the back of a chair. Buffy just stood there. "Make yourself at home, love. We'll be here for quite a while."

"Kill me."

He stopped and glanced at her. "What?"

"Just do it," she said. "Get it over with."

"I kill you after I get my money."

"Why?"

"Because that's the plan."

"I don't see the point," she reasoned. "As long as my father thinks I'm alive, he'll give you the money."

"He might want proof."

Buffy reached her hand out, and luckily, there was a table there. She leaned against it. "I can't do this. I can't stay in this room, knowing that I won't be leaving it."

"I don't make the rules," was all he said, a brief feeling of regret washing over him. He pushed it aside almost before he even felt it.

She nodded and listened as he began to take off his boots. Then she turned around, flung the door open, and bolted.

Spike started up, completely taken off guard by her swift exit. One boot on, one boot off, he gave chase.

Stairs. Oh, god, the stairs... Buffy held her hand to the wall, as she ran down the unsturdy steps to the best of her ability. She made it without falling and proceeded to the door, her hands held out so she didn't run into anything. She miraculously found the door handle and darted out into the cool night air.

She didn't get far because two strong arms encircled her waist.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, struggling in his grasp. He put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to contain her cries, and she bit him. Hard.

"Bloody bitch!" he howled, unconsciously letting her go.

Buffy took advantage of his short relapse and just started running. She didn't know where, couldn't see where, but she ran. And ran. She ran on pure adrenaline, a woman desperate for her life.

Spike was faster. He caught up with her in no time and flung her over his shoulder. She screamed and he let her. She pounded his back with her tiny fists, using all the energy in her system, and he let her. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He carried her back, screaming and crying the entire way.

"Too bad I don't have my handcuffs anymore," he muttered, walking towards his car. "But rope will do just fine."

He's going to tie me up! she panicked. It was bad enough not being able to see. But not being able to move? She'd go crazy. She was going to protest, but held her tongue.

She heard the car door unlock and open, and he set her down in order to find the rope in his trunk. Buffy tried to flee once more, but Spike wrapped his hand around her neck and held her against the frame of the car. She gagged briefly and eventually stopped struggling. It wasn't long before he hefted her over his shoulder again and forced her into the hotel.

Vince greeted them with a panicked look and shotgun in hand. "Went to the bathroom and thought I heard screamin' or something," he said.

Spike rolled his eyes. Thought? The girl was hollering like a bloody banshee. "Yeah, but I got it under control," he replied, holding up Buffy in one arm and the ropes in the other. She squirmed in his grasp, but he held her tight.

"Keep an eye on her, alright? Don't want her scarin' off any customers, now."

"Uh, right." He decided not to mention the fact that the place was deserted. "Promise she'll be good."

Vince nodded and let them pass.

Spike carried Buffy up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He kicked open the door and kicked it shut, promptly depositing the tear-faced girl on the bed. "Here's what we're going to do," he began, unraveling the rope. "I'm going to tie you to the bed, and you're not going to escape. Got it?"

"Fuck you."

"Not interested."

She braced herself for the feel of the harsh rope biting at her tender flesh, but it never came.

"You know what?" Spike spoke, pulling her to her feet. "I don't think I want you in my bed." He took out the hard, wooden chair from the desk and pushed her down into it.

Buffy winced. "Please don't tie me up."

Her words struck him, and he suddenly found himself sitting in a chair twenty years ago.

"No, mummy! Please don't tie me up!"

Spike jumped back as if something burned him. He closed his eyes, once, twice, trying to shake the memories. When he opened them, Buffy's own eyes held that same fear that bound him so long ago. "Um..." His voice cracked. "I'll let you off the hook just this once," he told her, and tossed the ropes aside. "But if you even look in the direction of the door, you're ass is goin' to be stuck to that chair for three weeks. Understand?"

She nodded mutely, wondering why he changed his mind.

"Right then." He stood up and kicked off his left boot. "Goodnight."

~~~

Buffy sat in the chair, not moving a muscle. She planned to escape as soon as the sun came up, which should be any minute now. It felt as if hours had gone by, and they probably had, but Buffy wasn't bored. Her mind was racing, trying to concoct some sort of plan. She decided she would sneak out silently, and since it was daytime, there was a greater chance that someone would spot her. She would run as far as she could and then wait by the side of the road. It was her only hope.

She heard Spike snoring lightly in his sleep, signaling her that he was indeed out cold. It was now only a matter of time before she escaped.

A few more minutes passed. Then a few more. When it felt as if another hour had gone by, Buffy finally felt a warm ray of light on her arm. She could tell that the room brightened considerably and in response, her heart started to pound faster.

It was dawn.

One step forward. Deep breath. Listen for Spike. Still sleeping. Another step forward. Exhale. Listen for Spike. Still sleeping.

Buffy repeated these actions until her hand finally found the rusty doorknob. She closed her eyes and twisted it gently, her ears continuously on the lookout. Spike still appeared to be asleep.

You can do this, Buffy. Just breathe. She took one last, deep breath before turning the knob all the way and carefully opening the door.

Squeak.

Buffy flinched. The noise was barely audible, but it sounded as if it echoed through the entire room. Luckily, her kidnapper didn't seem to notice. She opened it a little more, just enough for her small body to slip through. When she succeeded, she didn't bother to close the door behind her. It was too risky. Gathering her wits, she turned to her right and headed towards the staircase. With a hand on the wall for support, she gradually stepped down.

Almost there. Just a little further... Her feet finally found the hard surface of the floor. Yay! Now I just need to get to the door and--

"Where do ya think you're goin', Missy?"

Buffy froze. Shit. "U-Umm..."

"Does Spike know you're up and about?" Vince wondered, licking his lips at the sight of her.

"Yes."

"Is that so?"

"He wanted me to get something from his car." Oh, god, that was so lame.

"I see," he said, stepping towards her. "So he asked his blind hostage to get it for him?"

"Uh-huh."

Vince paused, eyes focused on her breasts. "Tell ya what. You do me a favor and I'll forget our little run-in."

"You will?"

"Promise."

"What kind of favor?"

"I think you know, sweetheart."

Buffy cringed. "I'm not having sex with you."

"Not even a quick blow behind the counter?"

"No!" she exclaimed, mortified.

"That's too bad."

Before Buffy knew what hit her, she was pressed up against the wall, a pudgy hand reaching under her halter-top. "Get off me, you bastard!"

"I didn't want to use force, but I'm not really seein' an alternative."

"Get off!" she demanded, trying her hardest to escape. She knew her cries were loud enough to wake Spike, and she knew her plan of escape had failed. Somehow, the thought of Spike dragging her back to the room and tying her to a chair seemed more appealing than this. At least he didn't try to take advantage of her.

Just as Vince began to unbutton her jeans, the sound of a pistol being cocked interrupted him. He looked to his left to see Spike standing there, gun pointed at his head.

"Best not to do that, mate."

Vince gulped and stepped away from Buffy. She quickly pulled her shirt down, cheeks flaming. Why does he even care if I am raped or not?

"Sorry, man. Just wanted to have a little fun."

Spike rolled his eyes and finally lowered his weapon. "Keep your hands to yourself, alright?"

The frightened man nodded.

Spike grabbed Buffy by the arm and forcefully tugged her towards the staircase. "You and I are gonna have a little fun upstairs with Mr. Rope," he said.

Damnit! She tried to wiggle free, but he held her tightly around the waist.

"Can't say I didn't warn you, love."

"I promise I won't run away again," she tried.

He just snorted. Buffy attempted to hold onto his shirt to keep her from falling on her head, but all she groped was bare skin. He must be shirtless.

She settled for raking her nails down his back.

"Bloody hell!" he hissed, almost dropping her. "You want a sodding concussion?"

"I want you to let me go!" she retorted.

"Sorry, but you're not very convincing when you're upside down."

She sighed. "You're such an asshole."

"And I'm all you've got. So you have no choice but to behave."

They reached the hotel room and Spike set her down, shutting and double-locking the door behind him. He shouldn't have cared if Buffy got fucked six ways from Sunday by the grotesque hotel clerk. She was probably used to it, right? Female and all. A race that lacked all sense of morals and self-value. Right?

Yeah. Right.

Spike pushed her down into the chair again and pulled his black t-shirt over his head, wincing when the material brushed against the fresh nail marks on his back.

"Well?" she wondered.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to tie me up?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Changed my mind."

Thank god. "Oh."

"Yeah. Figured you wouldn't be makin' any escape attempts with Vince ready to pounce on you at any given moment."

"Why did you stop him?" she asked. "Didn't want him to soil the goods?"

Spike scoffed. "I already told you. I'm not going to have sex with you, pet."

"I bet you say that to all the girls before you rape them," she said, indignantly.

He glared daggers at her. "I do not rape women." His voice was almost menacing.

"So you just settle for killing them then?"

"Just you."

She shook her head. "Right. Because I'm such a threat."

"Someone thinks so."

"I don't believe you."

"What?"

"You heard me," she told him. "I bet this is all your doing. You were probably feeling particularly bitter one night and decided to kidnap the first girl who crossed your path."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

She sat back in her chair. "Doesn't matter. When my father finds you, you're as good as dead."

"Daddy dearest isn't going to find me. Or you for that matter."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He pressed his lips together and regarded her. She sat straight up in her chair, eyes staring ahead of her. She didn't look like someone who had a mere three weeks to live. "What's your story?" he asked.

"What?"

"Your story. How did you become blind?"

"I thought you didn't care."

"I'm just curious is all."

"Why do you hate women?"

"I asked you first," he countered.

"I'm not sharing."

"Then neither am I."

"Fine."

"Fine."

It was silent. Spike didn't know what to do with her. Buffy didn't know what to do.

"I'm takin' a shower," Spike finally mumbled, stripping off his shirt again.

"I won't be here when you get back."

"Where will you go?"

Where will you go? The question echoed in her ears. "I don't know."

"You know Vince won't keep his grubby paws off of you. And I won't be rescuin' you next time."

"I don't need to be rescued."

"Right."

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you expect us to do for food? Because I certainly don't plan on starving to death."

"It would suit you. You're as skinny as a rail."

"I'm sure you're one to talk."

"You have no soddin' clue what I look like."

"Well, you felt..." Muscely. "... thin."

"I'm decently proportioned, I'll have you know."

"Pfft. Yeah."

Spike paused. Were they... bickering? "I've got money," he continued, slightly disconcerted. "As soon as you learn to do what you're told, I'll get us some food. I have to stop back at my place, anyway."

"For what?"

"Clothes, mostly."

"What about me?"

"You'll wear what you've got on."

"For three weeks?!" she asked, incredulously.

He shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"So I'm supposed to take a shower and then put these dirty clothes back on?"

"Sure."

"I think I underestimated your evilness."

"My evilness? I'm hardly evil."

"You put a gun to my head. That qualifies as evil in my book."

"I thought you were..." His voice trailed off. "I was doin' my job."

"Then maybe you should look into unemployment."

"Or not."

"Do you want to kill me?"

Spike hesitated. "Doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

"You're goin' to die either way."

She refused to let his threats scare her. "We'll see."

"You don't think I'll go through with it?"

"I don't."

"You're in for a rude awakening, love."

"Stop calling me that."

"I do what I please."

Buffy leaned back. Spike ran a hand through his mussed hair.

"I'll get you some clothes when I go out," he said.

She was going to reply, but the bathroom door slammed shut before she could open her mouth. It wasn't long before she heard the water turn on, and Spike mumble something about a "bloody shower curtain". With a deep sigh, she contemplated her options.

She could probably go. Run down the stairs, past Vince, out the doors, and into the morning sun. She could escape. But something was holding her back. What was it again? Oh, yeah...

Where will you go?

When Spike emerged from the bathroom, Buffy was sitting right where he left her.

"Can I have a pen and paper?"

Spike dried his hair with the fluffy bath towel. "What for?"

"To write."

"How can you write? You can't see a bloody thing."

"I can still write."

He sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

Buffy continued to sit in her chair, listening as he shuffled around the room. "When are you going out?"

"Soon."

"I won't be here when you get back."

"You said that last time."

"I'm serious now."

"Is that right? Where will you go?"

This time Buffy didn't hesitate. "Anywhere." Anywhere is better than here...

"I see." He pulled on his black t-shirt. "So I better tie you up then, yeah?"

She didn't answer. When Spike finished putting on his boots, he approached the rope, picked it up, and began to tie her wrists to the chair.

"Fine," she mumbled under her breath.

"You'll stay put?"

She nodded.

"I don't believe you."

"Maybe because I'm lying?"

He pulled the rope tight.

"Ow!" she protested. "Alright. I promise not to leave. Just... please get me some pen and paper."

"What are you goin' to write? Love letters?"

"Hardly."

He took a moment to think. Then he untied her. "I'll tell Vince to keep a lookout for you. Better not try anything."

"I won't."

Spike stood up. She heard him exit and re-enter the room, hopefully with the things she asked for.

"Where do you want these?" he asked, holding up the few sheets of paper and a black pen.

"I'd like to sit on the bed," she replied.

"You can't write at the desk? I sleep in that bed."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "My butt is sore. And it's not like I'm diseased or something."

"Yeah, yeah." He walked over to the queen-sized bed and set her items down. "Happy now?"

"Far from it. But thanks for asking." She stood up and held out her arms. "This way?"

Spike reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, leading her towards the bed. Out of habit, Buffy was about to say thank you--genuinely, this time--but caught herself. Instead, she just nodded and climbed up into the welcoming sheets.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," he stated, heading towards the door. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Like try not to leave?" she wondered, sweetly.

"I'm warnin' you, pet." Spike was confident that she would still be there when he returned. Her only means of escape was through the front, and he was certain that Vince would handle the situation if need be. Of course, there were probably other ways out of the hotel, but fortunately for him, Buffy was blind. She would have no clue where to start.

"You don't scare me," she said.

"If I don't, then maybe I'll call Vince up here to baby-sit you."

"I'll be good."

He sighed and opened the door.

"You're picking up food, right?"

He paused. "Yeah."

"Can you get some chocolate chip cookies? I love those."

"No."

Then he was gone.

Buffy sighed and reached out for the pen and paper. She thought for a moment to herself, chewing on the end of the writing utensil, and then began to scribble down a few sentences feverishly...

~~~

"I can't believe you didn't tell me she was blind."

"I didn't know!"

It was late. Probably after ten. He was gone almost the entire day, making various errands. He had tried to visit Willy, but Willy wasn't home--so he called him a few hours later, as he drove back to the hotel. "How could you not know?"

"I wasn't informed," Willy said.

Spike was very curious about this whole situation. He had a hunch that Angel was the one out for Buffy's blood, but he couldn't be sure. "Who's behind all of this?" he questioned.

"Don't know."

"I think you do."

"Alright, alright. Maybe I do," he relented.

"Well?"

"Can't say."

"Goddammit, Willy! Why not?"

"Because! I'm sworn to secrecy and all that shit. I'm sorry, man."

Spike sighed. "Is it Angel?"

"What?"

"She mentioned some tosser named Angel. Is it him?"

Silence.

"It is, isn't it?"

"I can't tell you that, Tyler."

"You can bloody well tell me something."

"I would if I could."

He gave up. "Fine, whatever. Just... hurry it up, alright? It's going to be hell, livin' in that room for three weeks. The chit is a sodding nuisance, she is."

"That's good, right? It'll make it easier."

"Right." He didn't sound too convincing.

"Anyway, I'll keep in touch. You should really get back, 'cause the whole "missing person" thing will be happenin' tonight. The cops will be everywhere."

"Christ. It's been twenty-four hours, hasn't it?"

"Almost."

Spike nodded. "Yeah, I better go."

"Good luck, friend."

"Bye."

Click.

By the time Spike reached the hotel, it was almost midnight. He had to admit, he was somewhat nervous. Although he had been careful, and there probably weren't any clues leading to their hideaway, it was still a risky situation. One slip-up and everything could go to hell.

He sauntered into the building, carrying a few bags of food and clothes. Vince greeted him with a nod and Spike disappeared up the stairs. He found the key at the bottom of his pocket and swiftly opened the door to their room. It was dark. Squinting to see through the veil of blackness, he fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. The room lit up and he finally saw her.

Buffy was sleeping. A few sheets of paper lay around her still form, as she slept soundly on top of the warm covers. Spike set his bags down on the nearby desk and took a few cautious steps towards her. She was curled up in a ball, facing his direction. Her face was soft and glowing, the cruelty of her past not aging her one bit. She looked young and full of life, and... innocent. Very innocent. Untainted and untouched, like the purest of angels. It was unnerving to say the least.

Spike quickly stepped away from the bed, almost tripping on his shoelaces. Bloody hell, mate. She's not innocent. She's just... sleeping. He shook his head and forcefully snatched up the bags, carrying them over to the small refrigerator. He pulled out the various items, such as fruit, water, lunchmeat, bread, orange juice, potato chips, and...

He pulled the container of chocolate chip cookies out of the plastic bag. With a bitter snarl, he tossed them into the garbage can.

"And look. The bloody bitch took my bed," he growled, pulling his shirt over his head and stalking towards the bedside. Just push her off. Who cares? However, he couldn't. That frustrated him to no end. With an angry tug, he whipped the covers back and climbed in. Buffy stirred next to him and turned over on her side. Still, she slept.

Spike took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his rattling nerves. He scooted over to the farthest edge of the bed, making sure he was nowhere near the woman sleeping next to him.

Then he closed his eyes.

~~~

The Summers' residence was in chaos, as swarms of people trampled in and out of the hectic home. Cop cars were all stationed outside, as the officers questioned a handful of worried neighbors.

"No, I didn't see anything... Buffy was the sweetest girl... do they know anything? ... What kind of parents let their blind daughter out at night? ... that Buffy was so sweet... no, I didn't see anything..."

All of the people on the block said the same things. No one had seen Buffy that night. So far, no one had called regarding a ransom. In fact, there had been no unusual phone calls that could give the police the slightest hint as to where little Buffy Summers had gone.

Joyce wrung her sweaty palms together, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. Hank stood by her side, hands on his wife's shoulders.

"Anything?" the frantic mother asked.

One of the officers gave her a sympathetic smile. "No, I'm sorry. But it's still early. There's a very good chance that your daughter is alive and well. We'll do everything we can to find her."

"But she could be anywhere..." she sobbed.

"Then we won't sleep until she's found."

Although his words were comforting, it still didn't dull the ache in the desperate parents' hearts.

Suddenly, Angel O'Neil bounded through the front door. "Buffy... is she...?" He had seen a report over the news that Buffy was missing. He was at her house mere seconds later.

"Oh, Angel, it's awful," Joyce said to the young man, tears running down her face. "She's been missing for a day now."

"God," he choked out. "I can't believe it. I mean, I just saw her. How can she be gone?"

"The police are searching everywhere," Hank replied. He knew that this case wouldn't be as publicized as it was now, if he wasn't a millionaire. He was paying these people good money to make sure his daughter was safe.

"Are there leads? Anything?" Angel wondered.

"Nothing."

"I have to help. I have to do something. Buffy could be hurt... I-I can't just sit around and let her be gone."

"There's nothing we can do right now, Angel," Joyce told him.

"So we just wait?"

She nodded, sadly.

"No," he argued. "I'm not going to wait. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure she's alive and well."

"Angel..."

He wasn't listening. "Buffy will be okay," he said and stormed out of the house. "You'll see."

"Riley, you're drunk."

"Yep, we're gonna die," Buffy sighed, and leaned back in her seat. A few minutes later, they were gunning it down the familiar road...

She opened her eyes.

Tears began to form behind her tired lids, but she brushed them away. Buffy really hated that dream.

She blinked a few times, and it wasn't long before reality all came crashing down upon her. She wasn't warm and safe in her own bed, clutching Mr. Gordo to her trembling body. No. She was in a strange bed, in a strange hotel room...

... with a strange man clutching her to his trembling body.

What the... ?

Buffy tensed in his embrace, as he clung to her almost desperately.

"No," he whispered in his sleep. "Don't go. You can't leave me like this, Dru."

Drew? Hmm, maybe he is gay...

"Get off me," she said, trying to wiggle herself free.

He only held her tighter, pulling her closely to his bare chest. A betraying, little gasp escaped her lips when his arm brushed up against her breast.

That's it. "Let. Go."

Nothing.

"Spike!"

Nothing.

Buffy began kicking her legs. She flailed them about, making direct hits with his shins, ankles, and accidentally...

"Oi! Bloody hell!"

Spike's eyes shot open when she kicked him in the groin. When he realized he was holding her--holding her--he released her like fire. Sweat formed on his brow and his breathing was unsteady, as he turned over onto his back.

She quickly scrambled free to the farthest side of the bed. "Don't do that again," she told him.

His jaw tightened in response. "I was havin' a dream, you stupid bint. You didn't have to kick me."

"You wouldn't let go."

Spike growled and sat up, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. The dream was still fresh in his mind...

~~~

"How could you do this to me, Dru? You got me bloody fired!"

Spike didn't look at her. He couldn't look at her. Not after--

"Spike!"

He jerked his head up, obviously lost in his own, little world. Buffy was sitting on the edge of the bed. "W-What?" His voice was shaking. Sodding voice.

"I'm hungry."

"So?"

She sighed. "So, can you get me something? Or at least help me to the fridge? Blind girl, here."

"Uh, right."

Spike took a deep breath, erasing all memories of Drusilla from his mind. He had more important things to worry about now. Like how he was going to kill this insufferable, young blonde...

"What did you get?" she wondered, gathering up all of her stray sheets of paper and quickly stuffing them under the pillow.

"Food," he mumbled, standing up and stretching.

"I see. Did you get my cookies?"

"No."

She wasn't surprised. "How very kidnappery of you."

Spike paused to look at her. "Did you just say 'kidnappery'?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Bloody weird, you are..."

"At least I'm not a sadistic monster."

Spike counted to ten. Then he counted backwards to one. "You best take that back, love," he finally said.

"Why should I? It's the truth. And it's not like you're going to kill me."

"No, but when I do, it will be very painful."

She didn't say anything. She could tell by his voice that he could go off at any given moment, and she really didn't want to deal with that right now. Besides, she was still pretty shaken from her recurring nightmare. Which reminded her... "What were you dreaming about?"

"None of you goddamn business."

"I was just asking. Jeez."

He pulled out a bottle of water and a banana and approached her. "My ex."

"What?"

"I was dreaming about my ex, if you must know."

"Oh, right. Drew. I'm sure he's kicking himself for letting a prize like you get away..." The next thing she knew, something hit her in the head. "Ow!" She picked it up off her lap, trying to feel what it was. Her eyes went wide. "You threw a banana at my head!"

"You deserved it."

"No one deserves to be hit in the head with a banana."

He scowled for a moment, and then realized she had called Dru a "he". "Wait a minute. Dru is a woman, you silly chit."

"A girl named Drew? That's a laugh," she snorted.

"It was short for Drusilla."

"Like that's terrifically better. It sounds so... vampy."

"Like Buffy is any better?" he countered.

"Like Spike is any better?" she countered back.

"It's a nickname."

"For what?"

"Not tellin'."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I cared," she grumbled.

Spike sighed and handed her the bottle of water. "I'm takin' a shower."

"Wait. Can I?"

"Bloody hell! You're not takin' a shower with me, pet."

"Ugh. Not with you. Before you."

Well, he was pretty hungry. He supposed he could wait a little while before freshening up. "Be my guest."

"Wow. I didn't take you to be a "ladies first" kinda guy."

"You're hardly a lady."

Buffy frowned, oddly hurt by that statement. But she quickly shook her head and stood up.

"You know how to get there?" he asked.

"I did a little recon after you left last night."

He just nodded and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom. After Spike heard the water turn on, he pulled an apple out of the refrigerator and flushed it down with some orange juice. He decided he wasn't very hungry, afterall, and it only made him feel sick. He sighed and glanced around the room, eyes falling on the stack of towels he had meant to put in the bathroom. If he didn't give them to her, she would probably be bitching when she got out.

Setting the container of juice down, he picked up one of the towels and approached the bathroom door. And the second he opened it, he remembered: No shower curtain.

He should have tossed the towel in and shut the door, never looking up. That's what he should have done.

But he didn't. Spike looked up.

And froze.

Buffy obviously hadn't heard him come in, because she was merrily scrubbing herself into a lather, humming some mundane tune. Her back was to him, and he watched, almost transfixed, as the droplets of water and soapy suds trickled down her bronzed skin.

Look away! Look away! He didn't look away. How could he? He was a man, afterall. And even though he hated her guts, she was still... a woman. With a perfect body, that was slender and toned--curved in all the right places. Part of him was silently asking her to turn around, so he could see the rest of her.

But Spike was eventually shaken out of his trance-like state when he felt a stirring in his jeans. He looked down to see a quickly growing bulge. He glared at his betraying anatomy and cursed himself for still standing there. Why are you still standing here? Get out!

This time he took his own advice and swiftly shut the bathroom door. A little too loudly.

Buffy stilled when she heard the bathroom door slam shut. Had he seen her? She reached a hand out and realized that she had forgotten to pull the shower curtain back. Reaching around a little more, she realized that there was no shower curtain. Oh, god!

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she furiously began to scrub herself clean. Nothing like your kidnapper walking in on you naked to really get the day going...