A huge thank you to Angelic Amy and Spikereader for reading through and bolstering my bravery!

Chapter 1

Groaning, Buffy closed the door behind her, dropped the bloodstained axe and limped into the kitchen to drag out her extensive first aid kit and start repairs. With practiced efficiency she shrugged out of her ruined jacket, tossing it onto the floor before examining the scores running down her left arm. Satisfied that they only needed cleaning and a dressing, she briskly set about doing just that. Five minutes later Buffy opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a random convenience meal from the stack inside and popped it into the microwave before snagging a carton of juice. She gulped down the first glass before refilling it and putting the carton back in the fridge.

Moments later the microwave pinged and the exhausted Slayer pulled out the container of whatever, placing it on a tray with the glass after tearing the film off, and wandered into the dimly lit sitting room. Sinking into the couch, Buffy picked up the remote and flicked through a few stations, settling on a nature documentary about dolphins before tackling her food. ‘Might as well look at something pretty for a change.’

Buffy made short work of the bland pasta bake on the tray. She neither liked nor disliked it; it was just convenient, a bit like her life. Sighing, she returned the tray to the kitchen, rinsed her glass and put the empty food container in the bin, then grabbed a diet soda before returning to curl up on the couch and go over that night’s patrol in her head.

Once upon a time this would have been related to her Watcher, Giles, but those days were long gone. It seemed like forever since she’d been surrounded by others, all helping her in the fight against evil. Her mom had been alive then and there had been comfort and happiness to be had. Dawn, her not so real sister, had died saving the world and Oz, who’d disappeared into the Initiative, was never to be seen again

Not all were dead. Willow and her partner, Tara, now ran the Magic Box as part of their partnership with Giles. Buffy saw them once a week, but that barely kept her loneliness at bay. Xander had married his ex-demon girlfriend and moved off to Cleveland. He now had a successful career in construction, the inherent dangers of living on the Hellmouth left far behind. Her last boyfriend, Riley, had been turned whilst visiting a vamp brothel and it had fallen to Buffy to take him out.

So much had changed since the Initiative had set up operations in Sunnydale. The vamp and demon population had gradually fallen to levels that made sightings a rarity, and contact a red letter day. Only after they’d relocated their base to a secret centre just outside LA had the numbers gradually crept up again, as the Hellmouth had sent out its siren call once more. Buffy still had to cope with the usual yearly apocalypse; had taken out Adam - the driving factor in the Initiative’s relocation - lost her sister in her efforts to defeat Glory, almost come to grief when Willow had gone off the rails with her overuse of magic during the Trio’s brief reign of stupidity. But all of that had come at a price.

The Initiative had changed everything. They’d taken vamps off the streets, well, normally from cemeteries and dark alleys, chipped them and put them to use for the good of humanity. They’d been trained in a variety of skills and sold to the highest bidders – as long as the government approved. A grey world existed, in between light and dark, where humans supposedly utilised their pet vamps for the betterment of all. In reality, those with power became more powerful due to their new acquisitions, and the public seemed to be able to turn its normal blind eye and behave as though the chipped undead they encountered were no more out of the ordinary than a pet dog would have been.

When Giles had taken over as head of the new Watchers Council after Quentin Travers’ unexpected demise – some might say suspicious - he had investigated what benefits these new chipped vampires could offer. Since then he had been trying, intermittently, to persuade Buffy to procure one for her own use. Many had been trained to be bodyguards against demonic threats and Giles felt that one of these would be ideal for Buffy to use in her mission. For the last three years Buffy had been adamantly against the idea, but after tonight’s events, she wasn’t so sure.

It had been a routine patrol of the caves that had led to her latest trouble. Buffy was finding it difficult to concentrate lately; she was tired, lonely and feeling increasingly disconnected from those she was chosen to protect. Her senses had failed to register the presence of three Maruka demons before they were upon her. It was more luck than anything else that she’d managed to kill them, the wound she’d received from one of their claws letting her off more lightly than she perhaps deserved.

Having a vampire, even a chipped one, living in her home was not something that Buffy particularly wanted. It would give her something else to think about though. As far as she could tell, from the scanty details that she’d paid attention to, it would need to be trained and cared for. And, perhaps, even a vampire for company would be better than no company at all. Plus, vampire senses were acute and should be able to warn her of approaching nasties. Buffy decided to call Giles in the morning to discuss it with him. Picking up the remote, she turned off the TV and headed up to a shower.

Stepping under the hot water Buffy continued to think about vampires or, more accurately, the differences that age and experience made. Fledges tended to be all grrr and arrrgh, finding it difficult to contain the bloodlust of their demon, acting on innate impulses. She’d met a few newbies that had a bit more grip on their unlife but not many. Then there were the more experienced vamps, those with more knowledge of who and what they were, more cunning and fighting ability. And, of course, then there were the master vampires.

Lothos, The Master, Kakistos, Darla – they had all been difficult opponents, strong and wily. Angel when he’d lost his soul had proved how a vampire could plan to make the kill as agonising and drawn out as possible. Drusilla had been, well, mad. And, in that madness, totally unpredictable. Dracula was out there somewhere, no doubt doing his thrall thing on some unsuspecting victim. ‘Makes note to self not to get a vamp with thrall!’

That was about it. Buffy turned off the water and stepped from the bath as she contemplated the only other master vampire of her acquaintance.

Spike.

Now there was an enigma if ever there was one. The only vampire that talked of love. The only unsouled vampire to have entered into an alliance with her, to save the world no less, even though he was evil through and through. The one vampire her mom had liked. The one she’d enjoyed fighting the most. ‘Wonder what happened to him?’

Pulling on her favourite black satin pyjamas, so much her favourite that she had three identical sets, Buffy settled herself into the comfort of her large bed and snuggled down for the night. Definitely didn’t want to get a fledge, that would be too much like having a chained rabid dog in her home. Maybe one with some experience, but not too much; enough to exert some control over its demon even if the chip wasn’t present. A master vampire? The Slayer doubted that any of those would be chipped, and even if they were, well, who wanted someone that devious to worry about? Satisfied that she at least had some idea of what she’d be looking for, Buffy succumbed to the pull of slumber.

***

Giles smiled broadly into the phone. “You have no idea how relieved this has made me, Buffy. I’ll send you an email with the details for the next auction. It should take place in the next couple of weeks, if memory serves. Once you confirm that you’re going I’ll arrange an open line of credit, make sure that you can get the right one to help you.”

Back in Sunnydale, Buffy smirked slightly at her absent Watcher’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, well, I hear that all the cool people have one now.”

“Buffy,” Giles blustered indignantly over the very clear connection. “I do hope you are treating this with the seriousness it deserves. You are not choosing an accessory here but a potential partner in your fight against evil.”

Buffy’s grin grew. “Calm down, Giles. I know, but it still seems kinda funny to be thinking about having an evil vamp help in that fight. Are you sure these chips won’t go all kablooey on me?”

A clear huff sounded in England. “I’ve seen the test results and there have been no failures over the last four years. And anyway, I would imagine that you’ll get one of the newer models.”

Buffy restrained a giggle. “Trying not to be ageist here, Giles. If, and I repeat if, I do get a vamp, it’ll be the one I think can help most.”

Slightly mollified, Giles didn’t try to repress his pleasure any more. “I’m so pleased that you’ve made this choice, Buffy. I know things have been difficult, and I wish I could be there for you more. The offer of sending another Watcher still stands, you know.”

“No thanks, Giles,” Buffy grimaced. “It took me long enough to train you, I don’t think I could go through it again with anybody else.”

For once, Giles took this in the spirit it was intended and chuckled slightly before replying, “Quite, quite. I’ll send you the information. Let me know. Goodbye, Buffy.”

“Bye, Giles.” Buffy heard the click at the other end and replaced the handset. Time to visit the Magic Box.

***

Tara smiled at the departing customer and then beamed happily when she saw Buffy approaching the counter. A quick delve into Buffy’s aura showed an increase in the optimism that had been slowly disappearing over the time Tara had known her. “Something’s happened, Buffy. What is it?”

Buffy smiled at the gentle Wiccan who’d come to be her dearest friend and closest confidante. “Yep, sure has, Tara. I’ve decided to take Giles up on his offer and get me one of those chipped vamps.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Buffy? Couldn’t it be dangerous?” Tara didn’t want to voice her real objection; this was slavery, even if they were demons. Tara still recalled how she’d felt when she believed herself to be a demon too.

Buffy looked Tara squarely in the eyes, trying to let her friend see that, whatever her misgivings, this course of action was not being taken lightly. Her current need outweighed her deep reservations and, now that Buffy has made the decision, she was determined to follow it through.

The Wiccan had read Buffy’s aura on a number of occasions now, and they’d had several conversations about elements that had caused Tara concern. Most of it centred on Buffy’s growing feeling of distance from the innocents she was charged to protect. Buffy had even put forward an interesting concept about why Slayers normally died so young; once they understood the evil that was in mankind, it became more difficult to condemn only those without a soul.

As the innocence and naiveté of the Slayer became lost with maturity and experience, it proved increasingly chafing to be unable to tackle the evil in man. There seemed to be something in the Slayer psyche that demanded she fight evil, all evil, not just that easily justified retribution she dished out to demons. Buffy thought that they just gave up one day when they realised the futility of the task and became too disillusioned to continue. Buffy had confessed to Tara that, without her family and her Watcher, she sometimes felt like letting it all go and giving some big bad its one good day.

“You know I wouldn’t choose this path if I didn’t feel I had to,” Buffy spoke softly. “I know I’m well past my sell by date, Tara. Sometimes, on a bad night, I can feel myself hesitating and wondering why the hell I’m doing this. Who am I doing it for?”

“You’re doing it for all of us, Buffy. The world needs you.” Tara knew it was partly the weight of this responsibility that had worn Buffy down gradually over the years. The Buffy in front of her was so very different from the more innocent Buffy she had first met almost four years earlier. The Slayer’s run in with the Initiative had taken a lot out of her.

The death of her mother, followed by the need to kill her newly turned boyfriend, had knocked Buffy hard. Then to be presented with a sister that didn’t exactly exist except as energy, only to lose her in a battle to save the world from an insane hell god – it had driven Buffy into a deep depression, and a chasm between her and the Scoobies had developed. Losing Dawn had almost been the end.

During that dark time, when the dynamics of the group had fallen apart, Willow had dabbled overmuch with magic; her desire to make everything right by using her powers was as addictive as heroin. At the last possible moment Willow had had an epiphany and rejoined the Scoobies in their fight against the Trio, helping to stop them before the idiots had gone too far. The reunion had proved temporary. Giles, making a rare appearance, had only stayed briefly before returning to England, taking Willow and Tara with him for much needed training with a coven. Xander and Anya, after a whirlwind wedding, had left Sunnydale when Xander was offered a lucrative contract in Cleveland.

For several months Buffy was alone. No family, no friends, no Watcher. The strain of working all hours at a burger joint to pay for the upkeep of the house and stave off mounting debts, slaying at night with a few hours sleep, only to start all over again – it was slowly killing her. At her lowest ebb Buffy called Giles. She told him that unless he could help her he’d better tell the Council to be on the lookout for the next Slayer any day now.

A horrified and suitably chastened Giles used every influence at his disposal, called in every favour he was even vaguely owed, and managed to browbeat the Council into awarding Buffy a significant lump sum, together with a generous remuneration. In the space of eight hours, Buffy’s bank account held enough to pay off all outstanding debts and leave a sizeable amount of capital besides.

Buffy quit her job that day, stocked up with food, took herself to the best beauty salon in town and treated herself to everything. When Buffy left late in the afternoon she had been massaged and manicured, pedicured and wrapped. Her hair had been shaped into a fetching shaggy bob and dyed a light ash colour. Buffy wasn’t sure that it suited her but, what the hell, she could always change it.

After sleeping almost around the clock, Buffy took herself shopping and made a few changes to her wardrobe. A few sets of serviceable and practical clothes for patrolling were at the top of her list. Since she no longer had any reason to get dressed up, with not having a social life, there was no reason to worry about what she wore on patrol. It wasn’t like she wanted the vamps to think she was trying to get into their pants. Instead, she chose gear that would offer a modicum of protection, was easy to move in and could still be, in a pinch, something she wouldn’t be ashamed to wear if she ever did get a sort of social life again. Leather and denim played a large part in her new look.

When Willow and Tara had returned from England, it had been a while before the friendships had been rekindled. For some reason it was Tara that Buffy turned to now with her troubles, not entirely able to forget what Willow’s actions had put her through in the past, or that it was Willow who had been instrumental in taking away from her a friend and her Watcher. Still friendly, they were no longer the intimates of happier times.

Tara had noticed the change in Buffy’s aura then. The weight of worry and despair had fallen a little from her shoulders, no doubt the result of the financial aid she’d received, but a new hardness had settled on her. Everything seemed sharp, brittle, strangely strong yet oddly fragile. Over the last couple of years it had changed further. Tara had watched the yearning towards romantic love almost disappear, now only a small ember that was in danger of dying completely. Buffy’s levels of contentment were also steadily diminishing, compensated for by a rise in her perceptions of honour and duty. Buffy was a honed warrior standing on the brink of a glorious death, or finding a reason to fight, a reason to live.

Buffy touched Tara lightly on the shoulder. “Not enough anymore, Tara. That’s why I need a vampire – I need a bodyguard, someone, to be there in the fight, to back me up if I slip, give me a chance to fight back if that’s what I want.” Her hand dropped back to her side. “And, the real reason I’m here, I’d like you to go with me to the auction, read some auras for me. Could you do that?”

“If…if you want me to, I’ll go with you. Willow can watch the shop for a few hours by herself.” Tara just hoped she wouldn’t have to look at too many. She’d need to gather a cleansing spell together before they went; she had a feeling they’d both need it after.

Five days later the two young women entered a secure complex on the outskirts of LA.

A/N: Feedback and criticism welcome, but please don't make me cry! First attempt at fic.

A/N 2: My grateful thanks to the generous Mandi (vampkiss) for the gorgeous banner. I love it to bits and hope you do to.

A/N 3: Thank you to all who left reviews to the first chapter. I was truly amazed. Will try to answer all feedback.



Chapter 2

At the back of the large hangar was a cage. Nothing unusual in that as the hangar was full of cages, each one containing a chipped vampire waiting for the auction - about two hundred in all. This cage held a peculiarity, a vampire whose number was in two digits – seventeen. The longest surviving chipped vampire, clocking up a whole four years. And if he didn’t get sold today he would be passing his title on at sunrise tomorrow. He didn’t know whether he cared or not.

He sat at the back of his cage, his arms around his legs and head resting on his knees. The once bleached hair was gone, long gone, replaced by a recently shorn scalp only just beginning to show a covering of brownish hair. It made his face look even more angular and sharp than it had before, but that wasn’t something he’d cared about in a long while now, his looks. He was clothed in a pair of grey cotton drawstring pants, as was every vampire, a grey tunic on top. Two hours ago he’d been naked, but as preparations for the auction got into full swing all the vampires had been hosed down and given clothes once they were dry.

The cages were roughly grouped in order of the skills possessed by its occupant. There were bodyguards, scholars, courtesans and personal aides. There were even chefs and oddly, gardeners. His cage stood alone, belonging to no group. Although he’d been used for many things, he’d proven unsatisfactory in each and every one, which was why this was his last chance. Nine different masters in less than four years didn’t look good and was creating a lack of confidence in the benefit of chipped vampires. If he didn’t sell today he’d be taken out and left for the sunrise.

He’d been waiting for the auction for nearly two weeks. Two weeks in stinking conditions shut into a cage with no comfort, naked and fed stagnant blood every other day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt well-fed, or when he’d been comfortable. He tried not to remember the last time he’d been happy, but he never could totally drive it from his thoughts. It had been the last occasion that he’d watched the Slayer, mouthing threats and looking forward to the dance. That was before he’d been caught and neutered, when pleasure was still a possibility and all humans were Happy Meals on legs.

And now the next humiliation was fast approaching. One group of vampires got a little extra attention to enhance their saleability – the whores. Because he’d been used in that way the auctioneers were hedging their bets and preparing him in the same way as the rest of the males. Just in case someone would want to take away a not overly tall, skinny, almost hairless vampire whose back and chest were covered in unhealed lash marks, and install them in an establishment that catered for deviant sex. Or maybe he’d be taken for private use. Not likely.

Two men approached Spike’s cage. Both were well-built and carried cattle prods, amongst other things. Doug and Josh had worked at the centre since the beginning. The small vampire in the cage before them was almost as much a part of the fixtures and fittings as they were. For the last two years they’d held a sweepstake on how long it would be before Seventeen found himself back up for auction, and the gap between visits had become increasingly shorter. In a strange way they respected the vampire who refused to follow the rules, no matter what was done to tame him.

“You know the drill, Seventeen.” Doug kicked the side of the cage to get the vampire’s attention. He continued when Seventeen lifted his head and regarded him with a baleful glare.
“Let’s see what we can do to get you out of here in one piece, eh?”

Without a word, Spike gracefully rose and sauntered to the bars of the cage, leaning the length of his body lightly against them and raising his arms out to the sides. Doug grabbed one wrist and slipped a tie around it, attached the tie to the nearest bar and made fast. Moving to the other arm he repeated his actions, leaving Seventeen restrained. Picking up a collar, he motioned for Seventeen to bring his neck a little nearer so that it could be attached. Doug wasn’t surprised when the vampire complied; it’d been a few years since they’d had any trouble with him at this stage in the proceedings. The next was the bit that could be a little trickier.

Josh pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, reached down in between the bars and untied the drawstring on the vampire’s pants, pulling them down with a quick tug. He absently admired the cock and balls in front of him before returning to his task. Slicking the gloves with a special lube, he reached in again and pumped the vampire’s cock until he achieved the reaction he wanted. That done he slipped a black leather cock ring into place and tightened it sharply to a background hiss from Seventeen.

Having his body treated like a lump of meat was still the hardest thing for Spike to accept since he’d been reduced to this form of slavery. It galled him that he couldn’t tell them to just fuck off and leave him alone, almost as much as not being able to defend himself from the numerous beatings and other torments. If they were prepping him in this way he’d soon be stripped from the small comfort of clothing – whores were paraded naked in front of their prospective new masters. So it came as something of a surprise when Doug entered his cage and pulled up his pants again.

“Don’t get mad, we’ve got a VIP here today. They’ve even put a screen around the pleasure vamps to stop them from sullying her eyes with all their nakedness.” Doug busied himself with getting the cuffs and manacles attached. “She’s after a bodyguard and doesn’t need to get a gawk at all that cold flesh. Doubt you’ll even see her, pretty little thing she is too from the looks of her security clearance.”

The ties were stripped from Spike’s wrists and he automatically held them behind his back as the chains were attached. They fell from the cuffs to the manacles on his ankles, making it difficult to walk and impossible to run. Another chain, this time a leash, was fixed to the collar, leaving only one piece of equipment to be used.

“The boss isn’t too happy about what happened last time you were here so we’ve got to put this on too.” Spike glanced down at the metal bit gag in the man’s hands, only too aware of the reason it was there. ‘Can’t even call the tossers a load of wankers now without them getting all shirty.’ Closing his eyes in resignation he opened his mouth and the gag was tightly fixed in place, effectively silencing him - even if he’d been allowed to speak.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the hangar changed. A breeze of agitation flowed through the vampires in the cages nearest the hangar entrance, passing like wildfire throughout the building. At the back of the hangar the vampire and two men stilled and looked for the cause, but their view was blocked by the group of cages in front where normally docile vampires were now agitatedly pacing, as much as they could in their restricted space.

“Josh, go and see what’s what. This ain’t normal,” Doug directed his workmate. With a shrug, Josh disappeared only to return a few minutes later.

“It’s the VIP. Seems to have caused a bit of a stir down there. Mack’s calming them down now.” It was the most Spike had ever heard Josh utter.

Doug manoeuvred Spike to the front of his cage and pushed him down into the regulation kneeling position. “Do yourself a favour, Seventeen. Try to get one of them to take you on. Don’t really fancy having to sweep up your dust tomorrow.” He cuffed the vampire on the head without force before leaving the cage and locking it. ‘Time to see what all the fuss was about.’

***

Buffy was glad, not for the first time, that she had invested in the conversion of the basement. Contacts in construction, supplied by Xander, had carried out the project to a high standard leaving her with a training area, enclosed laundry room and a small shower room. The shower room had been a bit of an indulgence but Buffy had justified it to herself by thinking of the amount of time she saved not having to wipe up shed mud, dust and demon goo through the rest of the house.

It was also absolute bliss to step straight under the cleansing warmth of the shower when a training session was complete. Buffy stepped out of the shower, quickly towelled herself off and pulled on today’s ensemble: a pair of comfortable black leather pants, a white tank top and pair of low-heeled but fashionable black boots. By the time she’d dressed the extractor fan in the shower room had cleared the mirror enough for her to tidy her hair and pull it into a ponytail – not something she normally bothered with unless she was patrolling. Today’s excursion was business and that was the look she was going for, business-like. A touch of mascara, a hint of gloss and a small spray of Acqua di Gio and she had all the finishing touches. Which was just as well as Tara had just entered the house.

Buffy looked at the most recent additions to her basement. A sturdy iron framed bed had been placed against a wall, right next to the newly mounted wall brackets and chains. She’d chosen a dark blue set of linen for the bed and recycled a couple of her pillows, using the excuse to purchase some extra fluffy new ones for her own bed. Satisfied, she turned and bounded up the stairs to greet Tara.

“Hi, Tara.” Buffy shared a hug with her friend. “Just got to grab a couple of things then I’m good to go.” She picked up and shrugged on her black leather duster before moving into the living room and stuffing a couple of stakes into its deep pockets, pushing another into the clip at the back of her pants and picking up a handful of documentation from the coffee table.

Tara had followed her and thought, not for the first time, how small Buffy looked now that she rarely wore high heels. It was difficult to remember sometimes that the blonde haired woman in front of her was actually a super strong superhero. “Willow says hi and hopes you find what you need.”

Buffy looked at Tara, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She’s not the only one. Better hit the road if we’re gonna be on time. Oh, did you remember the spell stuff?” Buffy had readily agreed with Tara that they were likely going to feel in need of some uplifting by the time they returned.

“Goddess!” Tara pulled a small sack from her coat pocket and moved to place it on the kitchen island. “I’m glad you reminded me. Really don’t want to contaminate the ingredients.”

Smiling, Buffy pulled open the front door and grabbed her keys, wallet, a car rug and a flask she’d left by the door earlier. At Tara’s questioning look at the rug, Buffy explained; “Just a precaution in case we get delayed coming back. So do not want crispy vampire in the back of your car.”

It was about two hours before sunset when they reached the complex. The instructions Buffy had been sent were easy to follow, even if finding the right dirt track proved a little harder. Quite a number of vehicles were parked in front of the dominating building - a large inconspicuous-looking hangar.

Tara parked the car in a space between two shiny limousines and as the two young women climbed from the car they found themselves approached by a grey haired man in a dark suit.

“Miss Summers?” He looked at Tara and Buffy in turn. When Buffy nodded, he smiled and introduced himself. “Mike Sanders. I’ll be running the auction later. Did you get the literature I sent you?”

“Yes, thank you.” Buffy wasn’t about to tell him that she’d only skimmed through it once.
“This is a friend of mine, Tara Maclay.”

Tara smiled and dipped her head. “Hi.”

“Well, welcome to you both.” Mike turned and motioned for them to accompany him in the direction of the hangar. “I thought I’d meet you and explain the setup as you haven’t attended one of our events before. The previewing is just about to start. This gives you an opportunity to actually view the lots. I understand that you are only interested in a bodyguard, is that correct?” At Buffy’s nod he continued. “The lots are divided into groups of expertise. They are viewed and sold in those same groups. At the end of the auction there is a small miscellaneous section. This has lots that can fit into more than one group.”

They had almost reached the hangar doors when Buffy’s skin started crawling and her hand itched to pull out one of her hidden stakes. Tara glanced at her in concern as she halted just short of the entrance.

“Is there something wrong, Miss Summers?” Mike queried. He had no idea why the young lady frozen before him was so important, but instructions had been received from the highest level that this client’s every need was to be pandered to. She was to be accompanied through every step of the auction and her happiness with an end purchase had to be guaranteed. Mike felt the pressure and prayed that he wasn’t going to be facing any difficulty already.

She hadn’t been prepared for the assault on her senses. Being so close to so many vampires, all at once and in a confined space, was too much. Buffy felt an urge to growl. ‘OK. So not the cool thing to do. But, fuck, if I can sense them then…” The rest of her thought was cut short when a howl sounded from inside the hangar.

“How many?” Buffy’s voice came out a bit higher than usual. She swallowed and tried again. “How many vampires are in there?”

“Two hundred and three. Is that a problem?” Mike was growing concerned.

Buffy looked at Tara. Her friend’s face showed her quick understanding of Buffy’s problem. It was probably not the best idea in the world to let the Slayer loose in a hangar full of vamps. Particularly ones that had already sensed her. That way lay mayhem and madness.

“I can’t go in there. Any suggestions?” Buffy looked hopefully at Tara. ‘I knew this was a stupid idea. What the hell was I thinking? That I’d get a break at last? That something would actually go right in my life? Help me, Tara.’

As if she’d read Buffy’s thoughts, Tara stood a little straighter and looked over at Mike. “I take it that you have cameras in there?” When Mike had confirmed this, Tara presented her solution. “Buffy has a thing about being in the presence of so many vampires. Perhaps she could view the actual lots through your monitors, and I could go in there on her behalf?”

Mike nearly laughed with relief. “Oh, you had me worried there for a moment. I was just about to explain that we have remote viewing facilities. Many clients have no wish to enter the hangar. The facilities in there are, of necessity, quite primitive. We have bios on all the lots that can be played in privacy.” With a friendly smile Mike motioned them to the right but neither girl moved. “Is there a problem?” Mike’s smile started to become strained.

Buffy fixed him with a look she frequently borrowed from Willow – the resolve face. “Tara still needs to go into the hangar. I’d like her to be escorted by someone with a walkie talkie so that I can direct her to the lots I’d like her to look at.” She was pleasantly surprised at the instant capitulation.

“No problem at all. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll just arrange for the Hangar Manager to escort Miss Maclay before I show you our private facilities.” Mike executed a small bow before striding into the hangar to make the arrangements.

“Are you okay with this, Tara?” Buffy grabbed Tara’s hands in her own. “We can call it off and just look at their stuff if you don’t want to go in there.” Buffy gave a derisive laugh. “I mean, look at me. The Slayer, and I can’t even go in there.”

Tara pushed away her own doubts and steeled herself to enter the lion’s den. “Just don’t leave me in there too long, Buffy. I can feel the desolation from here.” When Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow she elaborated. “They may be demons, but they have feelings too you know.”

With the exception of Angel - and he had a soul--Buffy didn’t think about her prey as having feelings; they were there to be slain, end of story. But she trusted Tara to be more sensitive to these aspects of the underworld in which Buffy existed. It was also something she would need to take into consideration if they were successful in this mission - if she did leave here with a pet vamp in tow.

“How about I look through the tapes or whatever and you only go in when there’s something for you to look at? Would that be easier?” Tara’s relieved smile lifted some of Buffy’s guilt at leaving this task to her. “Oh, looks like Mike’s found his pal.”

Mike was approaching them with a tall man who he introduced as Doug. Once Buffy had told him of their plan of action, she was ushered away to an adjoining building and into a room containing banks of monitors, each one showing different views inside the hangar. Mike swiftly dislodged a couple of the personnel watching the screens to make room for Buffy and himself, setting up a laptop in front of them. The laptop contained records of all the available vampires and Buffy set to browsing through them.

Most of the lots were dismissed purely on looks and instinct. They looked too much like the mindless fledglings she dusted on a regular basis and Buffy was searching for something more. She wanted someone who at least looked, or acted, as though they could operate on instinct and initiative in a sticky situation. Someone who would step into the breach if the need arose.

Buffy absently listened to Mike’s running commentary on the assets of each lot, glancing between the computer screen and the live monitors to see how they compared. It was difficult to make any decision from looking at the caged vampires; they were all in the same position, kneeling with their eyes downcast as a few people wandered between the cages inspecting them.

Having eliminated most on the grounds of being too big, too small, too ugly, too thuggish, too not what she was looking for, Buffy eventually selected two from the seventy or so that she’d looked at. It was hard to feel any enthusiasm for either of her choices though, both male. They were just the best of an uninspiring bunch. ‘This isn’t going to work. We could have saved ourselves the trouble and stayed in Sunnyhell for all the good this is gonna do.’ Buffy sighed in exasperation, before indicating to Mike that she’d like Tara to look at her selections.

Buffy watched the live feeds intently as Tara entered the hangar, closely escorted by Doug. It wasn’t hard to see Tara’s flinch as she stepped into the well-lit building, watch as she made an effort to pull herself together and let Doug guide her to the cages. Within seconds of reaching the first, Tara recoiled and shook her head. A minute or so later, the gesture was repeated in front of the second cage. Buffy sank back into her seat and turned to Mike.

“I’m afraid we’ve wasted your time. If this is all you’ve got then we’d better be going,” Buffy said, starting to rise from her seat.

Panicking at the fallout that would be coming his way if this girl left here as an unsatisfied customer, Mike recalled the handful of lots that were multi-skilled. “Miss Summers, we do have a few more. There are the miscellaneous lots, those with more than one skill, which you haven’t looked at yet. Perhaps you’d like to go through them. I really don’t want you to go away empty handed without exploring all options.” Mike held his breath until the blonde girl nodded hesitantly and settled once more.

It was a small list, only five with the bodyguard skills she required. Mike was just beginning to feel his anxiety levels rising again after she discarded the first four, when he felt her tense next to him.

“This one.” Buffy fought to keep her voice steady as she stared at the laptop. ‘It couldn’t be…could it?’ There, on the screen, was a face she hadn’t seen in four years. Spike. William the Bloody. Slayer of Slayers. And there he was on the monitor, kneeling at the front of his cage, shifting and glancing around.

He looked different. Gone was the platinum blond hair and trademark black. Instead, he was clothed the same as the other vampires she’d seen and his hair was darker and shorn close to his head. But there was no mistaking the cheekbones and lean, handsome face, even though it lacked the glaring animation she remembered so well.

Mike was in a quandary. He had been instructed to ensure that his VIP left here happy with her purchase and the only one that had caught her eye was Seventeen. The one lot that he had been sure would be left behind, unsold and destined to become dust as the first failure of the chip. With mixed feelings he directed Doug to take his charge to the back of the hangar and Seventeen.

Tara wanted to get away from this awful place as soon as possible. The levels of misery, anger and despair that were assaulting her senses had started an empathic headache behind her eyes. The two auras that she’d looked at so far had been coiling streams of darkness and hatred, ensuring that she would do all in her power to dissuade Buffy from taking either of them away from this place and into her home. She had just started to fidget in her desire to escape when Doug touched her arm and guided her even deeper into the hangar.

Keeping her eyes down to avoid looking at the cages they passed, Tara only looked up when they halted about as far back as it was possible for them to go. When she glanced up Tara found herself looking into a pair of startlingly blue eyes. Automatically she searched his aura. Tara found the same darkness there as she’d found in the others, but it was held in check, controlled. She could also sense other qualities, stifled and hidden in the depths. With a shy smile, she nodded at the creature before her and was surprised when he tilted his head to one side and smiled back at her with his eyes, his lips moving upwards around the gag. Blushing, she turned to Doug and nodded. Without a word, Doug escorted a relieved Tara from the hangar.

Buffy leant back in her chair and sorted through her spinning thoughts. ‘Oh my God. Tara just gave Spike the nod. What do I do now?’ She was still thinking, blocking out whatever Mike was saying, when Tara joined them. Buffy desperately wanted to talk to Tara privately.

“What happens now?” Buffy interrupted Mike’s babbling.

“Ah, well. The auction will be starting shortly. The lot you have expressed an interest in will be up in,” Mike glanced at his watch, “about an hour or so. If you like, I can take you to the refreshment area and arrange for you to be collected in good time for the bidding.” Not that Mike thought there’d be much other interest in the often returned vampire. “I’ll leave you his file to study and please feel free to ask any questions. One of my staff will be available to you at all times.”

Seated in a discreet and dimly lit booth, a buffet selection of food and drink before them, the young women were left alone. Although the hall they found themselves in held a large number of other people, the dim lighting and almost enclosed booths ensured a certain amount of anonymity that Buffy appreciated; it wasn’t like she wanted anyone to see her in this place.

Tara relaxed with a sigh and started nibbling at the food, thankful that the headache had started to abate the moment she left the hangar. The whole experience so far had left her feeling wrung out and looking forward to returning to her home and the cosy bed she shared with Willow. There would be some super snuggling going on later that night if she had any say in it.

Glancing over to Buffy she wasn’t surprised to see her looking pensive. “The first two were awful, Buffy. But the last one really had great potential, especially compared to the others.”

Buffy startled her by starting to laugh. She tapped the unopened file on the table before replying; “Seventeen. Also known as Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Tara gasped, recalling the name from Willow’s frequent recounting of tales before her time with the Scoobies. “The one who kidnapped Willow? Threatened her with a broken bottle?”

“Oh, yeah. That’d be him. Then he was a peroxide pain in my butt. A regular Sunnydale feature until, well, I guess now I know what happened to him.” Buffy had stopped laughing but was now smiling in reminiscence of satisfying fights from long ago. ‘Those were the good days, even though I didn’t know it then. We were all together in the fight, mom was still alive and things hadn’t fallen apart. Good times.’

“You really surprised me when you nodded. So how was he different?” Buffy felt nervous but really wanted to hear Tara’s answer.

“Well, it’s difficult to say. The others were just totally full of darkness, just full of hate and anger. And he has that too, you know?” At Buffy’s nod, Tara continued. “But there was so much more to him than the others. He has control of his demon, and intelligence. He was the only one to look at me, and he smiled.” Tara smiled at the recollection. “I really think that with the correct incentive he could be just what you’re looking for. But he would need to be handled carefully, especially given your history together.”

Buffy sighed. That was just it. They did have a history, and not an especially friendly one. He’d tried to kill her, he’d helped her save the world, and then he’d gone back to trying to kill her. ‘Well, after that spectacular fiasco when he’d sweet-talked mom and kidnapped Willow and Xander in his forlorn efforts to regain Dru.’

At least they knew each other, if only as vampire and Slayer. Perhaps that gave her something to work on. And she had to admit, if only to herself, that seeing his familiar face had stirred something she’d thought long dead – interest and excitement. Buffy remembered the way they used to trade insults before, during and after their tussles. ‘How long has it been since I’ve even bothered to toss out a pun to the stupid vamps in Sunnydale?’ She really couldn’t recall. It somehow seemed too much effort to banter these days.

Nowadays it was all patrol, slay, sleep. The fun in the fight had long since disappeared. But fighting Spike had always been fun, even at its deadliest. Perhaps it would be just as good to have him fighting beside her. Buffy wondered what his reaction would be when that proposition was put to him. Smirking to herself, she imagined the string of verbal abuse she’d likely receive. ‘Oh, yeah. This could be fun.’

“Buffy?” Tara caught her attention, a troubled expression on her face. “What do you really think about chipped vampires? Do you think it’s a good thing?”

“Really? Hell, no. Vampires should be staked, not turned into slaves. Guess that makes me a hypocrite, huh?” Buffy gave Tara a troubled look of her own. “If things were different I wouldn’t be caught dead within a hundred miles of this place, but…”

Tara reached over and squeezed Buffy’s hand. “You aren’t like the rest, Buffy. You wouldn’t torture him, would you?”

Buffy gave a small laugh. “Nope, no torture girl, that’s me. Might stake him though, he really is annoying at times, like most of the time.” She looked down at the still unopened file in front of her and, making a decision, pushed it away. Anything that had happened over the last four years he could tell her himself, she didn’t need to read about it.

A/N: Feedback most welcome. More next Monday.

A/N: I would like to take this oppotunity to make it clear that this story is NOT in response to a challenge. I know there is another story with a similar theme which IS in response to a challenge on BSV. Everything here is developed by myself, with the reliance on superb betas (as named above) to guide me away from pitfalls. I am sorry that there has been some confusion and should have made this clearer before. Hope that doesn't stop you from reading though!


Chapter 3

Spike had been pleasantly surprised when he’d looked up to find the blonde girl standing in front of him.

She seemed … nice.

And there hadn’t been a lot of nice in his unlife since he’d been electronically neutered. When she gave him that shy smile the vampire reacted instinctively, luxuriating in her blush and rising heartbeat. Been a while since he’d managed to get a response like that and it felt … soothing and reassuring. Any sort of attention from the fairer sex was something to be treasured. Alone again, Spike had allowed himself to feel hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end that he’d imagined.

A few minutes later all hope was gone. The man in the smart dark suit exuded power and smelt of the devil. One quick glance was enough to know the soul had been forsworn. Spike didn’t need to be told the name of the law firm he represented, he could smell it on him: Wolfram and Hart. The man didn’t say a word, just stared at him for a few moments, long enough to drive fear into his undead heart, then turned and left with a satisfied smile.

The trembling that took control of his body disgusted Spike. But that had been the way of it in what felt like forever. These last years had stretched to an eternity making his previous century, and more, seem like the blinking of an eye. The difference between existing with pain or pleasure had never seemed more defined. Pain made every second a year, every minute a decade. Whereas pleasure was fleeting, needing to be sought over and over to be remembered. And Spike found it so hard to remember how pleasure felt.

Pleasure was now something to be taken by others in their use of him, and he’d been left with the clear understanding that he was not deemed worthy to receive such a gift. Only a miracle would see him being in a position to experience joy in sex again, sharing something other than parts of his body. Spike believed it would take another miracle for him to want to give anything of himself, anything other than the base mechanics that the act demanded from him.

Time seemed to be passing quicker now; his fear of going into the arena again making the sand fall faster in the hourglass holding his fate. Too soon, far too soon for Spike, Josh was taking him from his cage and leading him to where Doug would take control of Seventeen, the last lot in the auction.

***

Buffy and Tara were escorted to an almost empty room and led to a secluded box. They’d passed groups and individuals walking in the opposite direction; some had looked satisfied, some not, but all had made Tara’s skin crawl.

It was like walking into a cinema after the lights had gone down, taking time to adjust their sight in the gloom. The only lighting was on the stage below them, illuminating Mike, the auctioneer, and an empty spot to the side of him. Within moments a shuffling and clinking sound heralded the arrival of the last lot in the auction – Seventeen. It seemed that there was very little interest in obtaining this final exhibit of the day.

Buffy caught her breath at her first real sight of Spike after so long. The almost shaved head served to accentuate the angles of his face and it shocked her to see how his mouth was distorted by the gag. It shocked her even more to notice the huge tent in his pants, finding it hard to drag her gaze away. ‘Shit, they’re treating him like an animal. Don’t they know they’ve got a master vampire there?’

The man who’d accompanied Tara into the hangar earlier, Doug, guided the vampire until he stood in the spotlight, head bowed and shoulders slumped. The whole setup sickened Buffy. She tried to put herself in Spike’s shoes – or she would, if he were wearing any - but shuddered before she could get beyond being shackled and paraded in front of strangers. Mike started speaking so she focussed on him. The bidding was about to begin.

Mike had a problem.

A big problem.

And he had no idea how he was going to sort it out. The auditorium was virtually empty, only the two sets of bidders occupying it. He’d hoped there’d be only one. The presence of the Wolfram and Hart representative had surprised him earlier. When the man had sat through the rest of the auction, without bidding once, Mike had experienced some serious misgivings. Now, with the last lot up and his instructions to please the VIP burning in his head, Mike faced the miserable task of upsetting one of their most prestigious clients. He was determined not to let the petite blonde VIP down. As Mike went into his spiel, giving details of Seventeen’s previous experience and opening the bidding, he prayed that he would be able to come out of this with some credibility.

The moment the bidding started, Buffy reached over to the button that registered bids. As her finger was poised to depress the large red button, Mike accepted a bid from someone else. Buffy frowned and looked across at Tara who shrugged before firmly depressing the button. This started a virtual ping pong match.

Spike might not have entered into her thoughts on a regular basis since she’d last seen him but, as the only Tara-approved vamp here, Buffy was not about to let another get their hands on him. No way was she ever coming here again. With determination Buffy concentrated on winning against her unseen competition.

Mike could barely keep up as the bidding started at five thousand dollars and then rose in five thousand dollar increments. In no time at all it had reached one hundred thousand dollars and the increments increased to ten thousand dollars.

Buffy was enjoying herself immensely, something she hadn’t felt in a while. At first she’d been surprised that someone else was fighting her for Spike, the bottom of the auction barrel. But then she got the bit between her pretty white teeth and enjoyed the feeling of spending the Council’s money. ‘Giles is so gonna have a fit!’

There was a pause when the bidding stopped at two hundred and sixty thousand, in Buffy’s favour. Unknown to the Slayer, her opponent had reached his ceiling and was frantically trying to connect with the CEO of LA’s Wolfram and Hart office on his cell phone for permission to go higher. Mike seized this golden opportunity and closed, wiping the gathering sweat from his brow in relief.

Buffy and Tara hugged briefly before Buffy turned to look back at the stage. Tara sighed with relief that the vampire would be in a safer place; a glance in the direction of the other bidder had revealed to her an aura blacker than any she had seem from within the cages earlier. She shuddered to think what would happen to Spike in his hands.

Spike was already being led away and, at that moment, they were being encouraged to go as well to complete the paperwork. Buffy’s satisfaction in procuring Spike at such expense – thoughts of Giles’ reaction was firmly pushed away for now – was strangely tinged with a feeling of regret at seeing him in this position. Buffy was glad that she had made some effort to provide at least a comfortable bed for him in the basement, even if she hadn’t known that it would be Spike resting there. He had certainly looked as though a rest would do him good.

Buffy turned to accompany Tara and sign on the dotted line for her vampire.

***

Spike was in shock. As he made his painfully slow way onto the stage - it was surprisingly difficult to walk with an aching erection - he’d fully expected to find himself sold to Wolfram and Hart within moments. When a bidding war had started up he’d fought to dampen the growing hope that he would escape their clutches. And now he was being led away, not knowing to whom he would be passed in a few minutes. Maybe it would be the pretty blonde from earlier. And if it was, maybe her friendly face hid someone with traits to compete with Angel’s artistic cruelty.

Fresh anxiety added to the present fear he was feeling. Spike knew from experience that an inordinately high price had been paid to buy him. Who other than Wolfram & Hart would pay that sort of money for a not too highly recommended chipped vampire? Someone wanted him bad if they were prepared to part with that amount of money, and he didn’t think it was with the intention of placing him in the lap of luxury. Struggling to find the last shreds of dignity he possessed, Spike dragged from memory the cloak of attitude he’d used to wear naturally. Trying, with all he had left, to give at least the appearance of still being someone, not just some thing. Nothing he tried completely stopped involuntary shivers from dancing through his frame.

***

Tara bit her tongue to stop herself from spitting out her anger at the auctioneer. Mike had been with them within moments of their own entry to the office and had launched himself into an obviously well-rehearsed monologue. He’d mentioned something about a ‘no return’ clause on Seventeen – which made Tara grind her teeth – and then continued with a list of things that Buffy should take into account with regard to her acquisition. Glancing at Buffy from under her lashes, she could see that her friend was finding it just as difficult to contain her rage.

Tara made a note to herself to get Willow to use her computer skills to investigate exactly what the chipped vampires were being subjected to; get the technical details that were held secretly. She knew Willow would leap at any chance to help Buffy in any way.

‘Don’t hit him, don’t hit him, and don’t hit him. Damn, I want to hit him!’ Buffy fidgeted in an effort to calm herself and only listened to half of what Mike was saying, and that was bad enough. She’d already signed the necessary paperwork and been given a copy. There’d also been the presentation of a complimentary chest with ‘necessary discipline and containment’ equipment. A set of keys had been passed to her, ‘spares are in the chest’, a copy of the file she had failed to read earlier, and an instruction manual. It was the small control device, ‘sends shocks to his brain’, that had the man before her in more danger than he could ever imagine. Mike had just started to assure them that Seventeen would be perfectly happy travelling in the trunk when a disturbance in the doorway had them all turning to see the cause.

If Spike breathed, which in all honesty he often did, he would have heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief when he spotted the blonde girl he’d seen earlier standing inside the doorway to the office. But that incipient relief was soon displaced by sheer panic.

It had been a long time since he’d sensed this, felt that prickling sensation crawling over the back of his neck, but there was no forgetting it. Slayer. ‘Bloody hell. She’s going to take me to him. The fucking Slayer is going to take me to that bastard with a soul.’ Spike had never forgotten the closeness that Angel shared with the Chosen One. Maybe he’d been wrong about the Wolfram & Hart guy being in Angel’s employ; he could just as easily have been from another branch. How more likely was it that Angel would get the Slayer to do his dirty work for him? And that’s when he started to struggle. Spike knew it was hopeless; he was trussed up and on a fucking leash, but that didn’t stop him trying.

Spike pulled back on the leash, ignoring the burn as it cut into his neck and using all of his strength to keep from being dragged into the office. His head started to shake from side to side in denial of his situation. Stumbling backwards as the leash fell slack, he stumbled over his chains and fell into an untidy heap on the ground, still attempting to shuffle away from the office. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Doug raise a nightstick and, closing his eyes, braced for the blow.

When it didn’t come he cautiously opened his eyes to see the Slayer holding Doug away from him. Doug’s face reflected his disbelief at a small girl being able to halt him. Releasing the man, the Slayer turned to Spike and crouched down beside him. When he would have wriggled further away she reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was the lack of force that stilled him.

Buffy looked into the eyes of the vampire, understanding that he was almost beside himself with fear but not knowing why. She couldn’t believe that she was instilling this panic in him; she never had before. But a lot had happened to both of them since their last meeting and now was not the time to catch up. There was irony here somewhere, a slayer wanting to soothe a vampire.

Softly, so softly that only Spike would hear, she said, “Spike, it’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

When this elicited no reaction, Buffy tried again. “I’ve never lied to you, Spike. It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see.” Shifting her grip to his arm, Buffy pulled Spike up with her and turned to face Mike. “I think we’ll be going now. Thank you for all your help today.”

Without waiting for an answer, Buffy gently tugged on the terrified vampire’s arm to get him moving towards the car park. Within moments Tara had fallen in beside them and they made slow progress towards Tara’s car. Once they reached it Mike appeared with Doug pushing the chest along on a dolly. It was quickly installed in the trunk. Despite Mike’s protests that the vampire should join it, Buffy opened the back door of the car and pushed Spike gently inside before following him. When Tara had settled in the driver’s seat they made short work of leaving the depressing place behind.

***

Without any need for instruction, Spike had slipped into the foot well and huddled there as best he could within the confines of his bindings. Moments later he was pulled up and onto the seat beside the Slayer, sitting awkwardly on his chains. He tried to keep his head down but a soft hand touched his face, almost making him jerk away as it firmly turned his bowed head towards her. Spike glanced up briefly in the darkness of the car and finally looked directly at the Slayer. He wanted to shift face so he could see her more clearly, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. He couldn’t stop the trembling that had taken control of his body.

“Tip your head forward, Spike. I want to take this thing off.” Buffy touched the gag and collar briefly – seeing these things in use on Spike made her all sorts of uncomfortable - before speaking to Tara. “How long before we’re home, Tara?”

“Should be quicker at this time of night, maybe an hour and a half, if we’re lucky.” Tara concentrated on getting them off the dirt track and back onto tarmac, eager to put her foot down and put distance between them and that sickening place. She glanced in the rear view mirror finding it fascinating that she could only see Buffy dimly reflected in it.

It was the mention of home, and the time it would take to get there, that finally made Spike let go of his belief that he was being taken to Angel. Tipping his head as instructed, he felt the Slayer’s warm hands fumbling with the straps that held the gag in place.

In frustration Buffy turned on the interior light and made short work of the confining buckles.
Gently, she removed it from Spike’s mouth and dropped it onto the seat beside her before turning her attention to the collar. Fishing in her coat pocket she pulled out the keys she’d been given. “If I take off these chains are you gonna behave? I really don’t want the hassle of an escape attempt right now.”

Head still bowed, Spike nodded once and shifted his wrists towards her. It took a few tries to find the right key but then the cuffs were gone. Moving to settle against the door, Spike raised his ankles and presented them to the Slayer. Soon he was able to stretch his arms and legs, working out the knots of tension before huddling as far from the Slayer as he could get. He was tempted to thank her but knew only too well the punishment for talking without permission.

Buffy frowned at Spike’s silence. She’d half been expecting him to launch into one of his annoying rants the moment he had his mouth free. Instead he’d curled up as far away from her as he could. It was chilly in the car and Buffy had pulled her coat around her before remembering the rug and flask she’d brought with her. She was about to reach over to the front seat and grab them when the car swung left sharply and bumped off the track and onto tarmac. The movement caused the vampire to slide across the seat into her and, without thinking, Buffy put her hands out to steady him.

Spike froze, little pants coming unbidden from his mouth. He hadn’t been touched by a female for years, barely been in the presence of one. Despite it being the Slayer’s hands that had touched him several times already tonight, his senses were becoming overwhelmed by this close proximity to a woman, two women. Their scents were driving him mad, his manipulated erection now filled out by his own desire.

He could smell the faint sweat that had now dried on their bodies, the mixed aromas from bathing gels, sweet and floral, sensual and musky, power and magic. The girl in front, Tara, had had sex earlier today, but not with a man. Spike felt a vague recognition of her partner’s scent, but couldn’t quite place it. The Slayer had no trace of sex anywhere on her, which Spike found strange recalling the last time they’d fought and his taunting of her over a one night stand. Perhaps she was choosier now; perhaps those dimpled knees were harder to pry apart. A twinge in his cock almost had Spike groaning, teeth biting into his lip to prevent any further humiliation.

As the car settled, Buffy pushed Spike upright before leaning over and retrieving the rug and flask from the front of the car. She could see his surprise when the rug was thrown over his shoulders and wrapped about him.

“It’s cold,” was Buffy’s response to Spike’s bemused look. She thrust the flask towards him, waiting until he slowly took it from her. “Blood, pig’s, probably not too hot now. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

She felt satisfied when Spike nodded and set to work opening the flask. The smell had him changing face, bumpies and golden eyes directed towards her before he downed the contents straight from the flask. After the dross he’d been supping lately even pig’s blood, especially almost warm pig’s blood, tasted like nectar to Spike. He relished its feel as the blood slid down his throat and set to work on his still healing injuries, taking away some of the ever present sting from the lash marks that liberally covered his body. With a last lick across his fangs, having captured every last drop, he changed back to his other face and passed the flask back to Buffy.

The Slayer confused him.

Spike studied her from under his lashes, harder to do now that she’d turned off the interior light. He was grudgingly impressed that she was still the Slayer after all this time. Seemed that he wasn’t the only Big Bad who’d been unable to off her.

And she smelt divine. There was an extra richness about her now, like a fine wine that was reaching its peak of perfection. Not quite there yet, but close. Her face was thinner but that was to be expected now that she had reached womanhood. But the biggest change was the way she acted towards him. He’d been treated better since he’d entered this car than at any other time since his capture, and that astounded him

Spike knew that he couldn’t base his future treatment on this latest experience in her company, but out of all the people he knew, the Slayer probably had the most justification for taking revenge on him. He shuddered slightly. If she wished it, she could use her strength to seriously damage him, perhaps permanently. Spike really didn’t fancy finishing off his unlife any more of a cripple than he already was.

Wondering what would happen when they reached Sunnyhell, what the bitch called Fate would have in store for him now, Spike settled back into his corner and shut his eyes. He’d be finding out soon enough.

A/N: Feedback most welcome. May be a day late next week with update - travelling.

In case you've forgotten, this lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi - thank you so much.

Chapter 4

Tara drove with her attention divided. Part was focussed on the road ahead, thankful for the light traffic. The other part was busy pondering about vampires, specifically chipped vampires. Like the one huddled in the back of her car, his aura crying out for respite from the hell of his existence.

Up to now she had always tried to ignore their presence in Sunnydale; it wasn’t as if there were that many of them. The new Mayor had one, and a team of six was assigned to the local police. One had been with the local fire fighters until he … combusted. She was pretty sure there were more around but had made no effort to look for them. Those that she did see on occasion - the ones working at night on police patrols - she’d tried to ignore, averting her eyes away as if looking at something shameful.

But now she was interested.

Going to that place today had been more of a drain on her inner peace than she liked to admit - even to herself. Tara was sure that, besides being morally wrong, there was something else to be learned with a little furtive investigating of the technological variety. Just as well she knew someone who could, if only she would.

Willow.

Willow had been trying to mend her bridges with Buffy for some time now. Perhaps if they could find something for Buffy to get her teeth into about the Initiative it would bring the two former friends that little bit closer together. Tara just had this gut instinct that something was off, even more off than treating other beings as slaves in all but name. And having met Spike, she felt compelled to do as much for the vampire as she could to make his lot a better one.

***

His eyes might be shut but Spike could feel the Slayer watching him. The vampire was not surprised to be under her scrutiny, nor would he be surprised if just about now she was wondering if she was mad to have bought him. Perhaps that depended on what she intended to use him for.

Spike’s body was giving him unmistakeable signals that it would not be adverse if she wanted him for a fuck toy. Doug had intimated that she was looking for a bodyguard but that couldn’t be right. Why would the Slayer want, or need, a bodyguard? The stupid git must have got his wires crossed. That made as little sense as her wanting to have sex with a vampire. ‘Oh, nearly forgot there. She’s had one before.’ The thought that the Slayer might want him as a replacement for Angel didn’t fill him with enthusiasm. Her scent surrounding him did.

If it was sex she was after, Spike was not convinced he would be able to satisfy her. It had been so long since he’d had a woman – Dru – and he didn’t know if the old moves were there. It would truly be the ultimate irony of his unlife if he, a trained whore, were to be staked for being unable to perform his duties.

Shifting slightly to ease the increasing discomfort in his crotch, Spike lost himself to the motion of the car, gaining as much rest as he could before they reached Sunnyhell.

***

She was confused.

She was surprised.

She was confused and surprised.

Buffy had settled into the rear seat and stared at the vampire not so far away. This was not the Big Bad she had known and fought. This was a shadow, and not a very inspiring shadow at that. Where she’d anticipated a heap of verbal thrown her way, there was fear. Where she’d imagined to be subjected to attitude and arrogance, there was meekness and silence. ‘Where was Spike and who was this in his body?’

It was confusing.

What was worse, she felt a duty to protect him. When Doug had raised his arm to deliver a blow she’d been close to losing her cool; something she just didn’t do anymore, not since… Because that meant she felt, and feeling only led to hurt. So why was she wanting to protect a vampire from a blow that couldn’t possibly damage a strong supernatural being such as he? It’s not as if he were a man or anything. And he wasn’t a pet either. Buffy couldn’t have verbalised exactly what he was to her. Her mind shied away from labelling him as a possession. That was just wrong.

And it was surprising.

One thing was certain though. She really hadn’t thought this out enough before leaping in. But she couldn’t regret taking Spike out of that place and away from whatever had caused this dramatic change in him. His submissive behaviour was so radically different from the snarky predator of her memory. Shuddering, her mind shied away from thinking of the type of treatment he may have received to change him so. And what would she need to do to get the fighter in him back again, to be the partner she needed. Perhaps the cure to her little problem would prove to be worse than the symptoms. Still, she couldn’t deny being glad Spike was with her rather than the other bidder. Who knows what he might have been looking forward to now if her opponent had won?
Chewing on her lower lip, Buffy continued to ruminate as home drew nearer.
***

Tara spoke as the car pulled into Revello Drive, her soft voice insistent. “The cleansing spell, Buffy. I think we should all be involved.”

Buffy agreed. “Can’t hurt and I think we all need it.”

The car pulled up on the drive and Buffy nudged the vampire, unsure if he’d been sleeping or not, the lack of breathing not giving a clue either way. “Can you pop the trunk, Tara? I’ll grab the other stuff before we go in.”

So saying, Buffy scooped up the items on the back seat and exited the car. Spike followed her, taking the chest from the trunk without being told. Juggling the stuff in her arms, Buffy found her door key and let them all in. “Come in, Spike.” Invitations to all vampires, including Angel, had long been revoked.

Once the door had been closed behind them, Buffy and Tara went into the kitchen, leaving Spike standing in the hallway unsure what he should do with the chest he still held. He knew the contents intimately and hoped the Slayer would not be using any of them. But that would be too much to hope for.

Tara brushed past him, throwing a shy smile towards him on her way into the living room. There, she set about her preparations for the cleansing spell.

Spike jumped when the Slayer spoke from behind him. “Just put that down, Spike. We’ll sort it out later. Come with me.”

He did as she asked and followed her into the living room, standing beside her within the circle that Tara had fashioned. Tara motioned for them to sit and they formed a triangle within the circle. Candles were lit and herbs burnt. When Tara told them to join hands they did, and Spike felt a tingle as two warm hands clasped his cold ones. The gentleness of their touch, the fact that they were women, sent a pleasurable tremor through him. He felt grateful to feel something so small and unexpected.

When he saw that the two women had closed their eyes, Spike followed suit. As Tara’s gentle chanting flowed around them, all three felt a lessening of the burden placed upon them during the day’s events. Spike savoured feeling more like himself and less like a chattel. Tara let go of the darkness that had haunted her since her arrival at the complex outside LA. Buffy threw away the doubt that had dogged her and embraced the challenge that might keep her anchored to the world for a little longer. With a murmur, Tara ended the spell.

Surprising everyone including himself, Spike was the first to speak, “Thanks, Glinda.”

Tara ducked her head and quirked a lop-sided grin at the vampire. “You’re welcome, Spike.”
Buffy stood and helped Tara gather her belongings together. Spike rose, pulling his blanket around him and watched as the two girls worked in familiar harmony together. In minutes, Buffy was wishing Tara goodnight and thanking her for her help. The two women shared a hug and then Buffy was locking the front door and turning to regard the silent vampire.

It was just the two of them now. Spike was terrified.

***


Buffy might wish it wasn’t so but the bulge of Spike’s constant erection was starting to wig her out. She tried to ignore it as she hefted up the chest and moved towards the basement door.

“This way, Spike.”

The vampire followed the Slayer, cursing himself for speaking without permission. He knew intimately the contents of the chest in the Slayer’s arms and the uses to which the various items could be put. Spike usually made it a bit longer before getting himself into trouble with his new master, but now he’d damned himself with his unexpected desire to let the kind Wiccan know that he was grateful for easing his plight even a little. Trying to still his mounting fear, Spike trod slowly as he descended to the basement in the Slayer’s footsteps.

Buffy placed the chest against a wall and continued into the centre of the room. When Buffy stopped and turned to face the vampire she caught a quick glimpse of Spike’s eyes before he dropped them to the floor. The fear and resignation showing from the blue depths shocked Buffy. The passage of time had changed Spike into someone unfamiliar. He didn’t even look like her old adversary, and it wasn’t just because of the drab clothing and his almost shorn head.

The being before her was defeated and that was something she’d never managed to do to him. Nor had she wanted to in any way that didn’t end with him as dust. But right now, right now Buffy was starting to feel a mixture of pity and anger. And she didn’t want to pity him because he’d never been a creature that would welcome such an emotion. She didn’t want him to be that creature now, not when she needed him. She also felt anger. Because today’s events had been anything but pleasant, endured only for the promise of a solution to her growing ennui.

It was only now that Buffy understood how very much her perception of owning a vamp, and the reality of actually having one standing in her basement, differed. Her long experience with vampires had led her to expect a being with a lot more fire and ironically, more…life in them. Maybe if she’d listened to Giles and selected a specimen from a recent batch she’d have one with a bit of spirit left in it. But they hadn’t been suitable; Buffy trusted Tara’s opinion in this area. If she remembered correctly, Spike had shown more animation than any of the others when she’d seen him on the monitors. He’d even smiled at Tara. So what was causing Spike to look at her as if he expected her to… ‘No. He can’t think I’m gonna do anything bad to him. I’ve never been so nice to a vampire in my life. Well, except Angel.’

Opening her mouth, intending to ask Spike what he was expecting to happen next, Buffy found herself interrupted by the ringing of the phone upstairs. “Now what!” she exclaimed irritably, missing the flinch Spike couldn’t prevent his body from executing. Already halfway up the stairs, Buffy halted and turned to stare down at Spike’s back. He hadn’t moved.

“Spike, while I’m gone I’d appreciate it if you’d do something with that problem in your pants.” Buffy could feel herself flush with embarrassment for having to draw attention to it. The way it kept attracting her interest was beyond gross and she just didn’t need to deal with any more feelings today. She was sure she’d used up her quota for the month already. Pivoting she dashed up into the kitchen and grabbed the handset. And found a very annoyed Giles on the other end of the line.

It was about ten minutes later, after a storm of rants and heated explanations that Buffy huffed and put the handset back from where she wished she’d never taken it. They’d agreed to talk later when they’d both calmed down, after Buffy had settled her vamp for the night and got some rest herself.

Her distraction allowed Buffy to re-enter the basement and into a situation so far from the realms of her experience that it might as well have belonged in another universe, on a world far, far away.

***

Since entering the basement, Spike had allowed his eyes to quickly case the room. If he was interested enough Spike could focus his concentration extremely well. If he was interested. And he was definitely interested in his environment, in the room under the house. The space contained a mixed bag of objects.

A punching bag was secured to the ceiling, towards which Buffy was now moving. Beyond her he could see a bed dressed with handsome blue linen. Weights and other gym paraphernalia were neatly stowed about the walls. A door in the corner was open showing what looked to be a neat bathroom. The other door had a neat sign attached to it, ‘Laundry’, so that took the guessing away. It was all very…tidy.

The only thing Spike saw that he’d expected to see were the chains attached to the wall near the bed. He couldn’t see the cage that had been his place of residence on each of his other chapters in servitude. But then he’d never been taken to a normal house before, always being bound to large establishments with more than enough rooms to house a cage.

Spike could appreciate immediately the Slayer’s lack of options, what with the amount of available space. Made sense that he would probably be chained on the floor beside the bed. He wondered if she would truss him up like a Christmas dinner as had been his normal experience in the past few years. His eyes returned to the back of the Slayer’s head just as she abruptly stopped and faced him. For an instant he felt a pull towards twin pools of green, sunlight dancing and plunging down into hidden depths, leaving gold in remembrance of its passing. With a start Spike broke the spell and dipped his head to study the exercise mat under his feet.

When she left because of the shrill from above, Spike was grateful to be spared a few moments to bring himself under control. The Slayer hadn’t done anything yet and he was acting like a whipped pup. At this rate he’d piss her off and she’d be offing him. Which, actually, didn’t bother him that much. Not anymore. Spike had no desire to live out the balance of his existence at the whim and whimsy of more masters than he wanted to contemplate. He had been almost relieved when they’d told him that this would be his last chance. That if he cocked up again his new master would be entitled to dust him without fear of a fine ten times his sale price. No more chances of him being returned, as the buyer’s contract stated a chipped vampire had to be returned to the government to be re-trained or re-sold, or both.

It was not the fear of being dusted that disturbed him now, though. It was the fear of being beaten and tortured by someone with the strength of the Slayer, the strength of more than a vampire.

Spike could still feel several of his injuries mending since the last time, and that had been over a month ago. It had taken three weeks before he’d been pronounced healed enough to be taken for storage in the cold hangar for the auctions. It was the reason his cage was at the back, seeing as it was the first one in there. If Angel had managed to do that to him over the course of one week, what could his new master do to him with all the time in the world?

“Spike, while I’m gone I’d appreciate it if you’d do something with that problem in your pants.”

Spike whipped his head around but was too late to see the Slayer before she disappeared.

“Did she just say what I thought she said? She wants me to take care of…” Spike’s almost overloaded emotions started tearing into each other. He was fed up with feeling like this, so bloody beneath everything and everyone. Spike didn’t even feel the urge to argue anymore when he was told he was a monster, not as lash after lash was applied to his weeping and torn back.

The signals the bloody Slayer was sending out were making a mockery of all his former training. Until today he’d known exactly what to expect from his masters and, more importantly, he knew exactly what was expected of him. They told him in no uncertain terms and that was that. He admitted that his sodding training had taken a walk the moment he’d sensed her, but she wasn’t helping any. It was confusing.

Then she’d been all…well, if it hadn’t been the Slayer he might have thought it was kindness she was showing to him. But now it all became clear. Lull the stupid vampire into almost daring to hope that this sort of treatment would continue. Then humiliate him and try to taunt him into doing something she knew fucking well that he wasn’t allowed to do. ‘Did the bint think that it was her gorgeous green eyes that were responsible for the disturbance in the hang of me pants?’ Spike begrudgingly admitted that it hadn’t helped being in such close proximity to a woman again after so long, but that didn’t warrant her trying to get him to earn a punishment of at least twenty lashes.

Within moments of the Slayer leaving him Spike had well and truly wound himself into a state of despair and anger. His anger was marginally greater than his despair. But only just. If it had been anyone other than the Slayer he’d not be in this sodding situation. Another master would have treated him like a slave and Spike would’ve known how to act. But she’d seen fit to taunt him, and about that! It might have been a long time since Spike had been able to say he’d possessed dignity, but he’d be damned if she was going to take his balls - his pretty painful balls.

If Buffy had been able to see the agitated pacing, the wild actions of his arms and heard the mutterings of the distressed vampire, she would have been, well… not one whit better prepared.


A/N: As always, feedback appreciated. next chapter will be next Monday (all things being equal!).

In case you've forgotten, this lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you.

WARNING: Only that cock ring – you’ve probably forgotten all about it by now! Please let me know if anything occurs to you.


Chapter 5

Willow rose quickly from the table where she’d busied herself with ordering new stock for the Magic Box as she awaited Tara’s return. The sound of a key turning in the lock to their cosy apartment had her across the room and ready to throw her arms around her lover’s neck, eager to plant a kiss to her cheek in welcome. She sighed happily as her embrace was enthusiastically returned. Pulling back she took one glance at Tara’s drawn face and frowned. “Bad day, baby?” At the nodded affirmation, Willow encouraged her soul mate to sink into their comfortable couch before scurrying away to make them both some herbal tea. Nothing more was said until identical sighs of pleasure escaped their lips after the first sips had been enjoyed.

“It was awful, Willow. So much suffering… and… and such hatred.” Tara stuttered a little as she sank back into the cushions, closing her eyes briefly and seeing again the events of the auction play out across the inside of her lids. With a brief shudder, she started to relate all that had happened to her partner.

The redheaded Wiccan’s eyes grew larger as she listened to Tara’s impressions about the auction and the dark auras of the chipped vampires being sold out into the world. She and Tara had discussed their misgivings about Buffy getting one of these creatures to help her; to live in her home. Willow wished, with everything short of magic, that she could find a way to breach the distance that Buffy had placed between them and be allowed to give her erstwhile best friend the support the Slayer had once accepted from her gladly. When Tara mentioned Spike’s name, an extremely unladylike squeak fell from her lips.

“Spike? Not Spike with the peroxide hair, black is the new black fetish and scary bumpies?” Willow almost squealed. The shock on her face had Tara quirking her lips in a lop-sided grin.

“Yes, Spike. But not so much with the black, or the hair… and certainly no bumpies. Buffy saved… er, bought him.” Tara’s grin widened at the other woman’s stunned reaction, watching amused as Willow’s mouth worked without words issuing forth. “From what Buffy told me he’s changed from when you knew him before.” She frowned as she recalled the vampire’s terror and his gratitude for a small kindness. “I don’t understand how they can get away with what they’ve done. It’s not right or just. There’s just something off about it all. I mean, I can sorta understand them wanting to use them for protection against demons but… as sex slaves? It’s not the type of thing you expect the government to be involved in.”

Still shocked by the news that Spike was even now at Revello Drive with Buffy, Willow picked up instantly on Tara’s distress and feeling of wrongness; she trusted her love’s instincts in all things and had learned to take them seriously. “You think something else is going on?”

Tara wrinkled her brows in thought. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I’ve got and it won’t go away. Do you think you’d be able to do some snooping?” She nodded towards the laptop on the table. “Get a better idea of exactly why the Initiative is using vampires for prostitution? Or anything else you can find out?”

Breaking into classified records would have caused most level-headed people to pause; Willow was not most people. The temptation to exercise her tech skills with a bit of underhand investigation was too much to pass up. There could be something big being hidden and she would love to be the one to find it – and pass it on to Buffy as proof that she was still there and trying to help. Reaching out to smooth a lock of loose hair from Tara’s face, Willow nodded. “Sure, baby. I’ll get delving in the morning. See how sneaky I can be and if there are any conspiracies lurking, I’ll find ‘em. Darn tootin’ I will.”

Content that she had done all she could for one night, Tara placed her empty mug on the coffee table and enjoyed some snuggling with her honey.

***

Wishing to herself that Giles would be without rest for at least the next week, Buffy failed to notice the mobile vampire until she reached the bottom of the stairs. The extremely mobile vampire who was still sporting a huge erection that swung just a little as Spike pivoted and paced. Whatever Buffy thought she might have said was left unuttered as Spike spun to face her and stabbed a finger towards her, his face contorting in anger about the blue ice of his eyes. ‘Okay. So Spike is still in there somewhere, then.’

“Slayer,” Spike ground out. “I know you own my arse. I know I am as the dirt beneath your feet. And I know that I’m bloody well gonna pay for this. But if this is the way it’s gonna play then you might as well dust me now and save us both the effort.” He drew in an unneeded breath before ploughing on. “’Cos if you’re gonna give me orders where I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t, well all I know is that I’m damned. So here I am right now not knowing if I’ve done what you wanted or not. Here I am, Slayer. Yours and damned.”

And as sudden as its arrival, the passion died in Spike. He dropped his arm and stood looking into the Slayer’s stunned face and waited for whatever was to come, fear rushing back in to fill the gap left by the desertion of more spirited emotions.

‘What the hell is going on here? I told him to lose the…the thing. And now he’s shouting at me and the thing’s still there and why is it so difficult to not look at it? Shit, I’ve got to talk to him about it again!’

Buffy watched as the animation left the vampire and he seemed to fold in on himself, losing something that belonged with him. “What on earth are you on about, Spike? You know what I asked you to do. This is so not a conversation that I thought I’d ever be having. I know you’re not exactly over the moon to see me again and that…that thing, well alright, it’s making me feel wiggy!” Buffy’s burning face stared defiantly at the startled vampire.

The vampire who narrowed his eyes in thought, tilted his head and almost couldn’t stop the smirk he hadn’t used in so long - so long that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like on his face - from making an appearance. “Slayer, have you read anything they’ve given you? You know, about how to look after your pet vamp?”

Buffy knew this feeling. It was another of those that she had never wanted to feel again. All those times she hadn’t done her studying the night before a big test and the teacher had called her on it when the results came through. That’s how she felt now; like she’d failed the test. Buffy wished she had looked at the large sheaf of documents that had been sent to her instead of relying on her own vampire knowledge. She hadn’t even moved them from the coffee table where she’d tossed them straightaway on arrival before the auction.

“Umm, I was busy.” Buffy thought that if her face burned anymore she would ignite. “And I wanted to do things my way. And now I don’t know what to do because I don’t know what I’ve done wrong!” She doubted the rest of this conversation was going to improve her urgent yearning to sink gently into the ground below her.

Spike felt himself to be on dangerous ground. He’d already earned enough punishment to keep the Slayer busy for the next few days, if she didn’t want to do anything else with her time that is. And either she was telling him the truth, which would be bloody amazing but a lot like the younger girl he remembered, or this was a web reminiscent of Angelus. Her flushed face, hitched heart rate and the deer caught in the headlights look on her face persuaded him that she genuinely meant what she’d said.

And now he was still gonna be fucked. Because now he had to tell her the ins and the outs of his current state of arousal, and he had a strong intuition that she was not going to be pleased to gain knowledge about aspects of his previous career. Not like he wanted to be the one to give her the lessons in how to beat your vamp to a pulp, either.

“Right.” Spike replied as he looked into her eyes, reading nothing that indicated anything but a desire to get this over with. He averted his gaze down and to the side before educating the girl. “Looks like it’s up to me then to give you a few lessons. Lesson the first.” He paused, wondering if he was doing the right thing here. Sighing in resignation, he continued. “Thing is, they didn’t know what might fetch interest on my account. Had a few chops and changes in use over the years. So they covered all their bases and slapped a cock ring on me.” Spike swore to himself that if she laughed he would do as much as he could to make her life miserable.

“I’ve died and gone to hell,” Buffy muttered to herself, forgetting for a moment about vampire hearing.

“Yeah, well it looks as though I’m still right there with you, Slayer. And because you didn’t see fit to do the homework, I get to be the one to tell you this little morsel. Believe me when I say I wish you had read the bloody thing!” Spike kept resolutely facing away. “I wish you knew what it was like to be where I am right now. To be at your absolute mercy and telling you about why my perky privates are upsetting you, Slayer. But I gotta tell you that they’re sodding upsetting me a whole lot more. If nothing else the constant pain factor sort of outweighs the total humiliation.”

“So why don’t you take it off?”

This discussion was down for erasure from her memory, even if she had to ask Tara to do a spell. But Spike was her responsibility and his distress was, if anything, greater than hers. She did not want to even try to think about how she would feel if positions were reversed. That way lay horror, nightmares and cold sweats.

“Because only the master can remove it. If I touch it, that’s a punishment. Twenty lashes.” Spike felt so tired. He was hungry again and he didn’t know if his head or his dick hurt the most. If he’d had a soul it might have deserted him then in his sincere wish for rest; permanent rest. ‘Tired of playing these games.’

The thought of having to take something off Spike’s cock, to treat his manhood so casually, filled Buffy with disgust. The image Spike had planted in her mind about being in his shoes was not far enough away for her not to feel his anguished discomfort, both physically and emotionally.

“Okay, Spike.” Buffy steeled herself and tried to keep her voice steady. “You’re right. This is totally my fault, this mess. I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know. And, this may be hard for you to believe, I actually want us to be a team. I’m not looking for a slave, Spike. Not in any way they mean. I want a vampire who’s gonna be there in the fight alongside me. And treating you like a heartless bitch is not likely to open up a bag of happy possibilities of that ever happening.”

Buffy felt encouraged as the life seemed to return to Spike’s body and he turned his head in her direction. “We haven’t had time to talk yet, to find some common ground that works for both of us. I was thinking we’d do that tomorrow when we’d both had a chance to rest. But I just want to make it perfectly clear that there is no way I am going to take that thing off.” The flinch was unmistakeable this time. “Because you’re gonna do it yourself. I want us to be able to work together, and some things should remain in your… well, just yours.”

Spike could barely believe what he was hearing. But he was going to seize it before it was snatched away. “Can I use the bathroom?”

Buffy waved him towards the bathroom door and he was in there like a flash. It took several attempts with trembling fingers before Spike could detach the despised cock ring; the lingering scent of the Slayer in the confined space making everything harder. His swollen flesh screamed for release. He’d barely unclasped the cock ring when he came violently, ejaculate hitting the clean white tiles of the wall, before sinking to his knees with a groan.

Buffy’s voice penetrated the door. “Have a shower if you like. I’m gonna heat up some blood so come upstairs when you’re ready.” Spike could hear her footsteps on the stairs and the click as the basement door shut behind her.

Working quickly, Spike threw the cock ring into the waste bin and cleaned his mess from the tiles with toilet tissue before using a cleaning cloth stowed neatly under the sink to wipe the wall down more thoroughly. Stripping out of his pants and top took moments and then he was sighing in satisfaction as hot jets of water warmed his tired body. Spike was almost shaking in reaction from the scene that had just played out beyond the bathroom door. The Slayer had managed in the space of hours to turn his narrow world upside down. Later he’d think about it, but right now Spike felt emotionally wrung out and all he wanted was to enjoy the warmth and comfort being given by the clean water before taking the Slayer up on her offer of warmed blood.

Picking up the nearest shower gel Spike lathered his body from head to toe, enjoying the somewhat musky fragrance it released. Rinsing off, he turned off the shower and checked that everything was left clean before wrapping a soft thick towel around his shoulders, taking care not to reopen any of the numerous wounds on his still healing back. Spike gingerly dried himself off before slipping the drab grey clothing back on. The almost silent extractor started to make inroads into the steam that filled the small room, gradually removing its warm dampness. Spike took the soggy towel with him when he exited the bathroom and hung it tidily over the iron headboard of the bed to dry.

Determinedly shoving all thoughts of awkwardness at placing himself once again in the Slayer’s presence from his dazed mind, Spike made his way quietly up from the basement and joined her in the kitchen. A mug throwing out the sweet aroma of warmed blood was standing on the kitchen island. Spike was tempted to grab it but thought better of it. The Slayer was pouring something into two mugs over by the cooker.

Without looking up, Buffy said, “Better drink it before it gets cold.” Spike needed no further encouragement and emptied the contents in two long swallows. “More?”

“Please.” The vampire realised that he seldom used that word in gratitude anymore; he’d had so little to be grateful for. He watched as the Slayer placed two mugs on the table, pushing one towards him before refilling the empty mug from a container taken from the fridge and popping it into the microwave. Spike glanced at the other mug and found himself staring at hot chocolate with little marshmallows floating cheerfully on top. He’d been in this same kitchen, five or so years ago, when he’d last tasted hot chocolate. His fond memory of Joyce triggered the realisation that he hadn’t seen her yet. Closely followed by the fact that he couldn’t smell her either. Wisely he kept quiet, years of beatings giving him a restraint that may have surprised some who had known him in his other life. The recent outburst had been a rare return of his demon to the fore, now gone to ground leaving Spike to deal with the fallout.

Spike looked up to find the Slayer solemnly studying him. The ping from the microwave had her turning to remove the warmed mug and pass it to him. “Thanks, Slayer.”

It felt strange, talking so much. But better than not, much better. Spike drained the blood, licking his lips in satisfaction before rinsing out the mug and stacking it on the drainer behind the Slayer. Returning to stand on the opposite side of the island from her, Spike reached for the mug of chocolate and took an appreciative sip. He watched the Slayer surreptitiously, waiting for her to say or do something. Her eyes were still on him but she looked to be deep in thought. Spike had no wish to disturb her.

Buffy was fighting a strong urge to run away from this situation of her own making. Given hindsight she would never have made the trip to LA and wouldn’t now be faced with dealing with Spike. But running away was a luxury she had lost long ago; there were none left to clear up her messes but herself now. If she were to be totally honest, her biggest problem was the overload of emotions that the vampire inspired. Buffy hadn’t dealt with so many since Dawn’s death and had been unprepared to discover that her old enemy made her feel so much. She couldn’t wait to escape to the sanctuary of her room and sort through her confused feelings.

Sighing, Buffy finished her hot chocolate and rinsed off the mug before facing the unwitting author of her confusion. Spike looked so lost, and she knew she was adding to his uncertainty. Taking a steadying breath, Buffy willed herself to do her best, for both their sakes.

“I don’t know about you but I could sleep for a week,” earned Buffy a small quirking of Spike’s lips; not quite a smile. “But you were right, about needing to know what to expect from me and what I expect from you. So, here’s the deal.” She focussed on his eyes, wondering if he knew how much of himself he showed through those windows to the soul, the soul he didn’t have. “I want you to be there beside me when I go out on patrol. I expect you to join in against demons if you’re needed. I expect you to watch my back.”

Spike blinked but didn’t interrupt as the Slayer continued; “In a couple of days I’ll want you to join in training with me. Get as much practice in as we can before going out there together. I need to be able to trust you, Spike.”

“In exchange, I will feed and clothe you – do my best to make sure you’re comfortable. I want you to tell me if there’s anything you need, anything I’m forgetting. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to worry about anyone but myself, so I’m probably a bit out of practice.” Buffy smiled depreciatingly.

“I’m not gonna pry into what’s happened to you since we last fought. If you want to tell me fine, otherwise it’s your business and not mine. Same goes for me; I want you to ask me anything you like, but I can’t promise I’ll answer everything. Fair enough?” Spike nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.

“One other thing.” Buffy paused, considering her choice of words. “Spike, I don’t want to hurt you, ever. In the past there’s nothing I would have enjoyed more than whipping your ass in a fight, and making you fit into an ashtray. But I don’t get my kicks from beating on someone who can’t fight back. Get all the violence I need out on patrol.”

The tired vampire wanted to believe everything the Slayer was telling him, he really did. But he’d learnt the hard way that when something appeared to be too good to be true, it was usually because it was. Spike had listened in gathering amazement to the Slayer, and he so wanted what she seemed to be offering. But he didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. Better that he wait and see if her words carried any weight before he became her willing slave. And right now he felt that if the Slayer kept her promise, that’s what he would be.

Buffy had hoped for some sort of reaction from Spike, but when none was forthcoming she decided it was time for them both to rest. Leading the way back to the basement door, Buffy didn’t need to look to know that the vampire was obediently following her. Once in the basement she frowned at the bed; it looked kind of lonely without a table and bedside lamp.

“Help yourself to blood if you need any. I don’t normally get up ‘til sometime in the afternoon, so if you wake before then you can watch the TV if you’re bored. Just keep the sound down.” Buffy glanced over at the vampire. He looked about done in. She knew how he felt. “Goodnight, Spike. Sleep well.”

She was halfway up the stairs before he had the courage to ask. “The bed?”

Ridiculously, Buffy felt tears start to form. ‘I really don’t want to know what you’ve been through that you have to ask me that.’

“All yours, Spike.” Buffy just caught his whispered ‘thanks’ before she escaped from the basement and took her weary body and mind to bed.

***

Spike stood there for long moments, tears making their way haphazardly from under his tightly shut eyelids. ‘Stop it, you stupid nancy. It’s only a sodding bed. Not the fucking Crown Jewels.’ But it appeared that once started they had no intention of stopping.

Hesitantly, half-way expecting the Slayer to dash back in and change her mind, he approached the object of his desire. Something else he had missed sorely, sleeping in comfort between clean sheets with a mattress beneath him, instead of naked on a mat. Spike was almost sobbing when he pulled back the quilt and slid between the co-ordinated sheets - sheets that still held that stiffness that comes with being new.

As his head dropped onto the soft pillows Spike picked up the scent of the Slayer. These had been hers then, once. For some reason he found the smell comforting, burrowing his face into them he drifted into a deep sleep, thoughts of the Slayer gradually stilling in his befuddled head.

***

Unbeknownst to Buffy, the vampire and the Slayer made quite a pair. She swiped tears away as she changed into a pair of black satin pyjamas before leaping into her welcoming bed and letting her head fall back into the pillows. Reaching over to the bedside table, Buffy grabbed a handful of tissues and began to noisily blow her now runny nose. It wasn’t fair, not fair at all the way he’d got her all upset like this. She’d fought so hard to keep strong emotions about everything except her mission at arms length.

Would she have been happy, all those years ago, if she’d known what Spike’s fate would be? Would she have taken pleasure in knowing that he was being humiliated, abused and broken? With shame, Buffy had to face it; at that time in her life she’d had no comprehension of what it felt like to be broken. That had come later. She’d only been broken emotionally, and now she was housing her erstwhile enemy, a creature that had been tormented both physically and psychologically.

Buffy was not about to try and fool herself that demons did not feel emotions. Even if Spike’s amazing eyes didn’t show everything he felt, the vampire expressed himself with the subtle movements of his body as well. The way he had postured tonight when she’d placed him in that humiliating position, when she’d unknowingly driven him into a corner from which he’d had no choice but to fight to get out of. His body and words tried to say one thing, but his eyes held it all. There had been no doubt that Spike was angry; it showed. But there was also such fear and hopelessness; Buffy truly believed that when he’d said he was damned he meant it literally. And she admired him for it. For showing that a little of the old Spike still existed in his world without hope; constantly expecting to be rewarded with pain for behaving outside set parameters.

Buffy shuddered to think what she might have felt forced into doing if she had carried out the punishments that Spike had obviously been expecting from her. ‘How desperate he must have been to put himself in that position. There is no way I thought this out properly. Old Spike I could have staked with pleasure. He only had to open his stupid mouth, or show his peroxide head, or come swaggering towards me full of attitude and smirking in that way of his and...’

The woman in her had to admit that he really had been hot. Where he’d caused anger and hatred at the time, from this distance Buffy could allow herself to look at her memories of their encounters with less jaundice. She looked at the few times they had been in each other’s company and not actively trying to kill each other.

They’d had the truce over the Acathla not-an-apocalypse. Spike had been surprising when he’d sought her out and offered his aid against Angelus. Still in love with Drusilla, even though she was currently consorting with her Daddy. But, apart from his realisation that getting rid of the world might not be the brightest idea on the ladder of survival, Spike’s prime motivator had been taking his paramour away from danger and her sire. He had fulfilled his agreement with her to the letter. Buffy need never have seen him again. It was all Drusilla’s fault. If she hadn’t dumped him then the Big Bad would never have come back to town, and left them all in tatters.

‘That so was not funny.’

Truth hurts.

A lot of truths came out that night. Buffy thought the only person who’d come out of it smiling was Spike; oh, and possibly her mom. Mom had been touched to have spent some quality time with her favourite vampire. ‘That’s right. Mom had really liked him. And she never liked Angel. Funny that Spike got on so well with her. You’d think he’d bear a grudge, especially after that fantastic swipe with an axe at their first meeting. But they actually liked each other. Wonder if he thought of mom too, with the chocolate and all? That would be…nice. That I wasn’t the only one left to remember her at odd moments, to think of her sometimes.’

Buffy wriggled into a more comfortable position before continuing her musing. The ripples from Willow and Xander’s kissing mishap had destroyed relationships and friendships alike. Which, of course, had only happened because of Spike and his obsession to get back his ho of a sire.

It was the pinpoint accuracy of the blond vampire’s definition of love that had driven the final, long nail in the coffin of Buffy’s relationship with the souled vampire. ‘When you loved someone it was as natural as breathing to want to be the one to make them happy. To be able to get your happiness by giving your loved one theirs. Wasn’t that the way love was supposed to be? If Angel could never experience true happiness because of his curse, then I could never make him truly happy. It was never gonna work and, despite everything, I think I might have had a worse life than the one I’ve got. Trust Spike to go straight for the emotional jugular.’

Huffing to herself, Buffy swung out of bed. Wriggling feet into slippers and throwing on a long, black satin robe, she left her room and made her way downstairs and into the kitchen for some brain food. Sleep that she’d craved so urgently had taken a leave of absence, and now she felt twitchy. A quick patrol was what she’d normally do when she felt like this, or a good session in the basement. But that was out of the question now; she had a vampire to consider.

Pulling a diet yoghurt from the fridge, Buffy was just taking a spoon from the drawer when the silence was abruptly disturbed by a pained scream. The forgotten yoghurt fell to the floor as Buffy flew down to the basement.


A/N: Feedback appreciated. Hope you were entertained. More next week.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi.

A/N: My sincere thanks to all who have read and reviewed. I appreciate it more than I can say.

WARNING: The beginning of this chapter contains material that is unsuitable to be read by anyone who is too young to be reading this anyway. Nor is it suitable for anyone who is likely to be made upset by reading m/m rape and torture. I do not intend to offend anyone so please scroll down to the first *** if you wish to avoid.


Chapter 6

It was inevitable really. After the traumatic events of the last few hours, Spike’s mind didn’t rest long in the solace of sleep. He never thought of this as a nightmare on waking; it was a re-enactment that he swore he felt throughout his entire body. Every thrust of the red hot pokers piercing his abdomen and shoulders, every nerve ending throwing anger and pain his way as flesh parted and cauterised. The stench of his own burning flesh choking him. Angel’s contained and calm voice whispering distorted truths in his ear. Telling him what a disappointment he was as a vampire. Mocking him over his vanity as Spike’s hair was shaved roughly from his head. Whipping his body into a vision of torn and bloody strips.

Followed by the rape.

Spike knew what it felt like to be taken without his consent, by strangers who had never known him - nor ever would - as anything other than an object that existed purely to give them pleasure. Sometimes they’d even allowed him to feel pleasure as well, not often, but sometimes. The vampire wondered why those moments when his body found release were also the ones that made him feel the most desperate. When it was driven home to him that he was allowed nothing of his own except his thoughts. Thoughts that were usually poor company.

Angel had prepared him thoroughly before the act itself. The clever bastard had known just how to hurt him. Lube slickened fingers had slowly but firmly pushed past the resistance Spike couldn’t keep up for long, not with his energy gone along with his blood. His arse had been invaded and stretched, made ready to accept the cock of his grandsire. It had taken time, but then, Peaches was in no hurry. Even when Spike had broken down and begged for Angel to just get it over and done with, the elder vamp had just laughed, “But, Will, this is what I want.”

Later there had been objects designed to stretch, and sometimes to stimulate. Spike’s unwanted erection had made him weep with shame as something long, smooth and wide was continuously manipulated by Angel, sending unasked for sensations through his prostrate to his balls. By the time his oppressor eventually took him it was almost a relief, even when his grandsire ripped his fangs into the tender flesh under his right armpit and started draining him. Spike’s orgasm had been intense and the pinnacle of the disgust he felt towards himself.

That was on the first day. The first of a week in Angel’s Machiavellian possession. Every single day the same as the one before. Every moment between torments attached to a drip that fed blood straight down his throat, denying him the taste of his food. The blood that miraculously - or so it seemed - healed the majority of his injuries so that Angel could start all over again from the beginning. Spike hadn’t bothered begging after the first day. It was the only thing he could deny the orchestrator of his pain.

At the end of the last day, Angel had left him hanging there, more dead than he had been at any other time in his unlife. This time there was no healing blood. Just the added anger of his master because Seventeen hadn’t made his client happy. Spike secretly believed that maybe he had; there was nothing to tell this Angel apart from the Angelus of old, not as far as he could tell. As Spike was given no opportunity to defend himself, and Angel’s law firm looked after the establishment, it came as little surprise when he was taken back to the auction.

For almost a week now Spike had managed to fight back the memory, had not woken himself with his own screams ringing in sensitive ears. Now it was back.

***

Angel was not a happy camper. ‘Why do I have to do everything myself if I want it done properly?’

One of his lackeys, Smith, had been sent to the auction with one purpose only; purchase Seventeen and bring him back to Angel. The useless idiot hadn’t even managed to do that. Instead, Spike was now owned by the Watcher’s Council and in the possession of a woman whose description matched Buffy’s too closely to be a coincidence.

The hours Angel had spent anticipating all the things he’d be able to visit upon his latest form of stress relief were to be left unfulfilled. That was unacceptable. Buffy had no right to interfere in his plans, even if she was ignorant of them. The souled vampire had spent considerable influence to get William just where he wanted him. It had been only a few weeks earlier when he’d eventually meted out his vengeance on the younger vampire.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, or so they said, and Angel had waited until his was the temperature of ice. The torture he’d suffered at Spike’s hands years ago had not been forgotten – or forgiven. It would never be forgiven. Now, when Angel was in a position to visit the full force of his wrath upon the much diminished vampire, his manoeuvring and manipulation had been set back on the brink of achievement.

Angel had waited this long. He could afford to wait a little longer. This latest hiccup would be forgotten once he achieved his long held ambition, once he became the master of Spike’s continued misery.

Seating himself behind his ornate desk, Angel occupied his mind with amended plans and viable options. He vowed not to rest until his revenge was complete. However long it took, Angel would possess Spike. And besides, there was the little matter of the prophecy to consider too.

***

As Buffy dashed down the stairs and into the still lit basement, her eyes were automatically drawn to the figure thrashing and whimpering amongst twisted sheets. Without conscious thought, Buffy found herself beside the bed and reaching towards the agitated vampire. Only to find herself abruptly twisted and thrown onto the mattress, pinned down beneath a tangled quilt and a snarling demon.

“Slayer!” the vampire above her growled. Golden amber eyes latched onto hers, his nostrils flaring slightly as the beast drew her scent deeply into his redundant lungs. Buffy held her breath and fought her instinctual urge to throw Spike off, to drive a stake through his chest and watch as his ash dirtied her floor.

“Slayer?”

Spike came back to himself and into confusion. He didn’t know how he found himself in this position, on top of the Slayer who was now in his bed. From the wary look on her face he’d done something wrong. Moving with all the speed he could muster, Spike removed his body to the end of the bed, trying to untangle his trapped legs from the clutch of the quilt. Would the new rules stretch to ignoring what seemed to be an unknowing attack on his new master? The vampire wrapped his arms around his knees as he drew them to his chest, his eyes watching the still prone figure of the Slayer.

Relieved that this latest state of affairs appeared to have resolved itself without any real effort on her part, Buffy pushed the offending quilt out of the way before propping herself up on her elbows to regard the wretched vampire. The fear was flowing from Spike in almost tangible waves and Buffy had to repress a sudden impulse to pull him into her arms, to try and sooth away his anxiety. The ridiculousness of that made Buffy smile. A smile that earned an immediate response from Spike as surprise and tentative hope found their way into his blue eyes.

“I won’t do that again in a hurry,” Buffy wryly promised. At the unasked question from Spike, the tilt of his finely boned head said it all, Buffy filled him in. “You were having a dream or something. Didn’t sound like a good one, whatever it was.”

“Slayer, I didn’t mean to…”

“My fault… again. Shouldn’t have tried to wake you like that.” Buffy couldn’t help but deepen her smile. “If it happens again I’ll just throw something at you, a dumbell or something.”

“I’m sorry. I woke you.” Spike seemed determined to find fault with his unconscious actions.

With a wriggle and a twist, Buffy freed her legs from the tenacious quilt before standing. “Nah, couldn’t sleep. My brain was too full, not a normal Buffy state. You?”

“Can’t remember,” Spike mumbled and looked away, not wanting her to see his dissembling reflected in his eyes.

Buffy let the obvious lie go. There were more pressing matters. Like, how long was it gonna take Spike to stop acting as if she was going to take him apart piece by piece? All this emotion was grating on her already frazzled nerves and Buffy just wanted to be past it, to be in a place where they could exist in some sort of equanimity with each other. Knowing that there would be no chance of rest until she’d sorted through her scattered thoughts, Buffy felt the urge to have a nightcap, maybe two. Pulling the tangled quilt from around her, she pushed herself from the bed and headed once more towards the stairs.

Halfway there she glanced back and beckoned to her vampire. “Fancy a drink?”

***

Ten minutes later Buffy was curled up comfortably on the couch in the living room, letting the calming effects of the soft lighting and chill music wash over her as she sipped from a cognac glass holding a generous measure of Tia Maria and ice. Spike had yet to join her. Once they’d left the basement, and he’d seen the mess on the floor from her now defunct snack, he’d immediately grabbed some kitchen towelling and started to clean up. Buffy had thought about trying to stop him but if he wanted to help out that was fine by her.

On the coffee table before her was a pad and pen, waiting to be filled with a shopping list for tomorrow. Yet another thing she’d not thought about was clothes and toiletries for her acquisition; she’d have to take Spike with her if only for trying on footwear. If they hit the mall early evening there should be minimal sunlight problems and it might even be fun to shop for him. Maybe she could ask Tara along as well, let Spike see a friendly face. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Spike had been grateful for the simple distraction of cleaning up the splattered mess on the kitchen floor. He was starting to believe that the Slayer was being open and honest with him. And it scared him. She’d thrown the damned rule book out the window and was making it up as she went along. So far he liked it, and that was strange enough in itself. Liking something in his unlife was a novel experience lately.

Throwing the last handful of soiled paper towelling in the bin, Spike proceeded to wash his hands and slowly made his way into the living room. The sight of the Slayer tucked up on the couch wearing a slinky black robe and nursing a glass sent a jolt straight to his manly bits. ‘Fuck, she’ll think I’m nothing but a walking prick if I don’t start getting this under control. Why does she have to look and smell so damned good?’
Without further thought he approached the Slayer and knelt on the floor beside her, waiting for her to notice him.

Buffy smiled at the vampire as she rose and moved to the drinks cabinet that had once housed her mother’s favourite tipples, now containing her own preferences and those of her once close friends. “What do you want to drink, Spike? I’ve got Jack Daniels, vodka, Glenmorangie…”

“Please.” Spike watched as the Slayer poured a good measure into a cut crystal whiskey tumbler and placed it on the coffee table. A warm hand on his shoulder turned his eyes from the glass of smoky liquor to those of the woman.

“Do you want to stay there? There are plenty of other seats if you don’t want to use the couch.” Buffy didn’t think he was on the floor by choice; giving him options was the best she could do right now, at this time of night when the dawn was fast approaching. She watched the brief play of emotions that crossed his face before he gracefully repositioned himself at the other end of the couch, reaching for his glass and studying it intently. Buffy resumed her seat and picked up the pad and pen.

“We need to get you some clothes and other stuff tomorrow,” Buffy informed the vampire. “So, what do you think you need? I’ve got down pants, boots, tee shirts, coat, and shirts. What else. Oh, toiletries, that’s a must. What else?” She looked up from the pad to see Spike still staring at his drink as if hypnotised.

It seemed to be becoming a theme with him, the words ‘how long’. How long since he’d been in the company of a female? How long since he’d received kindness? How long since he’d had alcohol? How long since someone asked him what he wanted? Spike doubted that the Slayer had a clue about how much she’d already given him in such a short space of time. Glinda, too. Now he was afraid that he’d do something to ruin it.

When there was nothing to lose it was easy to not care, to strive for an end to the pain and misery. And now? The Slayer that he’d hated and tried to kill was treating him like … something. Not a monster, more like a man. Definitely not like a slave. It was frightening and new. Something more to be learned in his long existence of new experiences. He had to learn how to be what the Slayer needed, to pay her back as much as he could for all that she’d already given. With a slightly trembling hand Spike raised the glass to his lips, inhaling the scent of malt before taking a small sip. ‘Bloody hell. Best whiskey in the world in my book. When did the Slayer start drinking?’ His thoughts ground to a stop and he lost himself in sensation as the liquor drifted down his throat.

Buffy studied the preoccupied vampire, noticing the more subtle changes in him. There were lines around his eyes that made him look older than she remembered. The joy had left him. Not surprising when a wild creature like Spike had been effectively neutered with the chip. She was somewhat disappointed that he was not how she remembered him; dealing with the familiar would be so much easier. But she doubted that she was as he remembered her either. So much had happened to both of them since their last meeting.

It soon became apparent that the altered vampire was not going to answer her question. In an unlooked for accord the two of them enjoyed their drinks, half listening to the background music and lost in thoughts of yesteryear and today. When they went their separate ways, Spike took the glasses out to the kitchen and rinsed them. The Slayer yawned a goodnight to him before climbing the stairs and finally finding her rest.

Surprisingly both slept well for the remainder of the night and well into the next day.

***

The US Air Force transporter landed for a routine fuel stop at RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, England. Five men disembarked, one in handcuffs. They were swiftly escorted to a black PSV with dark tinted windows which pulled away at the maximum speed allowed the moment the group were safely inside.

Ethan Rayne’s first sight of his homeland in many years was taking place under circumstances dictated by the Initiative. For now he had no option but to play along with their games, but the disciple of chaos vowed he would do everything in his not inconsiderable power to thwart them – when the opportunity arose.

***

The Head Watcher had been distracted, carelessly so. His fellow Council members had been aghast at the large sum spent at the vampire auction outside LA.. It was not as if they couldn’t afford it – indeed, it hardly made a dent in their large accumulation of capital – but discovering that the only currently active Slayer had spent over a quarter of a million dollars on William the Bloody had produced a storm of reaction. Some were even now insisting that Buffy stake the once notorious vampire, an argument that Giles had managed to dispel, though not without much debate.

He had not, however, convinced them to relinquish the deeds to the vampire into Buffy’s hands; the majority had stood firm in their insistence that Seventeen should remain Council property and only on loan to the Sunnydale Slayer. His sarcastic comments on the uselessness of a vampire bodyguard that failed to defend its charge fell on deaf ears; for some reason the idea of passing Seventeen to the next Slayer appealed to the narrow minded of the Council. At this point Giles simply hadn’t the energy to go through, yet again, the fact that the Slayer line now passed through the incarcerated rogue slayer, Faith. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start again with the seemingly imbecilic members of the Council.

How he was going to explain this to Buffy was the cause of Giles’ lack of awareness for his surroundings as he made the short walk from Council Headquarters to his mews cottage. When the tranquilliser dart hit him, just as he was about to fit his key into the lock, he barely had time to mutter, “Oh, bloody hell!” before slumping unconscious to the ground.

To a casual observer there would have appeared a shimmer reminiscent of heat haze, nothing more. No one would have seen the prone body being picked up and taken to a black PSV. Nor would they have seen his place being taken by a thin faced, some might say weaselly, middle-aged man. The glamour held firm as Ethan took the place of Rupert Giles and gave the Initiative their ‘man’ in the Council.

Everything was going to plan. In a few weeks it would be time for Operation Conquer to go into the next stage.

Time for blood to flow.


A/N: Very nervous about this chapter so feedback doubly welcome. Hope to have more for next Monday.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.


Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.

By the by, I am chuffed to bits that Buyer has been nominated at both the Fang Fetish Awards and Vapires Kiss Awards/

Chapter Seven

It was the nagging tingle on the nape of her neck that dragged Buffy from sleep and into instant wakefulness. Vampire. She was half out of bed and grabbing for the stake under her pillow before her mind caught up with her instincts.

Spike.

The vampire in the basement. The one she’d brought back from LA with her yesterday. The one that she needed to call Giles about. Buffy frowned as she recalled the conversation she’d shared with her ever absent Watcher last night. He’d been a bit put out about the amount of money - Council money - she’d spent at the auction; which kinda surprised her. What was a sentient being worth nowadays? She’d never considered it before, but just over a quarter of a million dollars didn’t seem that much to her – she’d seen cars costing more. And then there was the fact that a Slayer was now in possession of the Slayer of Slayers. Seemed to have wigged out some of the fuddy duddies sitting on their assets in safety on the other side of the Atlantic – or Pacific, depending on which way you wanted to look at it.

Giles had spoken of a meeting to discuss… Which was about when she’d zoned out and felt the need to return to Spike. She’d ring him, of course she would. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she wouldn’t have to dash into the shower and wake herself up properly before going down to see if Spike was alright. Buffy froze. ‘Where did that come from? I’m leaping into the day because… I’ve got a vampire to take care of?’ The phone call now totally forgotten, she reviewed the strangeness that was yesterday.

She could physically feel him, a not wholly unpleasant tingle like the lightest of touches just on the back of her neck. The kind of touch that could either have you purring… or scrunching up your neck in protection from the annoyance. It was that borderline. Although her sense of vamps had improved in leaps and bounds over the last few years, Buffy could not remember feeling a signature this strong since…since Spike disappeared.

When she had finished showering and dressing, Buffy made her way downstairs, unsure whether she was looking forward to seeing Spike or not. She felt sorry for him and was vaguely annoyed about that. It was causing all sorts of confusion within her. This was a vampire, a member of the undead who had shown no remorse for any of his deeds. If it wasn’t for the chip, for his inability to fight back, she would have staked him and not given it any more thought than to acknowledge the best dust of her career.

Or not.

This was exactly what was bothering her. Buffy was no longer totally convinced that she would want to dust him – he presented a tenuous link to a past that had grown rosier with distance. When she’d still had family, friends. Before their actions, or hers, tore at the fabric of the world they shared and shredded it to pieces beyond repair. He reminded her of a time when the shit that she’d thought of her life was as nothing compared to the pile of crap it had become. Spike reminded her of better, more innocent times. Times when she thought she knew it all, and could never lose. A bit like Spike. Pride before the fall.

He would hate it if he knew she pitied him, for what his unlife had made of him since they’d last met on the campus in daylight. Spike had always been so full of passion – misdirected maybe, but passion nonetheless. Then again, she wasn’t exactly the life of the party herself nowadays.

Reaching the kitchen, Buffy hesitated before the door leading to the basement. She had already written off training for the day and only intended to grab some very late breakfast, grab Spike and head to the mall. Now she felt a little uncomfortable about barging into what, to all intents and purposes, was the vampire’s bedroom. Pivoting smartly, Buffy opened the door to the fridge, pulling out blood and juice, yoghurt and fruit. Once the mug of blood had been zapped in the microwave she carried it carefully before her, like a shield, as she resolutely opened the basement door and made her way down the stairs.

Two distinctive scents dragged Spike from the best rest he’d had in forever; warm blood and warm Slayer. With a start he sat up in bed taking a second to remember who he was and where. He watched in disbelief as the Slayer crossed the space from the bottom of the stairs to his bed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she concentrated on not spilling anything from the mug she carried.

Feeling his gaze on her, Buffy glanced up and smiled slightly into the vampire’s startled, and impossibly blue eyes. Only then did she notice that he was sitting up in bed and that some time since she’d bid him goodnight his tunic had been removed.

Two distinct thoughts struck Buffy simultaneously; Spike had the most gorgeous body that may, or may not, be naked under the covers and - the next made her frown – from what she could see of his chest and shoulders he was still recovering from a beating. Make that a whipping. Buffy was almost sure that the marks liberally marring the pale skin were the result of a whip. The skin was still torn in places, reddened and tender looking. When she flicked her gaze up to his face again it was to find that he’d ducked his head down. He looked…uncomfortable.

One moment she’d looked pleasant, nothing threatening or malicious showing on her face and then she’d frowned, staring down at his body. Spike glanced down to find the cause and became confused. Did the Slayer object to his having taken off his top before he slept? Did the sight of his flesh disgust her? Was she unhappy with him because he was … soiled? A mug of blood appeared in his line of sight. The smell redirected his thoughts towards his hunger. Without conscious thought Spike’s hands wrapped around the warmth of the mug, brushing against the Slayer’s fingers as she relinquished her hold. That was all it took to waken other still slumbering parts.

Buffy was already regretting her promise not to ask questions about the vampire’s past. In her desire to leave him his dignity she’d neatly eliminated Spike as a source of information, disqualified him from telling her how and who had hurt him so much. And most importantly, why?

She’d wanted to start today on a positive note, to build on the calm that had been reached at the end of the previous night, find a way for them to exist comfortably with each other in a house that suddenly seemed too small. Now she was faced with evidence of pain that had been visited on her vampire, the vampire that she was now responsible for. What to do? What to say?

Buffy wondered if it were too soon to pull the ‘I’m a female so I can change my mind’ card and ask Spike about his not-so-healed wounds, deciding instead that it would only make her seem to be far too changeable at this early stage of their fragile relationship. If things were going to work out in her favour then he had to trust her, and she had to be able to trust him as… far as she’d ever be able to trust any of the undead. Her put upon sigh had the effect of bringing Spike’s head up and she found a pair of eyes filled with uncertainty glancing into hers before looking away again. Blinking, Buffy brought forward her patented chirpy smile and set about taking the best care she could of her new partner.

“Sorry, Spike. Got a bit distracted.” Buffy thought that it was always easier to go with the truth, so much less hassle in the long run. “Thought you’d like some breakfast. Don’t get used to it though, mister, this is so not gonna become a habit.”

A nod and muttered “Thanks, Slayer” rewarded her. Buffy left Spike to drink as she retraced her steps to the kitchen and pulled a few items from the First Aid kit, grabbing a small plastic bowl before returning downstairs to the basement. He’d finished his blood and was standing beside the bed with the tunic halfway over his head. With his arms raised even more welts and marks were visible, a weeping tear that had to be painful under his right arm. Buffy swallowed as she crossed to the bathroom, intent on filling the bowl with warm water.

“Leave the top off, Spike,” she called out to him, suddenly nervous about touching his marred, undead flesh. Leaving the bathroom she found the vampire sans top and still. “Sit down and let me get you patched up a bit.”

Spike had hoped for a less confusing beginning to the new day. He could sense the Slayer’s agitation and guessed he must be the source of it, he just didn’t know how or why. Now it appeared that she wanted to minister to the remaining wounds from… It took conscious effort to push those memories away. They did nothing to make him feel better and he was fed up with the way they still popped into his head. Perhaps once the physical reminders were no more he would be able to fasten the unwelcome thoughts into a box and bury them in a hole in the depths of his mind. Obeying the Slayer, Spike sat back down on the bed and waited wordlessly.

Settling next to him, Buffy added a splash of disinfectant to the bowl, watching as the water became cloudy before dipping in a wad of cotton wool and squeezing off the excess fluid. Hesitating to touch the much damaged pale skin before her, Buffy warned, “this will probably sting, but it needs to be cleaned.” Only then did she start to gently and steadily dab and wipe the tears and cuts that littered his chest and back. After a few moments Buffy became lost in her task, focussed on cleaning away dried blood from reopened wounds and tweezing out tiny fragments of lint and metal.

The initial contact with the warm swab had almost drawn a hiss from Spike as the disinfectant burned his inflamed flesh. Not that it was exactly painful, just unexpected. In moments it was forgotten as he lost himself in watching the Slayer, her face clearly showing her concentration as she caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth. Her lips moved now and again, no sound escaping, as if she was indulging in a silent and private conversation with herself. Spike found a small smile tugging at his lips as he considered the irony of the Vampire Slayer being so absorbed in tending to a vampire.

Minutes passed quickly as Buffy diligently stuck to her self-imposed task. She only spoke once. The savage tearing under Spike’s arm could only have been caused by teeth, a vampire’s teeth. For some reason the wound was still seeping a mixture of blood and clear viscous fluid. “Want to tell me how this happened, Spike?”

His body tensed at her words. No part of him wanted to answer her and he damned himself at the sense of betrayal he felt at her question. ‘Didn’t take long for you to change the rules, pet. Knew it was a bit too much to expect, honesty from a human. If that’s the worst of it my luck has taken a huge swing to the better. Christ, it’s all in the file, if the Slayer ever gets in the mood for a little light reading.’ She hadn’t looked up yet, still busy with her ministrations.

Buffy didn’t look up after asking the question. She realised almost as soon as the words left her mouth – which was definitely not connected to her brain right now – that she had broken a promise that was only a few hours old. The sudden tension in the vampire alerted her to the fact that her query had affected him in a not-so-pleasant way. It came as a shock that she had been so wrapped up her labour that she’d actually felt content; comfortable to be sitting in her basement with an injured vampire and to be nursing him in a silence which had felt companionable. Right up until now.

Buffy looked up.

Huge green eyes looked up at the lifeless face of the vampire. Totally lifeless, from the normally expressive eyes downwards. Then Spike blinked and seemed to focus on her in semi-surprise. She watched as he swallowed once and licked his lips before he took a breath and opened his mouth to…

“Spike, I’m sorry. It was out before I could stop it. You know, what with the cleaning of the bloodied wounds, well… I got curious, okay? I mean, I don’t know when this happened to you or…or why it happened. Spike… Spike…” And all at once she was crying, huge gobstopper tears that filled her eye and blurred her sight before spilling over, only to fill again. Her throat tightened painfully and she couldn’t drag in breath passed the lump that seemed to have lodged there, her chest heaving with the effort to bring air to her suddenly burning lungs.

Fighting to calm herself enough to breathe, almost blind with tears, Buffy didn’t see or sense the vampire move. Not until a soft touch was there and gone on her shoulder. Wiping her eyes roughly with the heel of her hand, she took a shuddering breath before moving the bowl and supplies from the bed and scrunching back until she met with the wall. She wanted a little distance from Spike, to not be in his space, to give him room. Besides, it was more comfortable than being perched on the edge.

“Spike, I don’t know how to do this, and it’s scaring the crap out of me. Give me some slaying any day. I can do that. Mostly.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper that her audience had no problem hearing. “But having any vampire, let alone you, here with me? That’s beyond strange. And I don’t know what to do. I didn’t think any of this through properly. I mean, how weird is it for the Vampire Slayer to need a vampire to go on patrol with her, to keep her safe from the few demons that the Initiative have left behind?” Watching the emotions flit over Spike’s face only served to emphasise his total disconnection earlier; Buffy much preferred the animated version before her now. “Get yourself comfortable, Spike. Here comes the Cliff’s Notes description of ‘A Slayer’s Life: the Last Four Years’.”

***

A giggle escaped Ethan’s lips; it had been quite a while since he’d had so much fun. He’d only been at the Council Headquarters for a little over two hours and already he was as immersed in the dark and dirty of the Council’s secrets as a rat in a sewer. Ethan would stake every penny he’d ever had that Giles had no idea of a fraction of what was held in these files. ‘Bet the boring fart has been too busy with genteel reform and democracy to roll his sleeves up and look for the dirt.’ Sometimes Ethan really did despair of Giles; how such an enthusiastic brother-in-arms turned out to be such a blinkered nincompoop, it was beyond him.

The clutter covering the desk had given Ethan more pleasure than he could possibly have expected. Such delicious crumbs of tantalising information… and the damned Initiative thought that their little pet magician would happily retrieve anything and everything for them, give them all the knowledge that they had requested, and been denied. As much as Ethan despised the elitist and pompous Watcher’s Council, he hated and loathed his captors and tormentors of the last few years. The Watcher’s Council had never stooped to putting electrodes on his balls in search of answers to questions he didn’t understand in the first place.

Lifting the phone, Ethan requested a pot of tea from the old battleaxe of an assistant he had charmed earlier. It didn’t surprise him in the least that Giles had failed to pay the ugly old cow any attention, he could see that from her reaction, but her attentiveness to his needs was something to be finely nurtured; one never knew when an oddly shaped tool would come in handy.

Picking up a file from the top of the pile, Ethan entertained himself in the pages detailing a recent purchase of eyebrow raising proportions. Settling into Giles’ leather chair with a sigh of contentment, Janus’s beloved son set about putting his greatest talent to use.

***

The mall was sparsely filled with shoppers when Buffy, Spike and Tara arrived. The blonde Wiccan had called just as Buffy was finishing the application of ointment, gauze and tape to various parts of Spike. It had only taken the sound of the Slayer’s voice for Tara to realise that her friend needed her company and support. The speed with which Buffy had taken her up on her offer to drive them to the mall, and the unmistakeable relief in her voice, had worried Tara until she reached Revello Drive and saw the vampire and slayer together.

Both their faces looked drawn, as if they’d been through some sort of emotional wringer and Tara had wasted no time in looking at their auras. It was difficult to say whose had changed most in the hours since she’d last seen them both. It was as if something had caused a breach in Buffy’s defences, fragmenting the barrier she had built strongly and diligently over the years. Wisps of colour escaped and twirled lazily without direction. Interesting.

Spike’s was perhaps more pronounced. There was something of devotion and affection there which seemed to be reaching out towards Buffy. Whatever had happened between them, however painful it had been – and it only took a look at their faces to know it had been no joyride – it had proved cleansing. More so than the spell last night. Or perhaps that had helped pave the way. Tara determined to speak with Buffy privately as soon as possible.

As soon as they arrived in one of the larger men’s outfitters, Buffy sent Spike off to do his shopping. “And don’t think I won’t be checking your choices before we leave. We are so not taking multiple bags of black back with us!” The small grin Spike favoured her with, and her answering one, served to relax the Slayer as she watched the vampire cross over to a display of tee shirts and start to throw packages into the basket he carried. And that was a sight she never thought to see.

Without words the two women moved to the seats provided near the door and sat down. Tara didn’t have to wait long before Buffy took advantage of their distance from the vampire and brought her up to speed.

“Last night was a bit heavy. Spike thought I was gonna beat him for …” Even now the words were a struggle. “He thought I was trying to trick him into disobeying an order and I had to convince him that I wasn’t doing it on purpose. Seems that everything I should have known really is in that damned manual. Which I still haven’t read, by the way.” Sighing, Buffy wallowed for a moment in the empathy shining from her friend’s eyes. “But we sorta got over that and then Spike had a nightmare or something, so that ended with us having a nightcap. Then this morning I saw him without his top on.” She glanced over to where Spike was now holding up denim jeans against him, a smile touching her lips. “He’s covered in wounds where it looks like he’s been whipped… and bitten.” Tara’s gasp had Buffy patting her hand. “All taken care of now but… well… I wanted to know how it happened and I told Spike I wouldn’t pry and… “ Frantic blinking did nothing to stop errant tears from escaping from her eyes. “Anyway, I told him the abridged edition of my last four years and then suddenly both of us are crying and we’re holding onto each other… and… and… I can barely believe it but we were comforting each other and it just felt right. I felt that he really understood me and he was so upset about mom and…”

“Slayer?”

Neither girl had noticed Spike’s approach. He’d smelt her tears from the other side of the store and they pulled him back to her side. His mind was still digesting everything that had happened since he’d awoken and his body still thrummed with the sensation of having a weeping Slayer cradled in his arms as he’d gently rocked her in an effort to soothe. Every instinct shouted at him to embrace her again, offer her the comfort she had accepted not so long ago, but a public place was probably not best for a vampire to be seen touching his owner in such a way. Some rules were not the Slayer’s to ignore.

Before Buffy could respond, a new voice entered the equation. “Miss Summers?”

Two uniformed police officers stood just inside the store. One had addressed her and the other was looking at Spike critically, as if he found him wanting in some way. Buffy stood and faced the one who had spoken. “I’m Buffy Summers. Is there a problem, officers?” Because if there was she had no idea what it could be.

“Not for,” he pointedly read the time on his watch before continuing, “about another hour and a half. Then you will be in breach of Residential Vampire Registration regulations. You really need to get the paperwork down to the station before then if you want to avoid a hefty fine, Miss Summers.”

“Oh, right.” Buffy just knew that her neglect of that damned manual was going to keep tripping her up until she did her homework. “I’ll make sure that I go to the station right after I leave here. Is that okay?”

“That’ll be fine. I’ll radio in and let them know you’re on you way. Have a nice day, ladies.” With a friendly nod towards Tara and Buffy, the two men left.

Spike had stood stiffly with eyes averted in the presence of the police. He knew how he was expected to act in public, his experience when used as a bodyguard had taught him that. The moment the men left he regarded the flustered Slayer who had a decidedly frustrated look on her face.

Tara could almost read Buffy’s mind. It was clear her friend was torn between the need to share more of her recent experiences with the vampire, completing the much needed kitting out of same vampire and making sure she had the hitherto unknown registration procedure completed on time.

“I can stay here and help Spike get sorted, Buffy, if you want to grab a cab and get that registration thing done,” Tara offered, smiling when the frown lifted from Buffy’s face.

“Could you? Thanks, Tara. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Buffy promised herself that she would bring Spike back for anything that got forgotten – or to exchange gear that she didn’t like. His calm eyes reassured her that the change in plans hadn’t fazed him, but still she asked. “Is that alright with you, Spike? Tara will bring you home after you’ve finished and we’ll catch up then.”

“’S fine, Slayer.” The vampire hid his pleasure at being asked. Even with other things on her mind she thought of him.

Spike longed for some quiet time to go over the early events of the day that lay in a contentedly confused mess just waiting to be picked over and made sense of. Something important had happened, had been said; in between the Slayer’s almost incoherent and hiccupping tale had sat odd and disjointed words, sounding strangely like an apology. Whatever she’d said, he was sure he’d seen her soul shining from her tear drenched and reddened eyes. Her sincerity and anguish, for him, had him giving in to the pull of hope. And that almost scared him as much as it excited him. Such a fragile thing. ‘Bit like the Slayer.’

She was leaving now. A small touch to his arm, a hug for Tara as she handed over a credit card, then she was off. Jogging away in search of transport and… ‘Damn! That bloody manual is still in the chest with… Shit!’ His concern now wasn’t that she would want to use the items to be found in the chest but that sight of them would bring back the upset of earlier. Whips, chains, manacles and items of a far more intimate nature were packed inside the container. Not the sort of thing he wanted her to see, but was helpless to prevent now.

***

Flying into the house and down into the basement, Buffy yanked open the lid to the chest and pulled the manual and file from the top. The control device she picked up with a grimace and shoved into her jacket pocket, determined to find a sensible hiding place for it later. She admitted to herself that she was curious about the other contents of the box, but with a cab waiting outside for her she had no time to get distracted. Unsure if she was wasting an opportunity, what with Spike being out of the house, she resolutely closed the lid and dashed back to her transportation before she allowed herself to be sidetracked.

An hour later she climbed into another cab and made her way home, a sheaf of official papers stuffed into the file and the desk sergeant’s admonition ringing in her ears.

“Don’t forget, Miss Summers, if your vampire puts one foot out of line he’s on a non-return ticket. Any recognised agency will be well within their rights to stake him. That goes for you too, of course. If he causes any problems you have no need to report anything besides the time and date of his demise.”

Having Spike was causing her a lot of extra work – a lot of it of the paper and reading variety. Not to mention the havoc he was causing on the equilibrium of her emotions. But even in such a short time she was glad that he was no longer in the clutches of those who had treated him so poorly.

Glad that he was with her.

***

“Ah, there you are. Hiding won’t do you no good, you know. Willow’s gonna find you,” Willow threatened as she continued her conversation with her laptop. A one-sided conversation that was the best she could come up with whilst waiting for Tara to get back from her unplanned shopping trip with Buffy… and Spike, of all creatures. A minor annoyance at the way Buffy could have Tara dashing to and fro was off put by the interesting, very interesting, snippets of information she had teased out via the internet and some nifty finger tapping on the question of the Initiative.

Not that they were actually called that anymore. The Rehabilitation of Hostile Sub-Terrestrials Agency was the new name under which they were trading – and it had almost put Willow off the scent. The Initiative was still there though, several layers deeper and harder to find than ever. And their new mission statement caused a delicate eyebrow to be raised. Because the technical data Willow had unearthed made her think that it was a huge fib. Why would anyone build in a remote shutoff to the chip? And what was a ‘BL Cont’ element?

“Hmm. More delving needed. Give me your secrets, you nasty government agency.” Fingers flying over the keyboard, Willow made notes on the pad next to her on the table. Her curiosity and tenacity would not allow her to break off until she knew all their dirty little secrets.


A/N: Hope this entertained. Feedback most welcome.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you.

Betas: A huge thank you to the lovely Megan and Angelic Amy.

Chapter 8

Spike, not for the first time in his existence, thought there was a lot to be said for the truth of the old saying ‘clothes maketh the man’. How strange it felt to have that fabric barrier between his skin and the world, to have only his weapons on display; his changeable face and his hands. Restricted weapons nowadays, but weapons nonetheless. He didn’t need a mirror to know he looked alright. The sweet-smelling blonde of the spells was proving to be a flattering reflection. If it hadn’t been for the niggling concern that Buffy was going to end up in a pickle due to her ‘humane’ principles and negligence in not reading the small print, he would have described himself as content. Because things could have gone so much differently for him if she’d been an apostle of the teachings within that tome, the one that would have given the Marquis de Sade a run for his money, let alone Angelus.

He didn’t know why he felt quite so sure that Buffy wouldn’t suddenly become a convert to its downright humiliating and demoralising tracts. But what he had seen in her eyes earlier, his knowledge of the girl she had been and her stubborn honesty, everything pointed towards the woman being as stalwart in her opinions. Spike thought it would take something extraordinary on his part to get her to shout at him, let alone bash him one. He had comforted the weeping slayer as best he could, held and soothed her until her sobs had abated and she’d staggered away from him and into the bathroom. A tearing sound from within had been followed by an unladylike trumpet and a sniffle; Buffy had blown her nose with the lack of femininity reserved for the truly distraught. The thought that she would string him up and use the canvas of his back as some sort of target practice… Spike didn’t think she had it in her.

As a judge of character, Spike would have once said he sat on the top bench of authority. In a total about turn from his life, in his unlife he was able to almost taste a lie, if told in fear and anguish. So he hadn’t tasted any in a while now. But today he had tasted anguish. The Slayer was in a worse state than he was.

Things were looking up for him; the Slayer seemed inclined to kindness and had provided more than he could recall anyone giving him, ever. The fact that owning him was causing her so much grief made the vampire admire her. In yet another about turn, his unlife was actually getting better, and it was all because the one chosen to be the instrument of death to his kind hated something more than she hated demons; injustice.

So, no, Spike didn’t think the Slayer was going to be changed in that way from her contact with the bloody manual. What he thought was that she would more than likely be upset when the dotted i’s and crossed t’s of his miserable existence were spelt out in front of her. And from what he’d seen so far, no matter how strong her scruples might be, she was balancing on a precipice and likely to implode at any moment. A no win situation.

How strange was it that his renewed enthusiasm for life had been brought about when the strongest warrior for the light was at her nadir? Even stranger that he felt no inclination to gloat or enthuse in any way about where life had brought her.

From what he could see they were two casualties of a life spent in the dark. Or, more accurately, he was a casualty because he had been forcibly removed from his rightful place in the demon world. The dark was where he belonged, with or without a muzzle. The Slayer, because her cosmic destiny had decreed that the warrior of light take her fight into dark, had spent her life in his environment more than her own. That must be hard, very hard. As hard as someone as evil as him trying to reach for a life in the light. Wasn’t natural, wasn’t right.

The Slayer was the strongest yet most fragile person Spike had ever met. Yesterday she had been so calm, so collected and benign. Today, just the evidence from a five week old incident had thrown her into floods of tears. This killer and nemesis to demonkind was nothing but a young woman undone by signs of torment, no matter who had suffered - even an unclean monster like himself.

He didn’t want her hurt. She’d bent over backwards with her caring and he was not one to let a debt go unpaid…unless he felt like it. But he didn’t feel like it now. Now he felt like seeing what he could make out of the opportunity that had been presented to him, and see how he and the Slayer could rub along together in the demon killing business. Though if she ever wanted him for more than that… Spike was unsure how he would feel about that. It was probably a moot point anyway, because if she read that file she would think he was a kinky homosexual into a side order of freaky; enough to put even the Slayer off.

With a sigh he glanced back at Tara. “So, you think this is alright, Glinda?”

***

Buffy entered the empty house. She’d expected it to be empty as Tara’s car wasn’t in the drive. Nor were there any tickly tingles telling her that Spike was near. So, empty house. Apart from her, that is.

Dropping the manual and file onto the coffee table, Buffy went into the kitchen and snagged a soda from the fridge before flopping onto the couch and reaching for the file. Not that she needed to read it; it had just been read out to her at the station – part of their full disclosure service. She’d been told exactly what Seventeen had been found guilty of over the years. Failing to save the lives of three owners. Ignore the fact that he had been severely injured trying to perform his duties in each and every incident; getting as close to death as it is possible to get… and not die. Each time he had been punished – detailed on another page that Buffy didn’t feel equipped to look at right now – and sent back to the auction. The heir to owner number three had detailed some specific extra duties that Seventeen had been found competent in performing – given the right incentive (see page 149 of the Owner’s Manual for Method 19 – Friendly Persuasion), and had recommended that he be given additional training.

Seventeen was sent back to the Initiative for his ‘training’. Buffy swallowed hard to hold back the bile that threatened to rise past the point of no return. They’d trained him to be a sex slave, for males only. She dropped the file and ran helter-skelter up the stairs and into the family bathroom, falling to her knees. Her head barely crested the side of the toilet bowl before her body expelled the physical symbol of her revulsion.

‘Oh, my god. Oh, my god. He was with Drusilla for over a hundred years and… and I know he used to get bothered when we fought. Heck, I used to get bothered when we fought. Perhaps he’s bi, maybe he didn’t mind… Oh, my god.’

‘And what the fuck is it with the Initiative and sex?’

Pulling herself up, Buffy rinsed out her mouth and made her way back downstairs. Several things were making her angry right now, and Spike’s treatment was not the least of them. Demons were either killed – or not. Shades of grey did not encompass enslaving the baddies to serve the goodies. Spike should be dust. No two ways about it. But he wasn’t and now she would do whatever she could to protect him – and use him.

Shoulders slumped, Buffy sighed as the whole messy situation came back into focus. She, Buffy Summers, wanted to bring down the Initiative. They were evil – and human. She hated everything they did. And yet, here she was in possession of a fruit of their labour. With a receipt and everything. ‘Hypocrite, much!’

She eyed the file with disfavour, pulling out the papers that had been thrust at her in the police station. ‘Where was I and what was I doing when the world changed? How could a law get passed making it an offence to stake vampires unless in self-defence? Does Giles know that the United States Government has practically made the calling of the slayer illegal?’ It was all there, printed in black and white. Reminders on the do’s and don’ts of vampire/owner etiquette. Reminders on what to do if you spotted a feral vampire (contact the police who would in turn contact the nearest Initiative team for a collection or termination). Reminders on everything under the sun.

It seemed as though someone had actually made legislation affecting demons…and forgot to let her know. The Vampire Slayer now had to adapt to a society that enslaved – there really was no other term for it – demon hybrids and used them atrociously. Who were the innocents that she was sworn to protect? Not the vampires who chowed down on people’s necks indiscriminately, not them. But how could she protect those same people when they were, by definition, no longer innocent? When they invited vampires into their lives, to be used in any way that they decided. Like she had. This time Buffy made it to the bathroom faster.

Buffy knew she’d been so intent on wallowing in her own misery, her own problems, that she hadn’t taken the time to open her eyes and look outside of her narrow boundaries. Once the Initiative had left Sunnydale she’d given them little or no thought, just glad to have them away from her hellmouth. They’d all been knocked back at that time, dealing with the disappearance of Oz and Riley’s turning. Everything had started to unravel about then.

It wasn’t until Willy had been forced underground – literally – that Buffy had become aware of the patrols that were sweeping through her town on a regular basis. Her reaction had been a disinterested shrug and avoidance. Until she’d found a patrol beating on Clem and ready to haul him away in one of their patented black SUVs. The grey, wrinkly skinned demon had looked at her so piteously that Buffy had extricated him – with a few well placed kicks and punches – and dragged him down to Willy’s for identification. Clem had turned out to be a regular there and Willy was happy to confirm his non-threatening-to-humans status. Which in turn had led to Buffy and Willy reaching a change in emphasis in their relationship. Sometimes she could appreciate a shade of grey.

Staring at the file once more, Buffy reluctantly opened it and continued to read, waiting for the return of Tara and her vampire.

***

The day had flown past in a montage of glee. Ethan only had to think about the looks on the faces of his – well, Giles’ – fellow council members to start giggling again. He’d cut through their protestations about the Slayer’s new pet with a droll decisiveness that he recalled Ripper using from time to time. It only took a hint or two about his morning’s reading activities to make a couple of them squirm uncomfortably in their seats before falling into line behind him. Delicious power.

Actually, he had no intentions of doing anything about the Slayer; the further he stayed away from her, given their less than sparkling past, the better. She had an uncanny knack of being present when his best laid plans failed to come to fruition. If nothing else, it only went to reinforce the fact that the filly was truly the Chosen of the side of Light. ‘Irritating wench.’

But her pet vampire was another matter. A small part of Ethan empathised with his fellow sufferer at the hands of the Initiative, but it would take more than a passing soft emotion to deter him from pondering how to make the attractive creature his. Technically, as Head Watcher, he held the papers of ownership in the name of the Council. At the moment he couldn’t see any advantage for himself in passing it over to the Slayer. Ethan preferred to dwell instead on the benefits that could come his way if he could somehow pry Seventeen away from the prissy bint and have him shipped to London. Perhaps it was time to take some legal advice.

Stroking a finger over the face staring insolently up at him from the file, Ethan looked at the other files open on the desk in front of him; one was labelled ‘Wolf Ram & Hart’ and the other read ‘Angel/Angelus’. Not even bothering to think about the trans-Atlantic time differential, the grinning mage dialled the number for the CEO of Wolfram & Hart, LA Division. ‘A little cat in amongst the plump pigeons should soon have some feathers flying.’

***

It was at times like this that Angel regretted most the break up of the team from Angel Investigations. They had been adamant that moving their operation into the den of the very thing they were fighting was morally and ethically wrong. No good could come from it. They’d be damned. Lose their precious souls.

The souled vampire missed being able to talk things through with people who had, once upon a time, understood him. Not that he’d talked a lot, just now and then, but he’d known that they were there for him when the moment took him. Now there was no one.

Their final less than amicable bust up had shattered them as surely as a demolition ball. His son had run away and no amount of investigation - traditional and mystical – could locate him. Fred had returned to Texas to continue her education and forget her time spent in the company of demons. Gunn had gone back to a much safer existence now that so many vampires were being taken off the streets and rehabilitated. ‘Yeah, right. Seems like I can at least thank the soul for something. Kept me from having my fangs drawn in a more permanent way.’

Wes was persona non grata with Angel, which still hurt him more than he’d ever admit. And Cordy? She was being cared for somewhere by the highly qualified W&H Medical Unit. If it hadn’t been for that prophecy he wouldn’t be where he was right now, he’d still be holed up in the Hyperion.

On impulse, Angel pulled open his top desk drawer and removed the copy he’d made of the short, but very sweet, foretelling of things to come. He seldom tired of reading the brief text.

The vampire with soul from the line of Aurelius shall gain his heart’s desire. Should his heart choose wisely rewards beyond dreams will be his.

His longing for this prize was almost a taste in his mouth. Angel knew that he had given much in his journey for redemption. There was not a doubt in his mind that, from the line of Aurelius, he was the only one that could possibly fit the requirements, therefore the prize was nearly as good as his. Nearly. If only he could decide once and for all just what his heart’s desire was.

Angel had almost decided to lapse into a brood when his phone pulled him back to the world outside his head. He picked it up and answered curtly. His expression changed to one of calculation and elation when he realised who was on the other end of the line.

“Rupert, how good to hear from you. How may I be of assistance?”

***

Spike and Tara hauled the bags through the door, both feeling the tension the moment they passed the threshold. Their heads turned as one to look at the blonde as she glanced up from the paperwork spread all over the coffee table. Green fire flashed in her eyes and Spike found himself dropping the bags he carried and bracing himself for an attack. Here was the Slayer, mission written all over her. And her well-known mission was slaying vampires. ‘Wonder how I pissed her off so badly without being here.’

Though there was no need to wonder really, not with the pile of paper spilled in front of her. ‘Right, read the fucking file then.’ He couldn’t see a stake though, not unless she had one tucked in the waistband of her pants…which he wouldn’t put passed her. She blinked and her eyes changed, softened.

“You’re back,” she observed. The sight of loaded carriers would usually have triggered some enjoyable study of purchases, but other more important matters were on her mind now. “Tara, do you think Willow would like to join us for dinner?” She smiled at the sight of Tara’s jaw dropping; Buffy knew it was time to build bridges, especially when she would need Willow’s help. She’d been angry with Willow enough for a lifetime and, whilst they’d probably never regain the ground they’d lost with each other, they should be able to be in each other’s company now; enough time had passed for that to be doable.

Tara was happily stunned. Something was happening, she could feel it. Buffy vibrated with directed energy and she wanted to have Willow come to dinner. She would go and collect Willow and pick up some takeaway to bring back with her; she’d eaten enough times with Buffy to know that a home cooked meal was unheard of. Nodding and grinning, Tara dropped her bags inside the living room. “Chinese?”

“Thanks, Tara. Use my card, okay?” Buffy smiled at her friend and watched her until the front door shut behind her. Then she turned her full attention back to the vampire and… ‘How fine you are. The vampire that I own, old enemy mine. I don’t know if this would have hit me so hard if I hadn’t known you personally before, if you were an unknown bloodsucker. Does that make me a bad person?’ Somehow the look he was giving her didn’t make her feel like a bad person at all. He didn’t look at her as if he thought she was bad, not now, not since she’d broken down and lost herself so completely earlier.

Spike had delicately brought her back to earth. And if the sight of his erection had wigged her a little, well, she was guessing that if he could ignore it so could she. With some more adjustment to that anomaly in her home, maybe she wouldn’t be so conscious of it, if it was to become a regular… She swallowed as the bile rose in her throat again. Somehow any connection between Spike and sex after the reading she had endured made her feel dirty, like she was contemplating using him herself.

Spike listened to her raised heartbeat and wondered what was going on, although looking at the paper littered table it didn’t take Einstein to work that one out. Which was just as well, considering he wasn’t there. The way she was staring at him made him feel self-conscious, something he wasn’t used to that he could well do without, given a choice. Everything was forgotten as soon as she smiled. Her next words changed his life forever.

“How would you like to help me take the Initiative down, Spike?”

***

A/N: Hope this entertained. Feedback, questions, hugs – all are welcome! I may not be able to post next Monday - muse is being awkward - but will truly do my best.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thanks aren't enough for all you do!

Chapter 9

“How would you like to help me take the Initiative down, Spike?”

He thought he’d misheard her at first, but he knew there was nothing wrong with his hearing. Spike just stared back at the Slayer as he considered her words, noting the determination in her gold flecked eyes before he looked away from her distracting beauty. Snapshots of his time within the Initiative flew through his mind, focussing on the methods they’d used to suppress his demon until only this pale shadow of a vampire remained. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, but that only served to paste the images onto the inside of his eyelids. Engrossed in his unpleasant memories, Spike failed to notice the Slayer had moved until a hand on his sleeve brought him back to earth. As he drew in an unneeded breath, pulling her scent into him, his traitorous body stirred into its normal response.

Buffy wished she’d waited until Tara returned with the food and Willow before laying this out for all of them at once. That was part of the problem though, wasn’t it? She’d become so accustomed to thinking, doing and saying – without reference to others for the most part – that with the perfidy of the Initiative foremost in her mind she hadn’t paused to think of the affect her words could have on Spike. Whilst she was only just catching up with the cruel and unusual methods that the Initiative had employed on its captives, Spike had lived through them, experiencing every abomination first hand.

There was more than a little irony to be had in the fact the vampire meant to make her life easier had proved to be a catalyst for pushing her out of her general malaise, shoving a purpose and reason to do more right under her nose, where even she could hardly fail to see it. Buffy didn’t fool herself that the journey ahead of them was going to be easy, or possible to win, but it was a fight that felt right and that was more than enough just now. Or it would be, if Spike didn’t look so torn up inside.

“That should have waited until the others arrive.” Hoping he caught the apology in her words, Buffy let her hand fall away as Spike looked down at her with an unreadable expression. ‘Jeez, what was I expecting? That he would dance for joy and leap at the chance to get some payback? Well, yeah, I think I was. Stupid Buffy. Gotta remember it’s not all about you.’

Spike was still deliberating on the bombshell the Slayer had thrown him. A couple of hours ago they had reached a strange place in their association together - strange for a vampire and a slayer, but oddly comfortable. It was almost impossible to credit the broken down and emotional woman of then was the same person as the composed and resolute Slayer before him. Perhaps not so impossible when he recalled the reason for her meltdown, and the material that littered her coffee table. As incredible as it seemed, she was all fired up because of the treatment he, and many other demons, had suffered at the hands of humans like her. ‘No, not like her at all, mate. There’s only one like her and she’s it. She’d have dusted me fair and square, given the chance. But the thought of this…never would have crossed her mind.’

So, where did that leave him? Owned by a bird who wanted to take on a powerful and politically well-backed – not to mention funded – organisation he could do nothing to hurt physically with the damned chip ensconced deeply in his brain. He’d buried his demon deep over recent years, having learnt clearly allowing it out only led to more agony than he could handle without breaking down like a babe; something that hurt him more than the pain. Spike had been contemplating a life with the Slayer which included plentiful amounts of food, a bed to rest in and a spot of much anticipated violence against the only creatures he could hurt, creatures like himself; monsters, demons and the demon-human hybrid…vampires. Now the chit had decided to raise her sights a mite higher and was asking him, actually asking him, if he wanted to help her.

He closed his eyes again, listening to the yearning of his demon for revenge, for glory or bust. It wanted nothing more than to align itself with the blonde slip of a girl before him. The thought of payback, however tenuous, was too welcome an opportunity to pass up, even if it meant the death of him…which it likely would. But the chance to be part of something that, even if unsuccessful, would dare to strike a blow back at those that had diminished him…that was too tempting to let pass.

Buffy watched the small grin appear on Spike’s lips as his eyes came back to life, a smile of her own already replying to him before he’d spoken a word. “Got a plan then, Slayer?”

***

Groaning, Giles opened his eyes and squinted against the bright glare of the fluorescent light overhead. Shutting his eyes again reflexively, he tried to find a reason for the mother of all headaches that had him in its grip. He didn’t remember hitting the scotch last night on his return from the Council. In fact, he didn’t remember anything beyond…

Forcing himself to brave the glare as it made its presence known, even through his eyelids, Giles turned his protesting head on the thin pillow it rested on and made himself look at his surroundings. Light reflected in agonising brightness off the white tiles that made up the walls of the room and the metal door which appeared to be the only opening. There wasn’t a window in painful sight.

“Bugger,” he managed before everything went blessedly dark again.

***

Tara gave Willow an encouraging smile before knocking on Buffy’s front door. Her lover had been alternatively delighted and painfully nervous at seeing Buffy after the long period of ambiguity on the status of their relationship. But she had been eager to see her once best friend, even gathering up her laptop and a notebook to take with her on this first trip to Revello Drive in years. At Tara’s questioning look she’d just smiled and given a small shake of her head, words not needed to let her soul mate know she’d explain everything later. And here they were, two large bags packed with Chinese tasty goodness and Willow’s heart beating twenty to the dozen as she wondered what her reception would be. She didn’t have to wait long to find out as Buffy opened the door.

Seeing Willow there on her porch brought a flood of memories back to Buffy, most of them good. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to think anything but bad thoughts of the redhead, had positively wallowed in the misery and blame she’d heaped upon the first friend she’d made upon arriving on the Hellmouth. For once, Buffy let herself listen to the voice she’d ruthlessly quashed for a long time; she missed her friend and wanted something of their previous shared companionship back. Stepping forward she gave first Willow, then Tara, a quick hug before waving them into her home. Willow’s teary smile almost started Buffy off as well and it took a determined effort to stop herself from letting the evening spiral into a reunionfest; there were larger matters to be tackled first.

***

The vampire had finished arranging his recently acquired wardrobe into boxes that were now stowed tidily under his bed. A temporary arrangement until they could get some more furniture for him to use. A rueful smile pulled at his lips as he took the bag of toiletries into the small bathroom and began to arrange them neatly on the shelves and inside the mirrored cabinet that reflected nothing of himself. Spike was surprised at how peaceful he felt within himself now he had accepted the Slayer’s challenge. It was as if by giving him something to focus on, apart from his own misery and woe, had lightened the weight that had relentlessly borne him down since the night he’d been taken and chipped.

Spike knew that by nature he was a survivor and adapted to his environment quicker than most, looking for the best way to get by and using any and every advantage he was given. And if they weren’t given he’d make them, or take them, for himself. In the early days of his servitude to humans he’d been able to reconcile himself to his position enough to keep most punishments at bay; he’d accepted the status of bodyguard and enjoyed pitting his wit and strength against those demons who’d dare harm his charge. But every time he’d failed, and paid the penalty.

It was almost as if there’d been some sort of conspiracy against those he’d done his best to protect. Almost as if each successful attack had been orchestrated, planned and executed with more purpose than the demons responsible could lay claim to. Not that anyone had listened when he’d suggested such a thing. Why would they when they thought he was trying to deflect the penalty he’d earned?

Slayer scent tickled his nose and turned his thoughts to the woman who was making ready for the arrival of her friends upstairs. He could hear her movements as she wandered between the kitchen and dining room-cum-study, setting the table with plates, bowls and eating implements. Spike hadn’t expected to like her, the Slayer, as much as he did and he would consider the whys of it later. Was it just her unexpected and unforeseen kindness towards him, was it her physical beauty that had his cock in a state of arousal too often for him to count, or was it something else? He shrugged and adjusted himself within the confines of his new jeans. At least he could hide his body’s obvious response to her a lot easier now he’d been gifted with clothes that moulded his contours more closely.

Hearing the knock at the front door he quickly finished putting his washing gear away and waited for the Slayer to call him up for the meeting.

***

In a subterranean room, not too far from the Pentagon, the most powerful men in the world gathered about a large oblong table. The room was totally soundproofed and swept hourly for bugs and other audio or visual technology that could put their plans in jeopardy.

These were the movers and shakers of civilisation, the powers behind the thrones and governments of the world. They had manipulated and corrupted every country worth counting on the planet, but still there were men out there that resisted their ideals and vision. Good men, flawed men and outright criminals who refused to be brought to heel by any of the tried and trusted methods that had been used to persuade them of the errors of their ways.

Until the Initiative had begun its nefarious programme against the threat of demons, capturing and experimenting on those who preyed on humans – proven or not – they had been at an impasse on how to press their objectives forward. It was they who had taken over, covertly, on Maggie Walsh’s death. They’d shipped out every chipped specimen and taken them to a hastily arranged facility to be further tested and then trained. With the top public relations experts in the world already in their employ, it had been relatively simple to introduce the reality of vampires to the wealthy and influential who stood against them. They ran the Initiative but from a place too far removed for any investigation to reveal.

It had taken four years, four long years of meticulous planning and adjustment to bring them to the place where they were now. In less than three months they expected to be the acknowledged rulers of the world.

Tonight and tomorrow the first test runs would take place. If successful, nothing would be able to stop Operation Conquer, nothing at all.

***

The meal had been interesting. Not just the food but also the way the four of them had quickly settled into a semblance of normality. And just how normal was it for two Wiccans, a vampire and a slayer to sit in harmony around a table, snagging mouth-watering nourishment from waxed boxes and discussing ways to bring down a government run agency? Some might call it treason, but the wards set up by Tara and Willow at Buffy’s request ensured their words were not overheard.

There had been some awkwardness at first, especially when Spike had come face to face with Willow for the first time since he’d left her and idiot boy in the factory so long ago. But the discomfort had soon passed as the Slayer outlined her concerns about the Initiative, the way it had introduced vampires into society and the ways in which they were used. Spike had concentrated on some fine chilli beef when mention of vampire brothels was brought to the table, feeling the eyes of each of them rest on him momentarily before they remembered their manners.

Now, the woman he’d once threatened with a bottle, the one whose scent he now recognised as that which surrounded Glinda, was presenting some information of her own.

“Since Tara told me about it yesterday I’ve been doing a bit of nosing about. Just gathering information and having a bit of a poke into their files,” Willow offered hesitantly, still feeling her feet in this odd gathering. She flipped open her notebook and read out her findings so far. “We have twenty four chipped vampires resident in Sunnydale right now. That includes Spike.” She smiled a little nervously at the vampire currently washing down his latest bowl of food with warm blood. Before she could continue Buffy spoke up.

“That can’t be right. Hang on a minute, be right back.” Pushing up from her chair, Buffy went into the living room and quickly found the sheets she was looking for. Back in the dining room she started to read from one of them. “It says here that there are fifteen vampires in Sunnydale, including Spike. It was updated and printed off right in front of me at the police station. See,” she passed the page over to Willow, who quickly scanned the data, “it shows where each one of them lives and who is responsible for them. So either your information is out of date or…” Her voice trailed off as she considered other possibilities.

“Or someone isn’t telling the truth, Slayer,” Spike offered, gaining a smile and nod from Red.

“You’re right. Your list doesn’t have the workers at the vineyard on the outskirts of town. There are nine listed there as nocturnal grape pickers, pressers and tenders of the vine. And my information is taken straight from the Initiative’s records.” Willow couldn’t keep her sense of pride at her achievement from her voice. It had taken some very delicate delving to find a way into the well-guarded database, and she’d only had time to pull out a few facts so far; there was so much more there waiting to be discovered. Tara squeezed her hand under the table, sharing the pride she felt for her partner.

“Wow, you can do that?” Buffy was openly impressed. “Find anything else worth sharing?”

“Well…” Willow turned the page of her notebook and took a deep breath.

***

There was a spring in his step as Ethan made his way down the corridor to ‘his’ office this morning. He paused to charm his secretary and request a pot of Earl Grey before secluding himself in the room that was starting to give up all sorts of interesting facts. He couldn’t wait to begin on the archives. Yesterday he’d used the miniature camera supplied by his masters to take numerous snaps of pages from the tomes the Council guarded so closely, and refused to share.

The mage had amused himself by changing some very pertinent words with his magic before recording them. He wondered when they would find that squirting water at a Megloth demon caused it to multiply instead of killing it. That’s if they ever happened across one. He so hoped that they would.

His conversation with Angel had occupied his thoughts all night. Even now Ethan was pondering on the best way to use his new knowledge and understanding of the vampire’s desires. Unfortunately, they appeared to coincide closely with his own, but he was realistic enough to play the best hand he was dealt and had never been accused of being inflexible.

When Angel had offered to pay him double the amount spent to have his family member returned to his nurturing care, Ethan had smelt a rat. It didn’t take the copious notes held in the files, nor Giles’ own meticulous records in his watcher’s journal, for him to guess that the CEO of the Wolfram & Hart branch in LA had something other than a joyous reunion planned for his blood relative; blood relative in vampire terms, that is. The animosity and rivalry between the two very different vampires was well documented, and the apparently sincere argument for possession that Angel had presented had kept Ethan from disclosing his own interest in Seventeen.

Ethan’s non-committal but open responses had encouraged Angel to add in the carrot of a fully-trained and tested replacement to offer Buffy, to ensure she was in no way denied the services which she desired. All because of the vampire’s high regard and continued esteem for the Chosen One. Ethan had chewed on his lower lip at that point to prevent the guffaw from escaping and spoiling the unlooked for entertainment.

He’d abandoned completely his plan to have Seventeen transported to the land of his birth, both times, and had tentatively suggested that, as Buffy’s watcher and with only her best interests at heart, perhaps Angel should approach her directly to sound out her feelings on the matter. His assurances that he would abide with his Slayer’s decision were made without a shred of honesty attached to them. Whatever else he did, Ethan had no intention of letting the pompous prat get his mitts on his grandchilde.

Angel’s agreement barely concealed his triumph at getting, as he believed, Giles’ blessing on his proposal. Ethan heard the undertone of arrogant confidence in Angel’s voice, his certainty in being able to pry Spike away from Buffy and into his own custody. It was totally irrelevant what Buffy decided; Ethan was the one with the title of ownership. He wondered idly what Buffy thought of that and surmised she must be content with the arrangement. What she thought about Angel interfering in her life he was eager to find out. There was little doubt in Ethan’s mind the little bird would soon be calling with a bee in her bonnet.

Sometimes life could be so deliciously sweet.

***

Spike was clearing the empty cartons and putting them in the trash whilst the Slayer was outside saying her farewells to the two Wiccans. As soon as she returned they would be going for a stroll around the cemeteries so he could get reacquainted with the area. He was looking forward to some time outside and a chance to process the information from the meeting.

When the phone rang he wondered if he should go and fetch the Slayer, but shrugged and carried on clearing away the empty dishes and putting unfinished cartons of food next to the microwave for a snack later in the evening. On about the tenth ring the answering machine kicked in.

“Hi, Buffy, if you’re there can you pick up? It’s Angel.”

An almost full carton of char sui dropped from Spike’s suddenly lifeless hand and spilt its contents over the kitchen floor.

“Okay, you must be on patrol. It’s about Spike. I’m coming to Sunnydale tomorrow and there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. So I’ll be there about seven if that’s alright with you. Maybe I can take you to dinner; I’d like our talk to be private. Call me back if that’s not convenient for you.” Pause. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, Buffy. I’ve missed you. Bye for now.”

The frozen vampire watched the red message light flash; Angel’s loathed voice reverberating in the silent room. As chill dread filled him, Spike acted on instinct and did the only thing that made sense to him.

***

A/N: Hope this entertained. Reviews most welcome (or I don't know if it did!). There may be a delay in next week's post due to a pilgrimage of sorts (by that I mean later in the day - hopefully!). BFN.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies.

Chapter 10

The muffled ringing of the phone from inside the house had Tara quirking a questioning eyebrow in Buffy’s direction.

“It’s probably Giles.” Buffy answered the unspoken question with a small grimace as she belatedly recalled her failure to call him today as promised. She would call him back as soon as she returned inside, but her focus now was with her friends and their quiet discussion of topics she’d thought better brought up without the presence of her vampire. “The machine will take a message and I’ll call him right back once we’re finished.”

Willow glanced down at her notebook, words just visible in the dim porch lighting, pen poised to add the next line to their growing list. Without looking up, she asked, “Are you gonna talk to him about…er…what we talked about?”

They had agreed inside extreme caution should be exercised over any mention of the Initiative, and their findings so far, without the presence of protective wards to prevent the possibility of eavesdropping. The data that Willow had supplied on the sophistication of high tech equipment available on the open market nowadays had given them all food for thought. It would be easy to let paranoia settle in if they weren’t careful.

Buffy frowned slightly as she deliberated on the wisdom of using an open phone line to put forth their intentions. ‘Nah, better to get Giles out of that office he’s so attached to and over here. We can talk face to face then and show him why he should be cleaning his glasses so hard.’ She shook her head before realising that Willow hadn’t looked up from her notebook. “Nope. But maybe I can get him to come out on a long overdue visit so he can…um…catch up with everything he’s missed.” Murmurs of agreement from Tara and Willow let her return to her biggest, and so far unvoiced, concern.

“Guys, what are we gonna do with the product if we manage to stop production?” This made Willow look up to join her blank stare to Tara’s. It was worse than a game of charades but Buffy valiantly reworded and tried again. “Well, if production stops, like we want, there are gonna be all these obsolete models around that might need to be…recycled. If you know what I mean.” She hoped they did; she was running out of ideas on how to phrase this without giving too much away.

“Oh, you mean the merchandise?” Tara offered, understanding showing suddenly. “Goddess, I hadn’t thought of that. That could mean… Oh, my!”

Willow gasped as the penny dropped. “There would be…and that would not be good…all over the place, everywhere.”

Satisfied that she had got them thinking along the right lines, Buffy let out a relieved breath. “Yep. So if you can get more details on the…specifications of the hardware involved.” Willow’s nod indicated her comprehension. “Then we’ll be in a better position to make plans for whatever needs to be done.”

Tara couldn’t stop herself from looking back to the house, to where Spike was waiting for Buffy. “And what about your model, Buffy? Will you be recycling it…if you need to?”

The Wiccan felt anxious on the vampire’s behalf, liking him despite his less than laudable past. The time spent at the mall with him earlier had been more than pleasant and she’d enjoyed helping him pick out clothes and colours which suited his pale complexion; even she could admire his lean lines and almost feminine beauty. Seeing the way Buffy’s shoulders were sagging, Tara didn’t think she was the only one who would be unhappy if Spike were to be a victim yet again, this time from their crusade.

Her friend had done everything in her power to skirt around topics that needed to be raised - but not dwelt on in the vampire’s presence. And Buffy wasn’t usually such a tactful soul; for all her shining qualities the Slayer still had imperfections. Several, in fact. Tara was looking forward to seeing what their auras together would show on her next visit.

“I really hope it won’t come to that. Depends what you find with your research, Willow,” Buffy sighed, not wanting to think of having to dust Spike but unwilling to let herself lapse into the comfort of denial she’d been indulging in for far too long. It was the reason she’d brought the subject up now, so early in their investigation. If there was a way to keep Spike alive, or undead, she wanted to find it. None of the old joy would be found in having to finish him now. If nothing else, she knew she’d never be able to look at him as the enemy he’d always been before.

The three women bade each other a sombre farewell, Buffy waving until they disappeared from view before going back inside. There was a phone call to make and a vampire waiting for a stroll around Sunnydale’s numerous cemeteries.

***

He ran.

The moment he could force his frozen limbs to move again, he ran.

His fumbling fingers unlocked the kitchen door and he slipped out into the night, pausing briefly to ensure the Slayer was still occupied before taking to the shadows and putting sufficient distance between himself and the house before breaking into a loping run. Spike knew he’d crossed a line with the Slayer now, that there was no going back to the house that could have become a home. Regret was firmly thrust away, almost irrelevant in the wake of the ominous threat posed by Angel. He’d be dust before he submitted to his tender mercies again.

Instinctively he avoided the direction of the campus, scene of the pivotal moment in his unlife that had brought him to this sorry state of being. Instead, he aimed for the district that held the old factory, a veritable warren of hiding places and shelter from the day that would find him soon enough. Spike groaned when he arrived to find that much had changed in the intervening years. The derelict buildings had disappeared, replaced with new erections indicating a thriving business district. More than one was lit up, floodlights casting illumination as workers went about their tasks, unloading pallets of goods from large trucks or loading them into others. Gone was the vampires’ paradise from yesteryear.

Leaning against an alley wall, Spike considered his options. The cemeteries were out; the Slayer would find him easily on her normal turf. So what did that leave? He growled in frustration and slammed a fist into the wall, breaking skin and losing some of the precious blood he’d only just started to replenish in his undernourished body.

‘Why the fuck couldn’t Peaches have left well alone? Why, just when my bloody unlife was getting better, does he have to bugger it all up? What is it with that ape? He’s got everything he could possibly want and he suddenly decides my arse would be the cherry on top. Wanker!’

Absently licking his knuckles clean, he backed away from the overpopulated area and made his silent way down to the docks. The same transformation had taken place here too. Rundown and disreputable bars had given way to snazzy new nightspots and bistros. Neon signs shone and blinked, enticing a small wandering crowd of pleasure seekers to enter their doors, taste their wares, and partake of the experiences on offer. Once upon a time this would have been a hunting ground full of opportunity and plump pickings. Now it was no more than a hazard to his health. Turning away, feeling the fingers of desperation tightening their grip on him, Spike reluctantly set out for the only other place of refuge he could think of: the old Crawford mansion. He just hoped he could find somewhere better along the way.

***

Buffy paused to gulp a much needed lungful of air. The mixture of anger and concern which had catapulted her from the house had steadily grown as each cemetery failed to turn up the missing vampire. Right now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch him for doing something so stupid as to run, or hug him in relief at getting him back. Either of those choices had to wait until she found him. ‘Doesn’t he know it’s not safe for him out here? If the police or an Initiative patrol finds him…’ Refusing to follow the thought to its unwelcome and logical conclusion, Buffy made her way to the next cemetery on her mental list.

In just over twenty-four hours the irritating, annoying, wounded and mistreated vampire had twisted her life onto a new axis. He did not get to do that and then just disappear. For a start he wasn’t even healed properly yet. And then there were all those clothes she’d have to return to the mall. Not to mention the bed and… Buffy pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket and blew into it noisily before finding a clean bit to wipe across her watering eyes. She tried to convince herself it was just the wind picking up but gave in and owned up to the fear that was starting to eat at her. As much as she’d acquired Spike as added protection against the nasties, he needed her to safeguard him from his own set of nasties - humans.

An hour later Buffy was ready to scream. She’d searched all her regular haunts and was now making her way to an area of town she tended to avoid. Too many bad memories surrounded the mansion that had borne witness as she’d sent her once only lover to hell. The first vampire she had cared about was now nothing more to her than a forcibly suppressed memory. And that’s the way she’d like to keep it.

Time might have numbed the sharpness of her pain, but her gladness at Angel’s return to the world was forever tainted with the guilt she still felt for all those who had died because of her weakness. That she’d been young and in love could never fully absolve her from the mistakes she’d made, from hesitating when her stake could have put an end to Angelus’s reign of terror. She supposed a part of her would always love Angel, in a distant ‘he was my first love but now it’s over’ way. Too much water, and not a few canoes without paddles, had flowed under the bridge since then. Sharing any part of each others lives had long since been given up. But now was not the time to get caught up in a past long dead. At this moment all she wanted to do was find a very different vampire and drag him back to the safety of home before something bad happened to him.

The mansion had just come into sight when the first tingles hit the nape of her neck. Halting and peering into the darkness, Buffy looked for any sign of the nearby vampire; she wouldn’t assume it was Spike until her eyes confirmed her hope. A movement to the right of the mansion revealed her worst nightmare. A four man Initiative patrol, complete with black uniforms and night vision goggles were beating a path alongside the imposing structure. She needed to find him now, before they did. There was suddenly no doubt in her mind the vampire she felt was Spike; she wouldn’t be lucky enough for it to be some random fledge who’d wandered into town on a whim.

And, suddenly, there was her vampire.

Off to the left of the building, almost lost in the shadow of the tree he leaned against. The rush of relief Buffy felt in finding him was offset by her fear the patrol would get to him first, try to take him from her…or worse. Backing away until she too entered the realm of shade, the dark that was deeper away from the influence of starlight, she moved towards Spike with all the stealth at her command.

***

Spike couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make himself enter the place where his world had started to become undone. Here he’d spent agonising months trapped in a wheelchair and suffered the anguish of watching, and hearing, his long time love give herself over to his bastard of a grandsire. He’d endured humiliation after humiliation until he’d dragged his sorry carcass across town to make a truce with the Slayer, to save the world from annihilation.

When had he last been happy? He knew the answer to that; it was an easy one. When the Gem of Amara had been on his finger and sunlight had shone down on him for the first time in over a hundred years. If he hadn’t been so determined to finish off the Slayer, he could have left Sunnydale behind in the dust of his trusty DeSoto and had himself some good times in a part of the world far, far from her. But no, he had to go for that last elusive kill, had to get himself a hat trick, a third notch on his belt.

Groaning, Spike banged his head back against the rough bark of the tree that supported him. ‘Idiot, idiot, idiot! Get a car, you pillock! Hightail it out of Dodge, find a place to lay low.’ The only problem now was his location; this part of town was still sparsely populated and he’d need to head back to the centre if he wanted to find something without being caught. Pushing away from the tree, he’d barely taken two strides before a movement to his left drew his attention. A second later he could feel the nearness of the Slayer.

“Bloody hell, give me a break,” he muttered to whatever Powers gave a toss about chipped vampires. It didn’t help that his demon was suddenly decidedly more communicative than it had been for ages and demanding that he go to her, give up this nonsense. The world must truly have gone mad for that to be happening, Spike thought, as he ignored the insistent voice and took off again back towards the town, keeping to the shadows afforded by the trees. It was getting harder to push his legs to anywhere near top speed and he could feel the lacerations on his chest and back opening again. They weren’t important right now, getting as much distance between himself and the Slayer was.

***

“Damn,” Buffy fumed as Spike turned towards her before running off. She knew he’d felt her presence and could only be thankful he’d moved away from the patrol when he’d gone off in the direction of town. Checking quickly to make sure the commandos hadn’t noticed the action going on so near to them, she took off after Spike, mentally calculating the possibility of taking a short cut and putting herself in front of him.

It was harder to see him in the dark than it used to be. His once platinum head had acted like a beacon, even with the rest of him draped in black. Now he blended even better with the shadows and she just had to trust he hadn’t changed course on her. And that she didn’t trip on some unseen obstacle and break her neck. The only thing – besides avoiding the Initiative guys –Buffy was thankful for right now was the stamina her home gym had helped her build and maintain. Spike had better have a good reason for his stupid behaviour because she was so not in the mood for anything less than earth shattering after chasing around trying to find him for half the night.

The half hidden track she’d been hoping to find appeared just ahead of her; she’d used it often to cut through the woods when she’d visited Angel at the mansion after he’d returned from hell. Now it was her best chance of getting closer, or in front of, Spike. Turning onto it smoothly, Buffy took advantage of the easier ground underfoot to drag much needed air into her burning lungs and make a further push on her tiring limbs to bring this infuriating jaunt to a halt.

***

Crashing through grasping undergrowth, Spike drove himself forward at the best speed he could make on the uneven terrain. Only when the tingles faded and then stopped did he slow his pace a little, letting his body catch an unneeded second breath. He didn’t want to think, to remember, that mere hours ago the sense of the Slayer’s nearness had given him a semblance of comfort, of peace. He didn’t want to listen to his demon’s haranguing that he was making possibly the biggest mistake of his unlife. The chance of ending up in Angel’s totally legal possession was enough to turn his blood to ice…and with that, even his demon agreed wholeheartedly. Still, the regret was there, almost had its own taste in his mouth. Like ashes. The ponce always managed to take something away from him, always.

Striding into a small clearing, he was assaulted with the sense of her closeness again just before he saw her stepping out from the shadows and into the meagre starlight. The gold of her bedraggled hair shone warm silver. Her chest was heaving and he could hear her laboured breathing coupled with pounding heart clearly across the few yards that separated them. There was more than enough illumination for Spike to see the fury in her eyes. For a moment he’d thought there was something else there too, a sort of …relief? Gladness? Now there was nothing but pure, pissed off Slayer.

Spike understood then; this was the end. He couldn’t fight her - the chip made that impossible – the most he could hope for was a quick ending at the point of her oh-so-wooden stake. Because there was no way this side of hell he was going to let her hand him over and, more than that, there was no way he was going to take a chance of being even in the vicinity of Peaches when he came breezing into his home tomorrow. Later today. ‘My home? Yeah, right. When was there a place I could ever call that?’ The vision of a prettily appointed drawing room skidded through his mind, recalling to him most effectively the only other place he had ever referred to, even to himself, as home.

It was too late to take the thought any further as an infuriated slayer stomped towards him with menace in her eyes. His eager demon leapt forward, happy now he was where he wanted to be. Even knowing, relishing the fact he couldn’t harm her - the one who’d tempted him forth again after so long – he still longed for one last dance. It wouldn’t be up to his old standards, what with the not being able to attack an’ all. Not being at full strength - and more than a mite knackered after the half marathon he’d completed so far tonight - would slow him down a bit. But he reckoned he might be able to give the softly panting Slayer a bit of fun before making that final journey to a hell more permanent than the one he’d inhabited for the last four years.

Spike rolled his head, knots grinding together and loosening the muscles of his neck and shoulder. Bringing his hands together before linking his fingers and stretching them out, brought an audible crack to the clearing as the knuckles popped. He didn’t try to hide the smirk that formed on seeing the Slayer wince slightly at the noise. ‘That’s my girl!’

Straightening, he gave a hitch to his shoulders and swaggered forth to meet her, push a few buttons to get her good and mad at him. He remembered how. Get her to strike up the first chord, let her be the man and lead into the music. He pulled the words from memory and tilted his head. “Hello, cutie.”

Buffy had stopped dead as the feeling of déjà vu descended.

***

A weight lifted from her shoulders when she crossed paths with Spike. She wouldn’t have the hassle of getting him back from the police, or somehow dealing with a patrol of the very people they’d been investigating – and sorta plotting against.

Having to decide whether she’d have to dust Spike to stop him from: a) falling into their hands and having who knows what done to him if she couldn’t get him back, and; b) having who knows what – apart from the pretty graphic specifics given in the evil manual – done to him and spilling the beans about the sorta plotting… Those were the type of decisions Buffy was more than happy not to have to make. Now she knew he wasn’t going to get himself, or her and her friends, harmed, she felt free to give in to the anger she felt at the betrayal of her trust. A trust she had bestowed without thought. Somehow it had just been there. So now she felt stupid as well, for giving away something she had refused all but Tara for the last few years, hoarding it away like a miser only to act like a spendthrift when a blast from the past came her way. The damned vampire had made her feel, shown her that she really wasn’t the only one to have suffered, made her see a little bit more than her own narrow world.

And it hurt.

It hurt to know she’d been so involved in her own tragedies it had taken a vampire’s physical and mental abuse to pull her out of it. She didn’t want to be such a shallow person. She wanted to be good, and insightful, and… She wanted to live whatever life she had left and not just survive. Not just go through the motions of being alive; she wanted to do some living. It wasn’t enough anymore to think of her calling as just something she could treat like a nine to five job – even if the hours were more like the graveyard shift.

And it hurt that when she had subconsciously given something to the same vampire, he had thrown it back at her as if it were of no importance. Perhaps she should have known better…but that was the point, she did. She knew darned well a vampire couldn’t be trusted. They were cunning and crafty, as long as they weren’t total fledglings or mindless minions…or Harmony. ‘Wonder what happened to her?’. It was one thing to want to tear apart the evilness that was the Initiative, and quite another to trust their raw material. But she had. She’d trusted him in the mall, going as far as to leave him alone with Tara and never thinking he would harm her – because, hey, he couldn’t – or that he would try to escape. She’d trusted him to be inside the house when she came in from saying goodnight to her friends, but he’d left and made it pretty obvious he hadn’t popped out for a quick sniff of the night air.

Now she was going to find out why he had led her on this not so merry chase tonight. She’d scratched her boots more tonight than the rest of the year put together, and she was trying to ignore the tear in her newish leather jacket. Just the sort of thing that would once have had her howling at fate, and whatever had caused the damage. Her priorities had shifted and Buffy was determined to find out why Spike had gone AWOL. Right now it was taking all her best efforts to remember he had a chip.

She’d just started to approach him, searching in her mind for the best words to convey both her anger at his actions and, more importantly, her thankfulness at finding him in one piece, when he changed. And how.

One moment she had Spike in her sights, faintly to be sure, what with the lack of a moon tonight. He blended well with the forest background; blue denim losing its colour in the small amount of star cast light. But it didn’t need perfect clarity to see the metamorphosis. Buffy was tempted to liken it to a butterfly escaping from a chrysalis - but Spike had never been a caterpillar, and it was more than unlikely he would ever have wings. Still… Golden eyes shone back at her though his ridges were still hidden in shadow. There was a joy in them that Spike had not shown before. Ever.

As he rolled his neck she continued towards him; it would take more than a show of fangs to deter her from getting answers. Then he cracked his knuckles, one of her top ten most irritating noises, maybe in the top five. The grimace came naturally. But before she could complain he was moving; first his head, then his shoulders, and then…oh. Spike was stalking towards her. Before she could take another step he was there, a pace away. His head tilted to one side, a smug grin pulling away from his fangs.

“Hello, cutie.”

His tongue made an issue of curling up to touch the inside of the top rank in his arsenal and do a slow stocktake. From the way he raised a suggestive eyebrow at her, amusement written in capital letters, Buffy had no doubt she was no longer facing the man who had held her earlier. This one she wouldn’t trust at all. His hands would have taken advantage of her weakness, probably his fangs too. And just like that, an overlay fell in place and she had a moment of déjà vu.

She’d been here before. Her mind’s eye saw slicked back silver and black leather. A mouth made for kissing that was totally wasted on a member of the undead. ‘And where did that come from?’ Images followed one another, all their meetings, and she saw it, for the first time since the Angel/Angelus thing, she saw it. The Spike in front of her now wasn’t the same Spike as before…and not because he’d suddenly developed schizophrenia. Well, not exactly. Buffy almost had it within her grasp when he decided to ruin her breakthrough by talking. And doing stuff.

“See anything you like?” Spike almost purred, as he ran his left hand across the softness of his tee shirt and lightly caressed his left nipple. The widening of her eyes and slight drop to her jaw gave him the first jolt of true pleasure, absolute pleasure, in…in… Hell, it didn’t matter because he was still undead and the Slayer was even more beautiful in starlight than he remembered.

He could smell her fear now, knowing without rancour it wasn’t because she was afraid of the face, the being before her. His escape attempt had caused her to fear, and Spike knew very well indeed you were only afraid when something threatened you…or something, someone, you cared about. And as nothing had threatened him – bloody phone call notwithstanding – that had to mean that she…cared? ‘Bloody, sodding, hell! The Slayer cares. Too bad you’ve burnt your bridges, mate. Right. Best get her riled now and start the main event.’

It was hard to carry on when he wanted nothing more than to throw himself to his knees and beg her to hear his version first, ask her to refuse to see Angel and take his side instead of her honey’s. He knew she and the Poof could never be friends, so what else was there? No matter how much he might want to test the extent of her feelings for an ex-Big Bad, he couldn’t allow himself to believe that the wonderful, shining, beguiling being before him would chose him over Angel. It didn’t work like that. He knew.

Drinking in the sight of her, breathing in what would be the last thing he smelt on this world, Spike let gravity take charge of his arm as it traced a path down to the erection he would take an ironic pleasure in dusting with. He cupped himself, and ran his palm languidly upwards, leering at her in a way designed to drive her further into righteous fury.

***

‘He…he…oh, now that’s just… What is he doing? Does he have a death wish? No…no… Don’t do that, Spike!’

“Stop it, Spike,” Buffy hissed at him. “You would not believe how not in the mood for this I am. You have two choices. Lose the face and come home with me or I’ll drag you back. I’d prefer number one, but hey, with the way my night’s going I’m probably pissing in the wind!”

The best laid plans of mice and men…and Spike. He couldn’t help it. He’d never dreamt to hear such words from the Slayer’s punning, but prissy, mouth. The visuals tipped him over the edge…and he sniggered. The demon took a step back, but not away, as fangs retracted and skin smoothed. He had nothing to lose. He could still force the dance, if he needed to – and he had no doubt he could drive her to it – but maybe it was time to give a little trust, see where it got him. Nothing to lose.

“Did you listen to the message? On the phone?” When she frowned at him and shook her head, he played the next question carefully in his head. “Would you sell me or give me to somebody else?”

Her raised heartbeat gave an honest answer, but it was sweet to have both. “Never. I feel bad enough things are the way they are, Spike. The only way you’ll leave is if you want to be with someone else more. You only have to ask.”

“What if I ask you to let me go?” Spike watched her face drop, watched the battle as emotions chased across the Slayer’s face. It had been a spurious question and he hadn’t expected her to give it any serious thought. Her large eyes seemed liquid as she stared at him.

Buffy was numb. A thousand thoughts chased through her stunned mind. Ridiculous things like worrying about the Council money she’d spent and how she’d explain it to Giles, and again thinking of returning all those clothes. Which meant she wouldn’t keep him. That was a shock. Because she knew she’d miss him, and worry about him, always wondering if he were alright. And she knew it was mad, stupid, to let him leave with the knowledge of their sorta plotting. Keeping him would put her beyond hypocritical. In a way, weirdly, he had already served his purpose; Buffy didn’t think she’d need a bodyguard anymore, not since he’d woken her up.

Closing her eyes briefly against an unexpected desire to cry, Buffy swallowed before releasing him into the wild, hard world. “If that’s what you want, go. I’m not cut out to be one of your masters; I don’t have it in me. But please, before you go, just tell me this,” she had to ask. “Is it because you want to get away from me?” His hooded eyes hid any reaction to her words. The silence dragged out until she thought he wouldn’t answer.

“Forget I asked. Good luck, Spike. Be careful. Oh,” Buffy fumbled in her jacket pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills, her hand trembling noticeably as she held it towards him. “It’s all I have on me. Unless you’d like to come back to the house...?”

Instead of taking her offering, the vampire sighed. Looking into her open face, taken totally aback at her acquiescence to his request, he knew he wouldn’t be leaving. If she would only answer his next question in the way he hoped she would.

“Angel will be coming to see you tomorrow…or maybe today?” It was difficult to be exact at this time of night. “He wants to take me away. Would you let him?” A home he wanted could be his, if only the Slayer would prove him wrong, take him over Angel.

“What! Angel’s coming here? For you?” Buffy’s anger found a welcome outlet. “Not over my dead body!”

That was all that was needed for a demon to fall in love, and a man to wonder if he could.

***


A/N: Hope this entertained and that you feel moved to leave a review. It really is most appreciated. BFN

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.

Chapter 11

Despite the murmur of desultory conversation, a pin dropping would have been noted as they waited for the result of the first field test. A soft ping from one of the many pieces of state of the art technology that lined the walls of the dimly lit room alerted them to an incoming communication.

Three hours earlier the chip of a vampire, property of the cultural attaché for the US Embassy in Beijing, had been remotely neutralised. Only the hand held control device would give his owner the power to fire the chip, if required. Shu Fang, the half-American, half-Chinese female vampire had caught the eye of General Wei Bo-lie and had since been the pleasured recipient of her favours for two months. The general, a notorious night owl and controller of his country’s most advanced communication systems, had been assiduously wooed for over a year now; his endorsement sought for the installation of a series of transmitters in the Beijing area. He had courteously side-stepped each and every manipulation, until now.

General Wei and his small entourage of trusted bodyguards were currently enjoying the hospitality of a prominent Hong Kong entrepreneur on his floating palace anchored off Silvermine Bay. Shu Fang and her owner were included in the small, select gathering of the high powered. The vampire had been carefully briefed, accepting her assignment with enthusiasm.

Just before dawn, after a night of debauchery, she turned on her lover and truly felt like a vampire again as she pinned him to the rumpled bed. Her being screamed with joy as fresh warm blood entered her body for the first time in almost two years, the general’s cries for help muffled by the towel she has stuffed into his mouth. In a state of bliss, Shu Fang created her first childe, and left him motionless on the bed before hurrying out to complete her task. Taking down the bodyguards had been a bit messier. Twenty minutes later, five inert bodies were subjected to the type of conveyor belt surgery more associated with cataracts than neurology.

Meticulously prepared and coded messages, purporting to be from General Wei, cleared his schedule for the next two weeks. He believed he had found a piece of technology that would be of advantage to his country, and needed the time to secure it. Gracious permission was swiftly received and a sigh of relief went up aboard the luxurious yacht. Two weeks should be ample for the Initiative team to indoctrinate the world’s highest powered vampire in his new role and let him know who his true masters were. The minions wouldn’t take so long.

Stopping Shu Fang from massacring the rest of the guests and crew had required several high voltage blasts from the chip, nothing that hadn’t been expected. As soon as the confirmation of success was received in Washington her chip would be reinstated in the control ring. The first step in Operation Conquer was complete.

***

Spike was still unsure how he found himself, half an hour later, seated in a secluded booth in a subterranean demon bar, run by none other than his once business associate, Willy. The venue was much changed from the Willy’s that he recalled. And much improved, too.

The place had been reached through sewers and tunnels, some of which held a familiarity from his previous sojourns on the Hellmouth, some completely new. The Slayer had told him on the way that Willy had become a slightly reformed character over the intervening years, seeing the wisdom in catering only to those demons not posing a threat to humans – in normal circumstances. But it had taken seeing to start believing, beginning with the large, grey wrinkly skinned demon who had greeted the Slayer enthusiastically when she tapped out a code with her knuckles on the steel shod hidden entrance. Clem, as she called him, had looked at Spike with open curiosity before dipping his head bashfully and fluttering his fingers towards the vampire in shy welcome. Spike had warily nodded to him before following the Slayer into a large cavern that had been sectioned off to provide more than the facilities of a mere bar

Off to the left was what appeared to be a family space, and popular at that. Hybrids that could pass for human and full-fledged demons sat side by side, conversing and eating as their children played together in an activity area. Laughter and childish squeals - harsh on his ears - rang out as the younglings blew off steam under their guardian’s watchful eyes. Three pool tables, in use and with an audience of good-natured critics filled the gap before the bar proper. It was here that eyes turned to look at the newcomers, nods and smiles directed towards the blonde as she made her way to the bar before more guarded glances were cast his way. He was the only vampire present.

Willy looked to have lost a layer or two of sleaze and, in the right light, could almost pass for respectable. The bar was twice as long as the one in the old establishment and had two extra demon bartenders keeping the thirsty supplied with the refreshment of their choice. Spike hung back as Buffy was given passage through the press of bodies, immediately attracting Willy’s attention and speaking to him quickly. He couldn’t hear what was said over the swell of multiple conversations, but saw Willy glance at him quickly in surprise before nodding as Buffy turned away and moved towards him.

“This way.” With a tired smile the Slayer led them further into the cavern and into what was clearly the up market part of the operation; intimate tables and private booths were mostly occupied by couples enjoying cosy liaisons in a level of ambiance it was difficult to imagine Willy creating. Without hesitation, the Slayer led him to a booth in the furthest corner of the cavern and motioned for him sit down. He’d half expected her to slide in next to him but she took the high backed bench opposite, leaning back against the comfortable cushions and taking advantage of her position to scan the occupants before relaxing and turning her full attention to him. Spike swallowed and looked down at his lightly clasped hands resting on the table. He didn’t know how to begin, or exactly what to say once he started.

Buffy watched the bowed head, absently thinking that in a week or two his hair would be grown long enough to actually style. She surprised herself with a sudden urge to touch him, to reach out and skim her fingers through the short covering on his well-shaped head. Startled back to reality, she looked away and felt a combined sense of relief and dread as Willy approached them carrying her order on a large tray.

“There you go, Slayer.” His bright, curious eyes fixed on the vampire. Faint recollection scratched at the edges of his sharp memory; he was sure he’d met this particular predator before. Willy would work it out, he always did. With practised ease he set a fine crystal, stemmed wine goblet before his most valued patron, settling the cooler containing an open bottle of imported sauvignon blanc within easy reach. He’d offered before to keep the same bottle chilled and ready for her, the Slayer’s limit being one glass; he well-remembered her reaction when she’d discovered the kitten-poker group after just a couple of shots and still had nightmares over the cost of refurbishment. She had declined and told him to do with it as he saw fit.

Reaching over, Willy positioned a shot glass and a bottle of JD next to the vampire before ridding his tray of the last few items; a blooming onion, bowl of spicy chicken wings, a bowl of lemon scented water and some napkins. Willy nodded to the blonde woman who was looking suspiciously at the label on her bottle of wine.

“It’s the real deal, Slayer. Know you won’t touch the local stuff. This is just from a different vineyard that a Mogloth demon told me about a while back. Go on, try it,” he encouraged.

Buffy poured a small measure into her glass, glad to delay the inevitable for a little while longer. She took a small sniff before sipping, enjoying the dry sweetness and fruity goodness as she let it drift over her tongue before dropping down her throat. Smiling, she returned the nod to Willy. “It’s good. How many did you get?”

“Just the one case. Didn’t know if you’d like it and most of the clientele don’t have your refined tastes.” He was pleased the Slayer liked it, and not only for the huge mark-up he’d applied. “Wave if you want anything.”

And now they were alone, and it was time. Time to ask for the explanation. ‘How do you know Angel wants you? And why would he? And even if he did, why does it make you want to run away? To leave me.’ But the hell of it was she thought that…unthinkable as it might be…there was no getting away from the bite mark on Spike. And she’d seen enough bites to recognise a vampire’s without the need of a magnifying glass. It had been niggling her on and off all day. When she’d asked him about it everything had dissolved until she’d let out a whole world of pain which she’d refused to face for far too long.

So, how had a vampire bitten Spike? Her mind shied away from all the possible reasons, mostly because they incurred a very unwelcome visual of two well-muscled male bodies going at it in ways she’d never dreamt existed before today, and before reading that damned manual. Spike might have come into contact with a feral vampire if he’d still been used as a bodyguard, but not to the extent that a master vampire like him could be abused in that way. Not unless he’d wanted it, which Buffy found hard to believe. And the fear of Angel?

Buffy sighed inwardly. Perhaps she should make it clear to Spike that whilst Angel would always be in her life, purely because of the history they shared, he was also not in her life because of all the history they hadn’t shared. Their existences had taken different paths from the moment she’d thrust the sword into his newly re-ensouled body and killed the being which had cheated her of all her romantic, girlish fantasies. Taken away her innocence along with her virtue…when only one of them had been a gift. Killed the most vulnerable part of her, forever making her unsure of her instincts and doubting her reasoning. ‘Damn! When am I gonna stop blaming him? Angel leaving was not the end of my world. That came after. He wasn’t even around when the worst of the crap went down. But Spike was so right. We’ve never been friends. Just exes, cordial when we talk…but not talking often. And now he wants Spike? No way, Jose.’

When he lifted his head, when the silence between them had stretched out for as long as he could bear, he found her shining eyes regarding him steadily over the rim of a pretty glass. She was his beautiful Slayer and he was her slave, whipped without pain. Willingly hers.

Was it wrong that he wanted her to think well of him? To see him just from now onwards, to take him without question for who he was and what they could do together. In the fight. His body didn’t need the extra burden of an unattainable fantasy on top of its unsolicited responses to her presence; he was more than glad the table blocked her view of his lap.

To tell her the great love of her life had buggered him six ways to Sunday was going to do nothing for either of them except cause pain. And much as he would love to avoid his own, keeping pain from the Slayer figured in there too.

The Slayer, as was rapidly become usual, continued to surprise him.

Buffy took a sip, then another, larger, before putting her glass down carefully and reaching across the table to pour Spike a measure of JD, pushing the shot against his fingers. Leaning back, she focussed on the gently flickering light from inside the red glass as she broke the quiet.

“You weren’t wrong, you know.” Buffy relived her shock as the platinum blond interloper said out loud what she’d been subconsciously thinking ever since it had finally sunk in that they could never, ever be lovers. And she wasn’t sure she wanted them to be that, either. It was his eyes. She could never look into them again and believe what she saw there was just Angel; Angelus would always be there too. “Angel and I…never friends. Neither of us could forget. And it hurt to remember.”

She could feel his eyes upon her, intent. For a moment she regretted not sitting next to him - she would have liked to have taken his hand now - but hadn’t wanted him to feel trapped, imprisoned. Taking another sip of wine, Buffy met the eyes of a vampire who was… There it was again, teasing her with its nearness. It was something about Spike tonight that had reminded her of Angel and Angelus, of… Buffy shook her head in irritation, grasping at what was just out of reach, wishing she hadn’t when he gulped down the shot and reached for the bottle with a trembling hand. Where had the other Spike gone?

This was important. She felt it with every instinct that was hers as a woman, not as a slayer. The very instincts she’d avoided trusting for so long. As much as she longed to sit and ponder it, right now there were more pressing matters to be taken care of; this would have to be filed away for now with the hope that she could look at it again soon.

Buffy reached over to the food and pulled a piece of onion off, crunching it in her mouth before washing it down with a large swallow from her glass. To her surprise she’d reached sandy bottoms, not a drop to drink in sight if it wasn’t for the bottle sitting temptingly in the cooler next to her. “It’s good, Spike. You should have some.”

Her eyes met his as he slowly placed his empty glass on the table. He was waiting for her to continue, her moment of musing and unconscious divergence merely a pause, her opening comments only a prologue to the explanation of the relationship that was Angel and Buffy. In unorchestrated symmetry, they both refilled their glasses. Buffy stayed facing the silent vampire but her sight was turned inwards as she pulled from her memory incidents long buried, deliberately put away or rationalised.

“When he left it hurt, but was sorta inevitable. I can see now how right you were, that night at the Magic Box, but at the time I just wanted to prove you wrong. You didn’t know me, not in any way that wasn’t connected to slaying. And…and he was my first so he was…special.” Buffy didn’t register the tear that fell softly, almost invisibly, down her check.

Spike did.

This whole night had become an almost surreal assault on his emotions, feelings he’d had little use for in a long time. The Slayer fascinated him. Spike had seen her put more effort into caring for him in the hours he’d been with her than Dru had for his entire confinement in that bloody wheelchair. And the Slayer had no cause to be tender of him. The same couldn’t be said for Dru, his sire and partner for a century.

Spike admired how hard the young woman in front of him tried, how much she pushed herself to do the right thing. The fireworks he’d enjoyed from her in another life may have fizzled down to the odd sparkler, but the things she’d told him about would have put a dampener on the brightest and best. Hell, only had to look at him to see how much life, or unlife, could change your outlook, colour your world in ways you hadn’t known were there to dread.

To see the Slayer expose her most private and personal self to him again, because of his need, made Spike both elated and ashamed. If he hadn’t needed the knowledge so badly he would have pulled his courage together and stopped her now. But he wasn’t that strong. Not yet.

He nibbled at a chicken wing, more to occupy his hands before they reached for his glass once again than for any nourishment. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again.

“Since then he’s been in LA and I’ve been here, on the Hellmouth. We only speak if there’s a big evil afoot…or another death to let him know about. He didn’t even tell me when he moved into that old hotel. I only found out when I called to let him know about Glory.” Spike ran through the events mentioned in the basement and added ‘Dawn’ to the name of the exiled hell god. “I knew I needed help, and he said he would always be there for me when I needed him. It was the first time I ever asked him for anything since he’d left. And when the number came up unobtainable I had the operator look it up. Angel Investigations had moved and had themselves a brand new number.” The edge of bitterness creeping into her voice was unmistakable.

Spike knew enough. It was time to stop her pain.

“Did he come, Slayer? When you asked him. Did he come here to help you?” He knew damned well the great ponce hadn’t, would have remembered if she’d mentioned Angel even once; she hadn’t. Spike just wanted to pull her away from thoughts of the git and get her to focus on him instead. He was pleased with his success in the way of someone who’s going to break another’s fall, even knowing they will bear the brunt of the pain in their place.

Somehow, in the harum-scarum reality of now, he was being given the break he’d screamed for over and over, before silence had been torn from him and he’d given in to being whatever they wanted. The break he’d had in mind then might have involved being rid of the chip and tearing out the throats of as many examples of humankind as he could in one night, but perhaps he’d grown a little wiser since then. Anything that changed his unlife for the better was a beak. And he wasn’t the only one who’d needed one. A break. A change for the better.

“He was busy. Some big bad thing that they couldn’t leave for a moment. He promised to come as soon as he could… But before that happened I was calling to tell him Dawn was dead.” Buffy still didn’t feel the tracks of her tears; she was losing herself in the compassion and warmth of Spike’s eyes. “We haven’t spoken more than once since then. Does that answer your question, Spike? Or is there more you want to know?” She hoped it was enough. Thinking of Angel always made her feel disappointed; in him and in her. Not something to pull out and shine once in a while.

“Think I get the idea, p…Slayer. Like you said, you ain’t friends.” Spike prayed he got through his confession without making a tragedy of it; didn’t want her pity, it wasn’t warm enough. “So, I s’pose you’ll be wanting a little quid pro quo now?” He couldn’t help but make it a question, instantly ashamed when she looked away in confusion.

“Just…it’s not a pretty tale. And,” he paused to search her eyes, impress his sincerity before continuing, “I don’t know that you’ll believe me. Why should you, Slayer?”

It crossed Buffy’s tired mind - not without a small amount of shock – that she was ready to believe whatever Spike saw fit to tell her; she could see his pain only too clearly.

Taking an unneeded breath, Spike began…

***

Ethan was finding it hard to disguise his intense discomfort. There was probably internal bleeding to go with the cracked ribs, but he did his best to appear as Gilesey as he could, given the circumstances.

His Initiative masters were becoming impatient and had felt compelled to convince Ethan of the appropriate quantity and quality of information they expected him to remove from the Watchers’ Council. Now they wanted the components of the serum the Council used to remove a slayer’s powers for the test against a vampire that killed more than survived.

When he’d balked, amused they should want something that would not further their knowledge of demons, he’d found himself being quickly realigned to their wishes with the help of several solid blows to his chest and sensitive gut.

Ethan felt his time in Blighty was coming to an unexpectedly early end. It was time to become more proactive in his removal from the Initiative’s sphere of influence. Time to slip the proverbial leash. Maybe a trip to the States, and Giles’ charge, would prove just the ticket.

Feeling better already, Ethan gave himself two days to organise his unauthorised deployment…and screw up the Initiative as much as he could in the process.

***

A/N: Hope that this has entertained and would welcome feedback.

In case anyone is interested the chipped vampire, Shu Fang, gained her name after I did that research thing. It’s a real Chinese name and means ‘kind, gentle and sweet’ – and I couldn’t resist for hopefully obvious reasons!

The General’s name is the result of putting my hubby’s name through a translator…but please don’t take that as an indication that I’d like to have him chipped! Now I’m gonna be thinking about that all day. Hmmm.

My apologies, there will not be an update next Monday. There are various reasons but the main one is that I want the next chapter to be as good as I can manage. In the words of Arnie, ‘I’ll be back’.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.


Chapter 12

Taking an unneeded breath, Spike began…

Or would have if his mouth hadn’t snapped shut on the urge to bite it all out in a string of short and bitter sentences. ‘I’m not ready for this. Fuck!’

The ambient noise from the couples nearby and those gathered in the bar faded until there was only a vampire and the Slayer in a small world of their own. Knowing she’d read the manual and his file made it both easier and harder; easier because he wouldn’t need to draw her a word picture, and harder for her knowing about the world he’d existed in until recently. In the time honoured way of victims, Spike felt shame for the acts practised upon his body during his time as a whore. Being a vampire didn’t stop that, though many might think it would. Wasn’t supposed to have feelings, being a monster an’ all. How he wished that particular myth were true; then he wouldn’t feel like some kind of disgusting filth. Some kind of disgusting and scared filth.

It had ever been a flaw of his, this desire for approval, acceptance…even a modicum of respect. He’d suffered from it as a worthless ponce of a human, craved it as a fledgling and still needed it to the day he was captured. After that the need had been subjugated; to start with by his rage and anger, and then by his acute shame and disgust.

Spike didn’t want to want the Slayer’s fond glance so much, but he it remained a fact that he did. Her approval, her acceptance, meant more to him than he could bring himself to admit. And he was so afraid that he was going to lose it almost before he’d had it… if only for moments. He hadn’t connected with anyone – except in the most physical way – for so long, and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t supposed to connect with the Slayer. It was too late, he already had.

His senses were on overdrive whenever he was near her. Just the sight of her entranced him. Whenever he’d let his mind roam to his pre-chip era there was hardly a time she didn’t figure somewhere in his reminiscing, with her eyes narrowed in hate or contempt. Or both. She’d always been cute, fun to taunt and fight. And he hadn’t cared about the hatred then; they both felt it in a way that was right and proper between a vampire and a slayer. The Slayer was still cute. To Spike’s mind she looked even better now her face had lost the last plumpness of youth and caught up with the rest of her body. Hair and wardrobe had changed somewhat, but both seemed to suit this more mature young woman. It was her eyes that had changed the most, and the way she held herself when near him.

And he didn’t want the way she was looking at him now to turn to disgust, didn’t want to see a mirror of what he felt for himself. It had cut him to the core, in more ways than one, when Angel had broken him so thoroughly. By the fourth day…

Her eyes.

Buffy waited for Spike to speak. He was thinking, his brow slightly creased and his head at that angle she was starting to associate with his ‘deliberating’ mode. His face was far too thin, hollows filled by too many shadows and giving a good impression of a skull. The skull it would be if William had died a natural death. But the eyes were so alive, and they were studying her as if only she could provide the answer to some unvoiced question.

The day’s events were beginning to catch up with her. It wasn’t that she was tired exactly, more like feeling almost out of emotional gas. Her tank held a small reserve which she didn’t want to tap into; the last time she’d needed it was on Dawn’s death, and she so didn’t want to go anywhere near such pain for the rest of her existence. She might not want to know why Spike was so thrown by Angel as to pull tonight’s stunt, but as it was possible she’d be faced with her ex-lover tomorrow – tonight? – she might need to know. Just enough, just enough to be prepared.

His eyes.

“Are we going to sit here looking at each other all night?” she asked, gently. “Or are you gonna give me the Cliff’s Notes version of why Angel is after you?”

Spike blinked. Her eyes held so much, and none of it was hatred, none of it was contempt. A man could lose himself for days, weeks, in their depths – and still find more to explore. He wanted time to find out for himself if that were true.

Pulling his courage, what there was of it, around him like an unfamiliar cloak, Spike tried again.

“He was my last client,” he blurted out, without subtlety but not without effort, looking away from her before the words could register. Her gasp he couldn’t block out.

Grimly, he carried on.

“Hadn’t been there long. Can’t say how long exactly, time ain’t important when there’s nothing you want to remember…and more than enough you want to forget.” His fingers picked up his glass, turned it and put it back down again. So many days and nights just merged into one another in the way they were filled with the same old, same old. Didn’t want to think about the pain, hated to recollect the pleasure – what there’d been of it..

Sighing, he continued, not daring to look at her, the still Slayer opposite. “One day was different. Had the hair bleached and given a brand spanking new set of black threads to wear. Was made pretty clear that I was to please this client…or else. Had seven days to do it.”

Spike clenched his eyes shut tight, shaking his head slightly as if trying to dislodge and lose that fragment from his mind. “Was taken to a room I hadn’t been in before. It had more the look of something from the Spanish Inquisition than anythin’ I’d seen for a long time. They had me shackled and spread in the middle of the room; chains hangin’ from the rafters and bolt holes on the floor. Was getting right bored by the time he arrived. Biggest shock of me unlife for years seeing him walk in, seeing the bloody grandsire come through that door.”

Buffy had been caught up in watching the sorrow on his face, feeling like an intruder but unable to tear her eyes away when he had her undivided attention. It took a moment for the import of Spike’s words to sink in and start making sense, the time it took for them to pass through the Buffy-translator and show her the pictures. Click. Click. Click.

Angel.

Spike was scared of Angel and Angel had been there. Spike was scared of Angel and…Angel had been…there. Her imagination was pushing unwelcome images towards her from which she shied in horror. ‘No! I have a filthy mind there’s no way Angel would…’

It only took the sight of Spike, fighting to carry on, for her to pray to the Powers that her worst fears weren’t so.

“Didn’t know what to think at first. Was almost glad to see the old sod. Family an’ all that. Then the old wits started to kick in. That and the fact he spelled out with perfect clarity exactly what he had on his agenda.” Spike couldn’t stop the shudder that took over his animated corpse, making him feel cold as ice inside. His hands had dropped from the table at some point and now kneaded his thighs. It was a mistake to close his eyes.

Angel had been dressed to kill, in black silk and leather. For one ridiculous moment Spike had felt hope, thought that the other vampire was going to take him away from his misery. It died the second Angel tossed three irons into a brazier filled with glowing coals in a corner of the chamber, before turning to regard Spike with a malicious grin

“Seems he was still more than a little pissed off over the whole torturing gig I put him through when I tried to get back the poxy Gem of Amara. Which I could almost respect – if he had been Angelus.” Spike glanced at the Slayer from under his lashes, taking in the frozen mask of her face, wondering how much she needed to know. He desperately wanted to drown the memories away in the tempting bottle of JD sitting so close; the appeal of temporary oblivion crying out to be surrendered to.

“He made it pretty clear that payback was gonna be a bitch…for me. Did a cute re-enactment of our last meeting - but with roles reversed and no pesky third party to spoil his fun. Hurt like a bitch.” Seemed to smell even worse when the flesh smouldering as red hot irons were pushed slowly through - from front to back - was his. He’d screamed his throat raw to the accompaniment of Angel’s gleeful chuckles. “Kept telling me what a worthless piece of shite I was…not that I needed the message. Had been getting it loud and clear often enough.”

Ignorance is bliss. That was a saying, wasn’t it? One of those familiar strings of words with a meaning seldom given any real consideration – until now. Buffy wanted the bliss of ignorance back. It wasn’t as if Spike was being overly giving with the details – which was just as well as she believed in the details she might really find evidence of hell – but her own imagination was doing a more than adequate job of filling in the gaps. That the vampire opposite could hold onto any semblance of calm was a testimony to the strength he didn’t seem to realise he had. She had heard enough from Angel’s mouth when he had been in his Angelus phase to know how cruel and telling his piercing barbs could be; his ability to destroy his victim mentally was more than proven to anyone who had had the misfortune to meet Drusilla.

Oz had told them, sparingly, of what Spike had put Angel through in his determination to recover the ring with the power to make a vampire invincible. It had turned her blood cold to hear of the agony Angel had suffered, and she’d been proud of the way he had held out against his torturers. Her desire for revenge against the perpetrator of harm to her first love had been high, incorporating many satisfyingly imagined scenes which showed her soundly whopping Spike’s ass - before sending him on his way in a fanfare of dust. The thought of going all ‘eye for an eye’ in any finer detail was just… It soured the taste of wine lingering in her mouth.

She didn’t need to hear any more, it was enough. Angel would not be allowed anywhere near Spike if he’d spent their last meeting using him to exorcise old, possibly justified, grudges. It would be simple enough to tell Angel enough was enough, that she had no problems with having Spike around, that he couldn’t have him. She didn’t need to hear any more.

“To cut a long story short…”

Buffy didn’t want to think about what he was not going to tell her. She had gay friends and had read the file; she knew what had gone on, in theory. At that place. What she couldn’t get her head around was the merest hint it had gone on between Angel and Spike. With Spike in no position to…

“…he drained me every time. Always woke up with a tube down my throat,” and how painful it had been, rubbing against the sore, shredded flesh of his throat until the healing had kicked in, “and someone had cleaned me up, done a bit of mending. The next day it was the same. Variations, of course. Couldn’t shave off the hair more than once.” He’d been less bothered by the grandsire’s attempts at barbering than Angel had thought he should be. Spike’s days of vanity were long behind him by then, eroded away when it was made apparent his face was of secondary importance to the rest of his carcass.

A warm hand touching his startled him. Spike’s eyes flew open to find the Slayer had moved and was sitting beside him, no contempt in her eyes. Compassion, regret, horror – it was all there in her steady gaze – and tiredness. The girl looked worn out, and he felt the same. This strong supernatural being, the one who owned him both legally and on a more sublime level, gently stroked his hand as it rested on his denim clad leg. Finger tips barely brushed his thigh, finding a previously unknown erogenous zone lying directly beneath them. An involuntary breath filled his unneeded lungs with her heady scent. Reacting, in a way that was becoming habit, his body and demon reminded him of how long it had been since he’d experienced the glorious pleasure of holding a woman in his arms. So close to her…Spike could think of nothing but the Slayer. He was drowning in her.

They were a sort of hazel, green-gold. In the glow from the candle they had no discernable colour; they just shone, and were large. Guileless. She had always been a bit more than ‘what you see is what you get’. Such a bundle of contradictions wrapped up in a powerful body, and artificially blonde dyed hair. Who, because he was defanged – to all intents – kept treating him like a person, not a thing. But his other face had not fazed her in the slightest, just got her all disgruntled and feisty.

Spike fought the urge to turn his hand and grip hers, hold it captive in his own, let her warmth soak into his fingers. Beautiful. Desirable. Unattainable.

***

It was getting beyond a joke. Every time he tried to communicate they turned the lights off. Didn’t they understand that he was merely trying to clear up whatever ghastly mistake this all was… or establish a link with his unknown captors?

Rupert was getting fed up with the whole setup. The only voice he’d heard, in the unknowable amount of time he’d been incarcerated, had been his own. No one, and nothing, had spoken a word to him. Small meals of buttered toast and water were periodically pushed through a small hatch within the door. A collection of trays was starting to build up inside his cell. If they didn’t ask for them, there was no way he was giving them back. Had he the knowledge of how many trays they had in their possession, perhaps his petty defiance might have held more weight. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

At least his head appeared to have resumed normal functioning, a blessed relief. And someone would have raised the alarm by now at the Council; he never missed a day without reason. That didn’t mean he had to wait around if he could get himself out of his current predicament. How foolish he’d been to imagine his life would become less fraught with direct attack since he’d exchanged the uncertainty of the Hellmouth for the civilisation of London.

Now his sight was operating without protest, Giles had located the two hidden cameras and microphones within his white tiled prison. Positioning himself beneath the one above the door he fixed it with a stern look that Buffy would have recognised in an instant.

“I really must insist that you release me immediately. There has been some sort of terrible mistake. If you would just contact-” The lights ceased to blind him as he was, once again, plunged into total darkness.

“Bugger.”

***

Buffy didn’t know what had pushed her to Spike’s side. It didn’t seem of any importance that he was a vampire, a member of the undead she was meant to send to their terminal rest, or unrest.

It didn’t matter that he was, in theory, her property. A piece of paper was still only a piece of paper – whatever it had written upon it. Unless Spike had been a willing and represented party… it was without his consent and therefore against his wishes.

Nothing mattered except the uncomfortable understanding that if he hurt, she hurt. And it should feel wrong, to feel for him so much. It didn’t. Maybe it was because he had made the first move when he’d calmed her in the basement. Maybe it was because the more she learned of his trials and horrific treatment since becoming chipped, the more she felt the need to punish those who had inflicted such cruelties on the vampire. Maybe it had something to do with liking him. Maybe…

Maybe she should stop daydreaming and falling into his eyes.

Angel. That’s who she should be concentrating on. Making Angel leave Spike and her alone, stay in his precious LA and do his thing with hoping for helpless to stumble across his path. She could do that. Later. Now she just had to convince Spike she could, and would.

“Spike,” Buffy gave his still hand a last caress before pulling away. “I can’t change anything that’s happened already. I’m sorry, really, I wish I could. But I can keep Angel away from you. And I will. I promise.”

“Yeah?” Spike dragged his mind reluctantly away from the more pleasant thoughts which had successfully occupied him for a few blissful moments. He hated that he needed her protection from the ponce, hated the fact he needed her protection full stop. Soon he would show the Slayer that her efforts for him, and with him, weren’t wasted. He’d get his strength back and be the best and fiercest defender she could ever hope for. With him at her back they’d be a team to make the nasties tremble in their shoes, or claws, whatever. The Slayer would get rid of Captain Forehead and they could get on with killing whatever demon was dumb enough to wander into the Hellmouth’s sphere of influence. Sounded like a plan.

And his plans always worked so well.

***

A/N: Due to my lateness in producing this chapter, and one beta’s many current commitments, this chapter is subject to possible amendment. Hope it was worth the wait, folks. Do let me know.

I may not be able to keep to a regular weekly Monday post, but will truly do my best. Am now off to answer those who have been so kind as to review last chappie. *hugs*

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.


Chapter 13

Ethan fell back against the drawing room wall, certain that more of this rough handling would damage more than his pride. He’d tried to be casual in his enquiry about Ripper, just wanting to know if the old sod was still in one piece, but the thugs the Initiative had sent for this evening’s debrief had taken to using their fists where a simple ‘piss off’ would have sufficed.

His masters were disappointed that he hadn’t yet provided the formula used by the Watchers Council to perform the Cruciamentum on their slayers. They were going to be in for a long wait. If they wanted it so much it was his infinite pleasure to deny them. He just wished they’d get over this annoying habit of bashing him; it hardly inspired his loyalty and made the glamour harder to work.

Tomorrow would see his last day of attendance at the Council. A fact he was very much keeping to himself. There’d barely be enough hours today to complete his various tasks; he still had to return to the office from his late morning ‘appointment’. If they had an inkling of how much work he’d actually put in at Rupe’s desk - not wholly for their purposes – they’d realise they were dealing with one tired and hacked off mage. What he wouldn’t give to be able to show them, right now, the error of their ways. But that sort of action had always caught him out in the past, something he’d had more than enough time to ponder during his years of captivity.

Still, the day did have its bright side. The dust he’d sprinkled in the coffee they’d insisted he make for them would activate in just under twenty four hours. Five of the eight Initiative keepers sent on this mission would then come down with a mystery virus. Such a shame they would be debilitated with diarrhoea and vomiting just as he made his way out of their loathsome clutches. The only element of chance was if their colleagues saw fit to search for him when they realised he was overdue instead of being distracted enough to allow him the time he needed to make good his flight – in all meanings of the word. And even if one of these dogs was watching him, well, the chances were slightly in his favour it would be one of the quintet currently making themselves overly comfortable on Rupe’s charming three piece suite. The thought amused him.

It was enough comfort for Ethan to smile over his pain and mouth platitudes in their ears. ‘We’ll see what a difference a day will make, old chums. He who has the last laugh…”

***

Whatever else they may have said to one another was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Willy.

It was with surprise Buffy noticed the change which had descended on the bar. Gone was the hum of conversation and chink of glasses, the usual hubbub of background noise from the diverse clientele. A sound she could only identify as peculiarly unique to Willy’s Bar, pierced as it was with squawks and shrieks which passed as language for some of the more exotic demons who regularly patronised the joint. It had been replaced with a dramatic fall in custom; at least half the place had cleared, and those who remained stood - or sat - in small groups murmuring quietly and soberly amongst themselves. She didn’t have to wait a moment longer to find out why.

“Slayer, we’re about to lock down,” Willy said quietly. “Got reports of a patrol coming underground near the campus and those that have other places to be are leaving now.” He nodded towards Spike. “Thought you might want to get the sun-challenged back where he belongs, what with it being only another hour until dawn.”

Mention of the campus opened the door of yet another dark place in Spike’s mind; his last moments of freedom had been spent there. The first moment in the forced suppression of his true nature. And what was his true nature? He wasn’t entirely sure any more.

Was it irony that his last taste of freedom had been spent looking at her? Did it mean something, anything, that the nearest he had come to tasting it again was in her presence? He didn’t know yet. All desire to kill the Slayer had disappeared; that much was certain. Replaced by…

“I’ll use the back door. Thanks, Willy.” Buffy smiled slightly before standing and exiting the booth. Willy, already clearing the table, gave a nod without pausing. And Spike was sliding from the booth ready to follow her. Which was a relief. She hadn’t wanted to drag him out, but there was no way she was letting him out of her sight with the Initiative grunts in the distance.

Crossing to the nearby door, Buffy pushed it inwards to reveal a dimly lit dank tunnel. With the confidence of familiarity, she made her way along it until they reached a dissection with another tunnel. They’d barely turned left and started moving away when a soft grating noise betrayed the movement of false brickwork which would keep unwelcome visitors away from Willy’s back passage. There was a small thunk as it settled perfectly in the portal.

“Neat.” Spike was impressed. Things were being run on a scale he’d never have thought to associate with Willy before. Not that he’d ever thought of Willy in any way other than as a sometime useful tool. But not someone he would trust, as Willy had proven when he’d sold him out to the Slayer. Slayers. Angel.

Spike followed closely as they made their way for the nearest exit to the world above, resolutely focussing on the sway of the Slayer’s hips in front of him; the way it made her jacket twitch out with each step, the hypnotic rhythm of her stride and the traces of her scent caught in the air. Those seemingly small things were enough to bring him equilibrium, keep the bogey man from messing with his head and bringing out snaps for him to peer inwardly at; all he wanted to see was right in front of him.

His Slayer.

***

Buffy’s head was aching. Not badly, just enough to make her long for a shower and her bed. Or maybe a soak with something nice in the water. ‘Nope. Not working. Damn. What to do about Angel? And what do I do if he insists on coming, if I can’t sort this out over the phone? No fair.’ And felt ashamed.

An aching head was small payment if it meant keeping Spike safe. It was useless to try and sort out every little thing that made her want to keep him safe…and around. Her initial reason for getting him seemed so shallow to her now. The merest thought of what could have been his fate, if he were not with her, was enough to make her head suffer a sharper jolt of pain.

Small voices tried to persuade her that the evil vampire wasn’t worth her efforts, didn’t deserve her compassion or empathy. They called out with cries of vengeance for his victims. They called out for his dust. Buffy listened to them, but didn’t have to turn around to know that she couldn’t put a stake to Spike’s chest now, not even in the name of righteous justice.

Not that having him with her, however it had started out, made her happy. Far from it. But the thought of being without him safely near her made her feel positively not happy. More would have to wait for later. They were home.

***

Tara half woke as she turned and reached for Willow. When her questing arm failed to connect with anything other than almost cool bedding, her other senses kicked in just enough to identify the faint tapping as ‘lover on computer’. She’d thought Willow had capitulated a little too easily on coming to bed last night; the redhead had been fired up with seeing Buffy, and Spike, again. Being accepted back into the fold, even the much reduced fold which now existed had meant so much to Willow…and to Tara.

Being given an opportunity to stand up and be counted was both scary and exhilarating in turns. Right now the exhilaration of purpose had taken hold of Willow and, to the faint sounds of high technology research, Tara contentedly buried her head deeper into her lover’s pillow before drifting off again.

***

The flashing red light couldn’t be ignored any longer. Buffy had sent Spike downstairs to shower and change, armed with a mug of warmed blood. She wanted another look at his wounds before he slept and had told him so. The weak smile she’d received in reply let her know that they were both feeling the effects of an eventful day. Whilst the new day was just about to begin for most people, Buffy’s was just coming to a close. Not one she would be sorry to see the back of, not at all.

She turned the sound down on the machine, checking at the basement door for sounds of the shower running before she replayed the message from Angel. It must have been the knowledge of what happened between him and Spike which lent her such a jaundiced ear, made his voice seem artificial and insincere. It was no surprise to her that Spike had left on hearing this, and it made her angrier that the first time Angel would think to invite her to dinner would be as part of a plot to remove Spike from her home. Would it have hurt him to have been so generous when they’d been seeing each other? A minor detail, but it still chafed.

Moving aside a takeaway menu pinned on the corkboard, Buffy looked down her seldom used list of useful numbers. Angel Investigations had non-pride of place at the very bottom of the two short columns, names and numbers side by side. Picking up the phone she tapped out the number and waited…and waited…and waited. It was ringing but nobody was picking up. Deciding to try again from her bedroom, once she’d reassured herself that Spike would rest comfortably, she replaced the handset and grabbed the bowl she’d used earlier.

After a brief knock on the basement door she called out, “You decent, Spike?” The muffled response made her smile.

“Decent as I’ll ever be, Slayer.”

Minutes later her smile had been replaced with a frown. “I don’t understand why these aren’t looking any better. Shouldn’t your vampire healing be getting rid of them better than this?” They looked cleaner than they had this morning – but that was about all. Still inflamed, still looking sore and uncomfortable.

Spike was already aware that, even with his less than recuperative diet, he should have healed by now. Hell, he should have healed weeks ago. For some reason most of his disfiguration had responded in the normal way, the agony receding with rest and food as bones knit together and skin returned to its normal state. These last few injuries had defied the normal course, for some reason. The bite, in particular, throbbed angrily and if he had a choice of getting rid of one thing it would be that. His mark.

“They’re better than they were, Slayer. Feel better.” He wanted to remove the frown from her pretty face. “But, yeah, should have been gone by now.”

She’d started putting new dressings on the worst wounds, quicker than she’d done earlier, her hands more deft now they were repeating a task learned. Warm fingers brushing and pressing against his skin sent welcome pleasure through his body. He wanted her to touch ever part of him, fill him - in small touches - with her warmth, and make him feel what only a woman could make a man feel. Even if the man were a cold vampire.

“I couldn’t get hold of him.” Buffy watched as his face tensed, eyes finding hers in question. “I’ll try again later, but just in case I can’t reach him I think it would be best if I made arrangements for Tara and Willow to be here with you tonight. He won’t be allowed in the house, Spike. Disinvite was done years ago and I have no intention of letting him come into our home.”

Her words gave both anxiety and a kind of balm. Angel within miles of him was too near. Hearing the Slayer refer to the house as being their home… Spike knew it was only a turn of phrase, and she probably didn’t know she’d said it, but even so it calmed some of his inner agitation that she had thought enough about him to come up with a fallback plan – should the worst happen and his hulking grandsire were to turn up on their doorstep. There was nothing else he could do but get some rest and hope tomorrow would not bring confrontation to upset his slayer, or himself.

Forcing a smile, he said, “Right good of you, Slayer, fixing me up with two charming ladies while you rough it.” He was content when his poor attempt at humour was rewarded by a smile.

“I’ll let you know what’s the what when we get up.” Collecting together the small pile of first aid bits and pieces, Buffy tidied them away in the bathroom before turning to bid Spike goodnight. An impulse to tuck him into bed and drop a kiss on his brow took her by surprise. She waited for some sense of wrongness to wash over her…and waited in vain. In fact, she quite liked the idea but didn’t think Spike would appreciate being treated in the same way as Dawn had been when she had felt under the weather. Buffy didn’t quite see Spike as brother material either, he was too… She couldn’t put her finger on the right word, but she definitely did not feel sisterly towards him.

She knew they were both tired, and she had more to do before falling into bed and a hopefully uninterrupted day’s sleep. Spike had changed into a soft pair of dark blue jogging bottoms after his shower and was slipping the top over his head now, the stretch showing how thin he still was and how far they had to go before he was in tip top condition again – physically and mentally.

“You ready to turn in? Shall I turn off the light on my way out?” Buffy moved slowly towards the stairs as his head thrust through the opening of the sweatshirt. He fixed her with such a sad expression she had to fight again not to touch him, to comfort him as she would a wounded animal. Spike was not a pet.

Despite his weariness, Spike was reluctant to part company with his Slayer. The need for rest was balanced with his fear of sleeping – and the memories, nightmares, he had no doubt lay in wait for him. Dragging them forward today had returned to them a foothold, all his efforts to quash them completely undone, his only distraction his slayer. And now she was going to leave him alone.

The bed that had been the symbol of a boon before now became a symbol of aloneness; only meant for one and that’s how he would stay. One. Alone. His only defence against tormented slumber…her scent on his pillows. The sweet, sweet smell of home.

He rose from his perch on the side of his bed, picking up his empty mug with the intention of taking it to the kitchen and rinsing it out. As he stepped towards the Slayer she held out her hand to take it from him. This time the accidental touch of their fingers sent a jolt through him, a sensation he hadn’t felt since his human days when even the slightest meeting of flesh between a man and a woman could cause both sexual and emotional reactions. Where intimacy was taken in small steps and courting was the name of the game if you wanted a good, decent woman to warm your body at night. Of course, William hadn’t got close to attaining anything more than the most formal of touches upon a female not of his family. But this, this molten mixture of desire and love, recalled sharply the romantic dreams of a more innocent self, a self who hadn’t needed blood to survive and a battle to revel in. It was a dream come true.

She was a dream come true.

And if he didn’t watch himself he’d bollocks what was lining up to be a beautiful friendship. Seeing as his position didn’t lend itself to any of the chat up lines which had worked so beautifully for him in the past – when he’d had a fancy for something fresh and female – and her being the Slayer meant he couldn’t exactly gloss over anything he’d done in the past. To hope for more than to one day become her friend was the most he could reasonably aspire to. If a part of him was unreasonable and wanted more, well, it could want all it liked – didn’t mean it was going to get. Though hope was a fine thing, and to feel it again made anything seem possible, however improbable. ‘Stranger things have happened at sea, mate. Just to be with her, that’s enough. So best I don’t screw it up, don’t start acting like a bigger nancy than I am. Give the girl what she needs, not what I want. Hell, she’s already given me hope. What else is there?’

He so wanted to kiss her. That’s what else there was. Passion and fire, heat and desire. Spike was just discovering that he had more of that left in him than he would have believed possible a few days ago. Feelings which needed to be hidden. Staring into her eyes, shocked and wide, didn’t make the best sense right now. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings and he feared they were showing as clearly as a neon sign. His only hope was that the Slayer couldn’t read the message.

***

Angel entered his office after an early meeting with one of the Senior Partners. It had gone smoothly. But then, they always did.

He’d do a couple more hours work before catching a nap prior to his trip to Sunnydale. The best minds in Wolfram & Hart had developed a cover story to deal with any delusional tales Spike may have revealed to Buffy. By the time he finished with her, Angel fully expected the Slayer to throw Spike into his waiting arms. In one strike he would achieve two aims; Buffy would look at him with interest once more, and Spike would be his.

Choosing which thought pleased him more was still up for debate. It would take seeing them in the flesh to make it any easier. Angel sighed. The choices he had to make were truly difficult, but he knew he’d make the right decision when the time came. If he couldn’t believe in himself, who could he believe in?

***

Buffy sat cross legged on her bed, phone next to her, two books and a notepad and pen keeping it company. She was tired to her bones and frustrated the one thing she had to cross off her list just happened to be the most important one: call Angel.

Tara and Willow had agreed to Spike-sit should she not be able to deflect Angel from visiting. She’d caught them just before they left to open the Magic Box.

Willow had news. She’d share tonight when they got together – time being dependent on the Angel situation. Buffy felt a little relieved when Willow didn’t try to babble it all out as she had so often in the past. Tired slayer did so not equal information absorbing slayer. Yet here she was doing actual research. And if it kept her thoughts away from her reaction to Spike’s touch… Later, she’d think about it later. Research, now.

Both books had been given to her as a parting gift from Anya when she and Xander moved from Sunnydale to Cleveland. At the time Buffy had not shown the gratitude the gift deserved, being so taken aback at Anya giving something away without good reason that she’d thought the ex-demon was being sarcastic. The titles of the books didn’t exactly make them appear anything but frivolous: ‘Everything You Always Wanted to Know About the Vampyre - But Were Too Afraid to Ask’ and ‘Vampires: The Truth About Relationships Established With Humans’.

She’d never picked them up until tonight. They’d been on her small bookshelf alongside the six books on demon identification which Giles had insisted she needed; those had proved invaluable with helping her identify non-human threatening demons. The second of the books from Anya had proved interesting, but not directly related to her current research. In all honesty it had been distracting and she’d had to force herself to put the book down. She wished she’d looked at it before. It was…disturbing.

The first book had revealed what she sought – information on domination rituals. They weren’t pretty. Before reading that damned manual she would have been heaving. Now strong swallowing was keeping the contents of her stomach where it belonged. From the marks and bite on Spike’s pale body, Angel had crossed a very clear line of vampiric lore in his treatment of her vampire. It was stated over and over again the level of punishment meted out to a vampire, and the effects of status on it. As master vampires it was unthinkable for them not to have met as equals – fist, fang and natural talents deciding the outcome. Angel had behaved as if his grandchild had been no more than a lowlier fledgling than she could find described in the book. As if he had no worth. As if his status as a chipped vampire made him less than the meanest minion, less than a vampire, and not even within hailing distance of being given the dues of a master.

According to the book, Angel would have been well within his rights to punish Spike in a fitting manner. Totally separate issue, and nothing to do with dominance. For that to happen they should have met in a fair - to vampires - fight. Angel’s actions were not clearly covered by anything in this book, not exactly. The nearest mix would be a combination of humiliation with domination. Buffy had swallowed particularly hard when absorbing the almost casual descriptions given to the myriad of ways a vampire could be humiliated.

How could Angel be doing this when he had a soul? Had he turned so far from the accepted lore of his kind that he now thought as a human? What was he getting out of all this? She wondered if she’d ever really known Angel at all. She wondered why it was so much easier to feel a connection with the vampire in the basement than to her grand passion. ‘Maybe it’s because one of them…I actually like.’

Buffy picked up the phone to try one last time before sleep claimed her. No answer.

In a gut clenching way she was almost glad. Hearing what Angel had to say, watching him say it, should be an education – and maybe what was needed to pull the last splinter from her heart and let it heal.

She’d barely cleared the bed and fallen back on her pillows when Spike’s screams had her leaping up, desperate to reach his side.

***

A/N: Hope this entertained. I made several additions once this was returned from my darling betas, so if you notice any of my typos – or any other glitches – please feel free to point me in the right direction. BFN

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and Angelic Amy. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated.

Chapter 14

He’d felt unsettled from the moment Buffy switched off the light and closed the basement door behind her, leaving him alone in the dark. Only her scent, lingering in the pillows he’d buried his head in, staved off the first stirrings of panic. Breathing in deeply, drawing as much of her as he could into himself, Spike felt the pull of sleep overtake him and his body settled into stillness.

The setting he found himself in was not the one he’d dreaded. Spike had been here before, many times, but not recently. He was sitting on the bank of a stream, moonlight turning the world into a blue cast monochrome and reflecting silver shards off the gently moving water. To his right was the bridge, a familiar crossing and the place he had always found himself before now; facing his demon and battling to survive.

In the early days, when he’d still been the embodiment of William, memories and mores intact, the demon had beaten him bloody, forcing its will upon him until he’d changed. And if it hadn’t been his demon it had been those of his vampiric family back in his waking world. When William had become Spike, the balance had started to shift. Sometimes Spike would defy his demon, taking the beating and laughing in its face as he refused to submit to its will.

The attempted claiming of Dru had seen their fiercest conflict; Spike had loved her with everything he had, wanting nothing more than to bind them together for eternity, share himself with her to the fullest extent possible. And for her to do the same. His demon had seen things differently. Fiercely loving of its sire, it was content in the familial bond, the rightness of it. It recognised, only too well, his sire’s adoration and love of her own sire, Angelus. The other vampire’s absence from their company did nothing to change that. Try as it might, Spike refused to let go of his longing, and they both suffered the hurt of rejection as a result.

Spike was surprised when the demon joined him, dropping down beside him with a sigh. It had been many years since they had met; his last two visits here had been lonely excursions when he felt his demon had abandoned him. Which in most ways it had.

It seemed to read his mind.

“Tell me I would have helped by egging us on to bite the buggers and I’ll say sorry.” The demon spoke quietly, the normal snarl strangely missing from its gravely voice as a curious mixture of arrogant demand and question flavoured its tone. Opening his mouth to throw years of resentment at his beast, Spike paused to think, pursing his lips and inclining his head as he stared at his alter ego. He, the demon, had changed in a dramatic way.

Hard ridges still adorned his almost leathery visage. Golden eyes that had always fixed him with fierce anger were softer, nearly…sympathetic. Impressive fangs distorted lips that looked softer and fuller. Glancing away from his face showed more mutations; clawed hands now seemed strangely human and his body had become more finely formed, less grotesque.

“Ah, you’ve noticed the update? ‘S one of the things that I’ve been waiting to show you. But I had to wait until you were ready to listen. Are you?” The questioning tilt of his head mirrored Spike’s.

An anger he hadn’t been able to release for too long took control of Spike and he swung a sudden punch to the demon’s jaw, satisfied when his head jerked pack, before leaping to his feet. “You left me alone! In that place, you left me alone!” he screamed at the glaring demon rising gracefully to his feet. “We were taking them on, fighting…and you left. You left.” The last was whispered hoarsely.

“I saved our skin, you wanker! They were going to dust us!” Spike wasn’t the only one with anger to burn.

“Good! Why didn’t you let them, you fucking shit? We could have been clocking up time and making friends in the real hell!”

They’d moved to the bridge in silent accord and now faced each other a few paces apart. The dream air fairly cracked with the tension flowing from the two.

“Because we’re survivors, pillock! We adapt and we go on. This is as good as it gets, don’t you understand? If you think for one moment that you’ve been living in hell lately, you’re off your bird!” the demon snarled, irritated at being called to task. “This last few years will seem like a walk in the park once we get to our final destination. So excuse me if I wanted to put it off a bit longer!”

Spike glared at him, but held his tongue. He begrudgingly recognised the truth in his demon’s words. He’d fought their training tooth and broken nail, stunned into painful unconsciousness - more times than he cared to count - by either the electronic firing of his chip or the commando held tasers. He wasn’t going back to being anything less than the master vampire he had fought so hard to become. Until his demon had left and refused to come forward again, refused to lend him the frenzied anger he needed to fight the pain and defy his human captors.

Losing part of himself had taken away the last of his resistance…the rest was history. Spike had capitulated and fought no longer against the training forced upon him. His acquiescence had failed to bring him better treatment for a while; it appeared his captors had a few grievances to work out of their systems, a bit of payback to dish out.

“You think I wasn’t there?” His demon snorted mirthlessly. “I was there with you every single bloody step of the way, William!”

“I’m not William! That ponce is long gone.” Spike clenched his fists, shifting on the balls of his feet as his annoyance at being called by his long dead human name urged him towards attack. Anything else he might have said was cut off when his chest was pushed over the parapet and his arm twisted high enough up his back to draw a pained cry from him.

Golden eyes flashed before calming as the demon leaned forward to whisper in Spike’s ear, staring over his shoulder at the silver stream below. “And you would recognise William, would you? Who do you think you are if not William…with over a hundred and twenty more years of existence and experience under your belt? Who are you if not William shaped by the need to survive as a vampire? Who are you—” He released the arm from his iron grip and pulled the man around to face him, grasping his shoulders painfully in an effort to make him understand, “if not William, who has been moulded by everything forced upon him, everything demanded and expected of him as a vampire?”

Spike slumped as the demon released him and stepped back. His mind frantically searched for the means to refute those words, and kept coming up strangely empty of rebuttal.

“Do you think I haven’t changed too?” He felt closer to Spike now than at any other time in their existence. If he hadn’t stepped back, if he hadn’t been forced by the chip to step back from protecting Spike in his usual spirited and impetuous way… If he hadn’t understood - accepted - that the only way for them to survive was to let Spike deal with the humans himself, they would have been suffering the real agony of hell several years ago.

Though he had felt everything that Spike felt, hurt every bit as badly as Spike hurt, he had stayed himself from following his nature and had been content with answering the pull for his presence with occasional words meant to maim. There had been little reward in it when Spike – they - had been punished for his influence, and after a time he’d rarely allowed himself to be summoned. Which allowed the demon something he had seldom experienced before. Time to think.

The world was changing…had changed. A vampire could no longer lay claim to the night with almost impunity from every human, with the exception of the one girl born into each generation. Mankind’s tools had now reached the stage where they posed a very real threat to everything, everyone, of a supernatural persuasion. To survive now meant to adapt to the present and try to counter a grim future. And, though it grieved him to admit it, Spike was still the only one who could save them. If he would listen.

A crash sounded in the distance, startling both of them. Twin growls sounded, but they held an edge of fear. Turning back to Spike, the demon now spoke urgently. “It comes. We have little time.” A further crash, nearer. “Stay with the Slayer. She is…home.” The demon fretted when no one word could encompass his complex feelings and instincts; there was no time left for more. “I have lost the desire for her death. Do you understand? She is our home, William. Spike.”

The next crash sounded almost upon them. Spike heard the demon, he did, but the fear rising in him choked off any – many – questions.

A huge shadow blotted out the moon, throwing them into the darkest of dark. Only the fiery eyes of his demon shone in the deepest blackness which was working its way into everything that was Spike. He felt a cool hand grasp his firmly.

“I am always with you,” came as a distant whisper.

Spike screamed.

***

Throwing open the basement door, Buffy was halfway down the stairs before the lack of light prompted her to slow down enough to watch her step. She’d had enough presence of mind to grab a cushion from the couch on her way, thinking she’d need it to throw at Spike to rouse him. She was wrong.

Looking over to the bed, the light spilling in from the kitchen allowed her to see that her vampire was sitting up in bed. Trembling. Hands covering his eyes, his face, and shoulders jerking in a way that spelt the most wretched of sobs were being torn from him. Buffy recognised it only too well.

Treading lightly, Buffy approached the bed, stopping a few paces away. “Spike? Another nightmare?”

Spike had sensed her presence, of course he had; he didn’t think he would ever not be able to feel her again. He’d woken abruptly, wrenched away from the menace which had struck such terror into him in the other place. With an effort, he fought to control his erratic breathing and slowly dropped his hands, wiping tears from his face before looking towards her. The anguish in his eyes took her breath away.

“’M sorry, Slayer. Best fetch the gag from the chest; only way to make sure you get some rest.” Spike drank in the lines around his slayer’s eyes, the tiredness which was making itself known again now her adrenaline rush had died away. He cursed himself when she looked at him with shock. “Or I can stay awake?” he offered.

He was serious, she could see that. “Stupid vampire.”

Buffy hated this. Hated this knowledge of what had been forced upon him, and what he now accepted as permissible behaviour. It had to change. She had to make it change.

“Shift over,” she ordered quietly moving closer to his bed and, seeing the uncertainty on Spike’s face, elaborated. “I’ll stay for a while, until you’re asleep.” Buffy gave a small smile. “Takes away the risk of breaking my neck…and, hey, I’m feeling lazy.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze from her to shield the gratitude in his eyes as he made room for the Slayer on his bed. His need for her presence was too great to refuse…even with the inevitable surge of lust playing havoc with his senses at having her so near. Stiffly, in every way, Spike settled once more, facing towards her and careful to hold his body as far from hers as possible within the confines of the bed. He watched from under his lashes as the Slayer made herself comfortable, half sitting against the pillows with her black satin clad legs stretched out on top of the covers. With a mind of its own, his hand reached up to touch fingertips with hers, sighing in contentment when the Slayer slid her fingers down and lightly clasped his hand, her thumb rubbing gently to and fro. Soothing motions that warmed his dead skin.

‘Just for a little while, just until he’s sleeping. Then back to my own bed. Just a little while…”

Slayer and vampire drifted into their well-earned rest. The only dreams to disturb their slumber the kind which made the recipient wish to sleep forever.

***

They had been collecting ingredients together most of the day, for once thankful to a lull in trade at the Magic Box. Willow had insisted they reinforce and strengthen the wards surrounding the shop, and take enough components with them to repeat the guarding spells at Revello Drive and their own home. When the odd customer had broken their non-work activities, it had been Tara who left to attend to them whilst Willow dived once more into research. She’d filled several pages already and wanted to get them colour-coded and cross-referenced before presenting her findings later.

She was frightened, and she knew Tara could sense it. So far, though, she hadn’t asked anything, hadn’t tried to wiggle the details out of her. Willow wasn’t sure if she wished her lover would, or not. This so came under the heading of ‘a problem shared is a problem halved’, although sharing it with a hundred people could not dilute it enough for Willow’s comfort.

Buffy may have made the decision to tackle the Initiative from out of the blue, triggered by the reappearance of Spike in her life - ‘And, okay, he seems to have changed, so maybe not the Big Bad anymore. If he makes one move towards hurting Buffy…’ - but from the information she had compiled so far, it was going to take a lot more than their small group to remove the Initiative from their lives, and the world. This was bigger than big, it was huge. They were going to need more help. Lots more help.

By mutual agreement, as with everything they did, the two wiccans closed the shop a little early to make time to fortify the protection on their home. Once accomplished, they loaded up Tara’s car with everything they thought they’d need for the evening ahead.

When Tara pulled into Buffy’s drive, the sound of raised voices from within the house caused them to look at each other in dismay before hurrying from the car and ringing the doorbell.

***

Bliss. The only thing better than killing a slayer…was to wake up from sleeping with one. Correction. Only if it was this slayer, his slayer.

Spike had woken from a deep sleep about half an hour ago, as well as he could tell. Woke to find himself curled into the back of a warm, cuddlesome Slayer with his arm lightly wrapped around her waist. Everywhere they connected his skin, his flesh, had risen in temperature and he was utterly surrounded by her scent, so much stronger and fresher than that of his pillows.

He hadn’t dared move for fear of disturbing her, content to softly sniff the hair tickling his nose and battle the urge to nuzzle into her neck, to lick and taste her soft skin. Spike knew he would be calling this moment forward to fuel his fantasies for some time; it would bring him comfort again and again in his solitude.

Some time during their sleep the Slayer had stolen the quilt, wrapping it around her legs, holding her warmth in but keeping him on the outside. As he should be. And he was perversely glad to have a barrier between them still; he didn’t think he would be strong enough to stop his body from rubbing into her, letting her know intimately how much she affected him. Spike bit his lip to stifle the groan as a sudden little wriggle from the Slayer had her pressing back against his already painfully aroused cock. Maybe the quilt wasn’t thick enough after all.

Gloriously comfortable, Buffy struggled to stay with the naughty dream she was losing. Her lover’s pale and perfectly proportioned body had just been revealed to her and… ‘Damn! Gone. And I didn’t even get to see his face.’ Sighing, Buffy gave up trying to cling onto the remnants of her dream and stretched, only to freeze when she felt herself being gently held. Eyes flew open with a start, confused for a moment to see a dimly illuminated basement instead of her room. Spike.

He closed his eyes and cursed himself for not picking up her rise to consciousness more quickly; being caught with his arm tucked around her had not been his intention, though he’d been loath to move it before he absolutely had to. Now it was too late. There was no hiding that he had touched her without permission, without her consent. Would she be angry? Spike was about to find out as the Slayer twisted round to face him, causing him further internal battles as his hand instinctively sought to trail down the small of her back and grasp her peachy arse. The vampire was in sweet torment, and savouring what would be his last few seconds of contact.

Unable to tell from his face if Spike was awake - or not - Buffy contented herself with a whispered, “Good morning.” When no response was forthcoming, she reluctantly moved his arm and slipped from the clutches of the quilt before rearranging it to cover him; it seemed to have somehow wrapped itself around her as she slept. It didn’t occur to her as strange that she had just slept with Spike, nor did she feel anything but rested and content. Maybe that’s what was strange, the contentment.

She was more than half convinced Spike was shamming sleep, which was a pity. The uncertainty stopped her from acting on a sudden impulse. It meant she couldn’t let her fingers trace the line of his jaw as they wanted to, and she must deny her lips the pleasure of placing a small token on his brow. Bad Buffy.

Not until she reached the basement door did she speak again. “Rise and shine, Spike. Breakfast will be served in ten minutes. Get your scrawny ass out of bed, mister!”

“Oi! Who you calling scrawny, Slayer?” Spike propped himself up on his elbow in time to see her grin cheekily before she disappeared from sight. His left hand found its way inside his sweats, almost no touch required to release the pent up tension from that part of his anatomy. If only his mind was so easily pleased.

And right now it was, very pleased. His Slayer had given, and he’d not overstepped any boundaries in accepting her gift, despite how hard it had been. Grinning, Spike left the warmed bed, inhaling deeply before reluctantly going to wash her intoxicating aroma from him. A good start to the day. The best.

An hour later things weren’t quite so rosy.

***

“How was I to know you hadn’t been told the git had taken up work with Wolfram & Hart?” Spike ground out, as annoyed as the Slayer once they’d worked out why she was getting no reply from the number on her board.

They’d broken their fast in perfect harmony with each other, no mention being made of their recent sleeping arrangements, but no embarrassment displayed either; Spike had been more than happy to take his lead from the Slayer. He’d dressed with care, a deep blue tee-shirt with pre-faded jeans which had elicited an approving look from the Slayer. Everything had been ticking over nicely until he’d opened his mouth.

It was when she’d rechecked the number on the board that Spike had stolen a glance over her shoulder, and noticed the number labelled as being for Angel Investigations. “You do know he’s not working there any more, don’t you, Slayer?” had been enough to disperse her good humour and replace it with irritation.

“And you only mention this now? Thanks, Spike. I spent ages last night trying to get through. Didn’t you think to tell me before?” Buffy knew she was being unfair, but not knowing if she would be confronting Angel later or not was enough to frazzle her nerves. Couple that with a sudden fascination with all things Spike…

Later. She promised herself that once she’d dealt with Angel she’d give herself time, alone time, to think about Spike. But not now. Not when she had to concentrate on what could be a very unpleasant confrontation with the souled vampire. Determinedly ignoring the look of hurt on his face, pushing away the guilt and promising herself to explain properly later, Buffy had left the vampire to his own devices and taken to her room. Getting the number for Wolfram & Hart had been simple, getting hold of Angel was impossible. The most she’d been able to discover, from his less than helpful secretary, was that he had an appointment in Sunnydale for seven this evening and was currently en route. Great. It would be a pity to waste the mood she was in on someone who didn’t deserve it.

Stifling the guilt as she thought of Spike downstairs, watching TV by the sound of it, Buffy threw open her closet doors and frowned as she sought the right outfit for tonight’s encounter with her once significant other. It had been a long time since she’d dressed for anything other than patrol. She wanted to show him how well she was doing without him, make him regret ever walking out of her life and turning his back on her. Tastefully, of course.

Time flew by as she discarded one outfit after another; too flirty, too severe, too… Just as Buffy was ready to scream she found it, the dress that said it all. Classic black, thin straps to a fitted bodice and gently flaring skirt reaching her knees. Laying it on her bed she found the accessories to go with it, passing over the pretty high heeled sandals in favour of a pair of barely worn pumps. It would make the difference in height even more exaggerated when she went toe to toe with the big lummox.

Clean black cotton bra and high leg panties joined the gathering ensemble, as did a black purse with a chain shoulder strap. Buffy gasped when she looked at her clock and found the hands telling her lies. How could it be gone six thirty already? Dashing into her bathroom, she rummaged around in her seldom used make-up bag and opted for a ‘less is more’ cosmetic augmentation of her face. Hair brushed and twisted up, captured in a barrette, she fixed small silver dangling cross earrings in place and fastened the chain of another crucifix around her neck. She thought about perfume, but decided making herself smell delicious might send out the wrong signals.

Five minutes later, she looked with satisfaction at her reflection in the full length mirror she seldom had reason to use nowadays. Three stakes, a bottle of holy water and a sheet of notes were all safely stashed in her purse, another stake fastened to her right thigh…just in case. She was ready. Or as ready as she was going to be.

It wasn’t until she’d made her way downstairs that she remembered her less than amicable parting from Spike earlier.

***

Spike tried to concentrate on the moving pictures on the TV. It was impossible, though. He was far too focussed on every tiny sound coming from above, listening as the Slayer moved about getting ready to see him.

He’d alternatively seethed and worried. He’d been angry and hurt when the Slayer had turned on him, and worried that she might be changing her mind; might be thinking about handing him over to her dinner date. Spike trusted her, he did, but he couldn’t quite believe she was going to be able to stick to her guns when faced with her great love.

Then, at long last, she deigned to descend the stairs. A vision. For him. Sense left, stage right, as jealousy hit him between the eyes.

“What’s wrong, Slayer? Couldn’t you find a shorter frock?”

Buffy had seen it, she had. No woman could mistake that look; admiration acknowledging time well spent. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it so hadn’t been that. And she was so not putting up with it; not from Spike, not from anyone. She wanted to keep her anger for Angel, but there was enough to go around, truly there was.

“You think showing Angel more thigh will make tonight easier? Tell me, Spikey,” she almost spat out his name, mocking him intently, “would that be the sort of thing to distract you? A little bit of leg?”

Spike was more interested in the column of her neck, cleared of hair and begging for attention. Begging to be tasted, needing kisses and soft bites rained upon it until… Until he caught up with her words.

“Me?” he snorted in derision. “It’s not me you have to worry about, Slayer. Oh, yes, you do.” ‘You told me you were. You made me believe you were.’ He knew he should stop, shouldn’t have started, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. “Appearances must be bloody deceiving then!”

Glaring at each other, only the timely chime of the doorbell stopped Buffy from making a comeback. Which was actually gonna be more apology than anything else. She’d so not meant to upset Spike further. ‘Note to self. Apologise to Spike…later.’

They both took a deep breath, only one of them needed, before Buffy turned hesitantly towards the door. Spike must have read her mind.

“It’s not him, Slayer. My babysitters have arrived.” With that he turned on his heel and made his way down to the basement, determined not to be present for her long awaited reunion with the grandsire.

In truth, he felt sick to the pits of his unnecessary stomach, and was having a hard time stopping himself from breaking down before the Slayer, falling to his knees and begging her to promise to keep him with her. Always.

Pacing gave his restlessness some small outlet…and let him listen to what was happening upstairs.

***

She could see from their faces that they must have heard them shouting at each other, really not something she was proud of. Buffy waved them in and answered the unspoken question put forward by Tara’s raised brow.

“We’re arguing. It’s cool.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulders to get rid of the tension which had settled there. “Angel will be here in a few minutes, if he’s on time.”

“Ah,” Tara murmured understandingly. She’d been worried about both of them since the phone call this morning, but arguing was so much better than moping and she was secretly pleased to find the vampire had enough fight left in him to take on Buffy, at least verbally. She gave her friend a gentle hug and passed her on to Willow for more of the same.

“You look nice, Buffy,” Willow offered, admiring the outfit and taking note of the abundance of crosses. “Perhaps Spike is jealous,” she teased, surprised when Buffy stiffened.

‘Spike jealous? Nah. Could he be? Do I want him to be?’ Something else to join the growing pile of things to ponder later.

The sound of a car pulling up outside sparked a group hug and Buffy’s last instructions to her friends. “Don’t let anyone in but me. Nothing gets to Spike, okay?”

“Only you, Buffy. Check,” Willow nodded, hoping they wouldn’t need to repel anyone in the time Buffy would be absent.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy ushered them into the living room before opening the door. And there he was. Angel. Tall, dark, handsome…strange hair.

She felt curiously detached as she watched how his eyes travelled up and down her body before looking at her directly. How rude. The smile breaking on his face would once have melted her heart and set her pulse racing. She waited. Nothing. She waited some more. More nothing.

“Buffy, you look wonderful.” Angel grinned at her, glad she’d made an effort to look good for him. He had made reservations to dine at one of the new restaurants which seemed to be springing up all around Sunnydale, and as far from Revello Drive as possible. His team knew what to do should he be unable to secure what he wanted by fair means.

Buffy smiled, and then gave a small laugh. “Angel, won’t be a moment.” She shut the door in his smiling face and ran through the kitchen before hurtling at an unladylike pace down the basement steps. Tara and Willow shared a bemused look at the whirlwind that was Buffy.

The moment she appeared, Spike stopped his pacing and moved towards her, unable to hide his pleasure that she had seen fit to say farewell to him. But that’s not what she said.

She couldn’t stop the muscles in her face from making her smile. It was going to be okay; she was going to be able to do this, make Spike safe, and keep him with her. Beautiful, annoying vampire that he was. And she had to tell him, put him out of his misery.

Grabbing Spike’s hands she tugged him gently towards her before leaning up and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Her eyes sparkled as she stared into the blue ones she would give much to see happy.

“It’s gonna be all right, Spike. It’s gonna be all right.”

A quick squeeze of his hands and she was gone, leaving behind a much happier vampire who was even now wondering how it would feel to have those sweet lips on his mouth

***

A/N: Do hope this entertains. Feedback appreciated and I apologise in advance if I don’t respond straight away. RL probs have taken precedence – but I promise I will get there in time.

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and, at short notice, Chrissie Linnit. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated. I know it’s been a long wait and only hope you think it worth it.

Chapter 15

Information is power.

Willy, once called The Snitch, had used this as his motto for many years. He’d traded in information, gossip and whispers to further his standing in the demon community and make a bit of bunce on the side. But times had changed and Willy, never one to let the grass grow under his feet, had changed right along with them. Adaptability was high on his list of desired attributes, right alongside survival.

When his usual clientele had started to disappear with the advent of the Initiative, Willy had quickly made preparations to move his establishment to a safer location. Surprising even himself, he’d also been instrumental in encouraging the moderate demon element to put aside traditional differences and form a council. So far it had proved a benefit to all the resident Hellmouth demons, and to more than one transient being fleeing before the regular patrols. The Hellmouth Council had been careful to only assist those who would not bring down the Slayer’s wrath upon them; no vamps, no Polgaras or suchlike would be aided and abetted. Any information on that type of demon was swiftly passed on to the Slayer for her to take action as she saw fit. So far it had worked a treat.

The Slayer would be surprised if she knew how many eyes kept track of her movements and reported back to Willy. The demon grapevine extended around the world, sending news of rumours and events back to Sunnydale with startling rapidity. The latest happenings had been ominous enough to prompt Willy to call for a meeting of his fellow council members.

From the moment Angel had departed LA, and had been confirmed to be moving in their direction, Willy had had one of his bad feelings. The fact that the souled vampire was now ensconced as the CEO of a demonic law firm, with close links to the organisation intent upon imposing absolute control over all demons, had never sat well with him or his fellow councillors. It seemed too much of a coincidence to have another vampire with a personal interest in the Slayer about to hit town, and the black van keeping Angel company on the road indicated more than a social visit.

Whatever was heading the Slayer’s way might well be too much for her to handle without backup. Wolfram & Hart were not to be underestimated. In a gratifyingly short amount of time, the Hellmouth Council had come to an agreement; they’d send out the call and make themselves available should the Slayer need them. She was the only one standing between them and the human threat to their kind. They needed her.

***

The journey to the most exclusive restaurant in town – well, just out of town if a person wanted to be picky – was conducted in near silence. After trying to engage Buffy in small talk, admittedly not his forte, Angel had rapidly concluded from her monosyllabic responses that conversation was not currently on her agenda. He contented himself with manoeuvring his fine automobile along the twisting road leading up to Sunnydale Heights. The unexpected closing of the door in his face earlier still rankled, but Angel was determined to stay calm and direct his concentration to his mission for the evening. Reclaiming Spike.

Now and again he let his eyes drift over to rest on his silent passenger, checking out her body language and assessing her current mood. She seemed to be relaxed and intent on watching the view from the window as it changed with each turn of the road. Perhaps this would be easier than he’d anticipated. And if it wasn’t? That eventuality had been covered too.

Content with his strong negotiating position and confident of success, Angel relaxed enough to hum a little Manilow.

***

This was going to be even harder than Buffy had imagined, and for a whole set of different reasons. Just being in his company again was doing all sorts of strange things to her slayer senses, not least of which was a strong desire to growl. She was fighting to keep from vocalising her inner reaction, which had flared up when Angel had left her to get into the car by herself… It was one of those courtesies a girl sort of expected when being taken out to dinner – even if it was more of a business meeting. Or maybe she was just looking for any small excuse to add fuel to the fire burning towards eruption inside.

She’d been somewhat surprised by his choice of venue for their tete-a-tete about Spike. The last time they’d been on the Heights together he’d told her it was the man inside that didn’t deserve to go on. Had he forgotten that? She hadn’t.

The Sunnydale Heights had caused a lot of conflicting views amongst the denizens of the town. Some said it was a blot on the landscape, others that it provided a welcome venue which overlooked the sparkling lights of the town at night. To Buffy it would always remind her of two events in her life: the dawn it snowed and stopped Angel from meeting the sun after the First Evil had played havoc with his head, and the day Willow was talked back down to earth by Xander after Buffy had stopped her from killing Warren, the leader of the Nerd Trio. One of the many things she could give Xander credit for.

The scarcity of cars parked to the side of the mock Gothic structure bore testament to the relatively early hour; soon the fashionable eatery would be catering to the wave of nouveau rich now coining it in from the renaissance that was Sunnydale. Buffy didn’t wait for her door to be opened, unclipping her belt and leaving the car as soon as it pulled to a halt. She didn’t wait for Angel either as she made her way to the entrance, not acknowledging the vampire when he fell into step beside her, almost within touching distance. Her skin wanted to crawl away, be elsewhere. Be near her vampire.

A smiling doorman ushered them into the reception area where a dinner jacketed maitre d’ smoothly checked the booking before guiding them to a discreet table for two beside a window with a panoramic view of Sunnydale. Buffy had to admit the twinkling lights were pretty. Within moments of being left alone, a waiter appeared with menus and enquired about drinks.

“Buffy?” Angel leaned towards her, his brown eyes taking in her undisguised interest in her surroundings, but unable to quite fathom her mood. She’d always been pretty impulsive in the past and he wondered if she had learned to temper that side of her nature. If so, he might be facing a bigger task than he’d anticipated.

“Mineral water, please. Still, not sparkling,” she addressed the waiter directly, bestowing a slowly widening smile when she recognised him. Buffy couldn’t remember his name although she’d seen him several times at Willy’s. If her memory served, he was a quarter Brachen demon whose only outward sign of his demon heritage lay in a small blue birthmark on his upper arm.

“Would madam prefer French or domestic?” Only by the small crinkling around his eyes did Walt betray he knew her - a model of discretion.

“French, thank you.” Buffy listened as Angel ordered a glass of red wine, momentarily wishing that she could do the same. A clear head was called for, and later would be soon enough if she were still in the mood. Placing the menu on the table, she studied him closely for the first time. His navy silk shirt would have suited Spike and she had to admit he looked good, if she chose to ignore the gelled hair. He was studying her in much the same fashion, glancing at her with a small smile playing around his mouth. A mouth which had once been intimate with her own.

Now. Attack.

“Spike. You can’t have him,” she said firmly, watching with interest as the smile disappeared and his jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, so she ploughed right on.

“Who are Wolfram and Hart?”

***

Spike wanted to kill something. He wanted to smash and bash and…solve the mystery of modern laundry.

After indulging in a brief fantasy where Buffy freely allowed him access to her lips, he’d snapped out of it and grown restless. Not ready to join the ladies he could hear chanting above – he didn’t think they would appreciate the erection pushing against the zipped fly of his jeans – he’d paced about the basement with energy to burn before settling on the notion to actually do something for the Slayer; so far it was more than apparent he was providing little in way of assistance to her. She was the one going out of her way to protect and care for him and, nice though the novelty was, he wanted to be a part of her life – not a burden upon it.

With that thought uppermost, he steeled himself to open the chest which still occupied space at the bottom of the basement stairs, knowing only too well most items within had seen service on his body at one time or another. What he was searching for was easily found – a ball gag. Carefully replacing everything back as he’d found it, Spike crossed to his bed and slipped the gag under the pillows. Much as he had found solace in her closeness last night, Buffy needed to rest properly…and he didn’t trust himself enough to stay within the bounds of acceptable behaviour if she made it a habit to place her warm, tempting body so close to his. It would become another form of torture, one he could well do without. Time to get used to being alone. More than time he began facing his night demons on his own.

It was then he had the bright idea of going into the small laundry room and seeing if he could throw anything through the washing machine; take care of a chore to help out. He could almost feel his demon smirking at him, but felt no sense of real resistance to his intention. It seemed to agree with the notion of making himself useful in whatever way he could.

Ten minutes later the vampire was cursing his good intentions…and sudden impulse. He’d found sheets and towels waiting to be washed, the intense scent of the Slayer permeated the cloth and his cock had hardened painfully. Groaning to himself, Spike had loaded the machine and was about to add the powder when his nose twitched. Peering back into the linen basket revealed a single pair of white cotton panties.

His hand trembled as he leaned down and pulled them out, holding them as far away from his body as possible before dropping them in to join the rest of the load, the urge to bring them to his nose and inhale her delicious, intimate aroma almost more than he could resist. It took all his remaining willpower to toss in the powder and start the cycle, quickly exiting the small laundry room and throwing himself down on his bed.

Which brought his head into contact with his pillows, which in turn… Spike groaned.

God, it had been so long since he’d… And thinking about it was not going to help. Gone were the nights when he could reach out, secure in the knowledge of his own power and superiority, and just take whatever he had a fancy for. Gone forever when he’d lost whatever good sense he’d ever possessed in his obsession with the Slayer.

He’d lost sight of the absolute need to be aware of what was going on around him, hadn’t smelt any other scent but hers - and she had been far enough away that the faintness of her on the breeze shouldn’t have distracted. Certainly not from a handful of military types closing in from behind.

The punishment for that lapse was still being paid for; a harsher lesson than any Angelus had visited upon his undead flesh those long years ago. Perhaps it had taken all this time to learn to pick battles he could win, resist until it became a matter of survival not to. And then make the last choice. Do I survive…or not?

Spike could almost feel a round of applause reverberate inside him. A rueful half-smile curved his lips as his hand absently stroked across the evidence of his desire, his hopeless desire for the Slayer.

Having learned the lesson, he’d still buggered it up enough times to have been on his last chance of unlife at the auction. The Slayer was his salvation. She’d overwhelmed him with her consideration, thrown him into more confusion than he liked and…had shown nothing more than the annoyance expected between equals when he’d let his temper get the better of him. But she’d never want him as a partner in her bed.

And he’d better accept the limits, or sour the affection he was being lavished with. Not something he was prepared to lose.

The vampire tried to convince himself to get over any thoughts of making his waking fantasy a reality, told himself that her actions were nothing more than her inherent goodness being spread a little further to encompass an undead thing within its protective umbrella.

Knowing his Slayer was in the company of her only vampire lover set his stomach roiling with a mixture of emotions. Jealousy and concern battled.

He acknowledged, however reluctantly, that reaching for the Slayer, for Buffy, would be trying for the unattainable. A battle he couldn’t win. Not unless a miracle occurred…and Spike believed he’d already used up his current quota of miracles just by being here now.

But it didn’t mean the thought of Buffy in the company of any male – other than him – would ever sit well. Especially Peaches.

Pushing himself to his feet with a sigh, Spike took his cue from the lack of chanting to guess that the bit of magic practice upstairs had finished. Time to make with the social graces and see if they had everything they needed.

Starting up the basement stairs, he wondered what his Slayer was doing, what she was feeling right now. And would he like it if he knew?

***

A cold fury was building inside, taking away the burning anger and replacing it with something far more deadly - more righteous. Lush surroundings had long since faded to the edges of her awareness; Angel had her absolute and undivided attention.

At first he’d tried to argue with her about Spike. Buffy had found it easy to refuse to discuss it with him; Angel wasn’t having Spike, end of that question and answer session. Now she wanted the answers to a few questions of her own; she had a list in her purse, but doubted it would be referred to. Not the sort of questions she’d forget so quickly. And Angel was just providing her with more.

What had been going on in LA, and why had no one – anywhere – thought to tell her about it? Did Giles know?

Buffy listened in gathering amazement as Angel casually informed her that he was now the CEO of a law firm. Which had led to more questions. More - almost unbelievable - answers had been tossed to her from the relaxed vampire opposite her. A vampire she thought she’d known, had once loved with all her passionate young heart, was sitting opposite and smiling, smiling, as his words blew holes in everything she’d believed where he was concerned.

That he didn’t even realise he was doing it was even more astounding. Angel let drop disturbing titbits with the pleased aplomb of a magician pulling rabbits from a hat. Cordelia in a coma, and being cared for by the law firm he now directed. Wesley…gone, who knows where. Gunn, gone. Fred, back in Texas. Lorne, whereabouts unknown. His whole team had dissolved, gone their separate ways, and instead of brooding Angel gave every appearance of being undisturbed, even a little smug. This was an Angel she neither knew nor understood.

Her slayer senses were complaining at being in his presence without doing her duty, making her physically uncomfortable at being so close. And he wasn’t helping her control. Not a bit.

Not when he chose to try again to put his case for taking Spike off her hands, ignoring her decision and choosing instead to try and sway her. Add that to the almost condescending grin which had attached itself to his mouth, and Buffy was getting close to the point of violence. Something she had wanted to avoid, but which now looked a more attractive proposition by the minute.

“Buffy, we really need to talk about Spike.” Angel wanted to get this negotiation back on track. Nice as it was to catch up with what had been happening in his unlife since they’d last met, he had a mission tonight and pleasantries would have to wait until later. He toyed with his glass of claret, admiring the bouquet and colour. “He’s family, and it’s my responsibility to take care of him. Surely you can see that?”

Buffy’s outward composure belied the voice inside which whispered ‘liar’ in her mind. “You don’t like Spike. You’ve never liked Spike. Why would you want him when I’ve already made it plain that I intend to keep him? Don’t you trust me with him, Angel?” She awaited his answer with interest.

“Of course! I just think he would be better off with me.” He’d anticipated this response from Buffy, knew a little persuasion would be required. “I just don’t think you remember how much you hated him. I’m doing this for your sake more than his.” Leaning forward, Angel looked at Buffy with all the sincerity at his command. “You need someone better than him at your back, someone who won’t let you down the first time your life is on the line. I couldn’t rest easy if I left him to hurt you, Buffy, knowing I had it in my power to prevent it.”

Angel didn’t understand for another five minutes the enormity of his mistake. The waiter arrived to take their dinner orders, but Buffy waved Walt – that was his name – away with a small smile, asking him to give them more time to decide. Interruption over, she turned to her opponent – no mistaking that now – and tossed another one from her list his way.

“How was Spike,” she asked sweetly, “the last time you saw him?”

***

Spike had just passed two mugs of herbal tea over the kitchen island; red and blonde heads nodded their thanks as they sniffed the wafting aroma appreciatively. Taking his warmed blood from the microwave, he’d just settled on a stool opposite them when the phone rang. After a moment’s hesitation, Tara rose and answered it.

“H…hello?” Tara listened for a moment before turning and holding the handset towards Spike. “It’s Willy, for you.” She shrugged when the vampire frowned in confusion. “He said it was important and asked to speak to you.”

Every instinct in him screamed danger. “Is that mojo you did working? I have a bad feeling…”

“We’ll check,” Tara assured him, wasting no time before grabbing Willow’s hand and leaving to do a quick inspection of the wards they’d only just finished setting.

Spike lifted the phone to his ear. “Yeah? What is it?” His telephone etiquette had obviously been lost.

“Trouble heading your way. The moment the Slayer left a van pulled up to the end of Revello and some shifty types got out.” Willy stared out the window at the black van parked opposite.

“They’re hanging back, surrounding the house. It looks like they’re waiting for a signal.” Willy waved to the latest arrival; about twenty large demons now occupied the kitchen and living room. “I’ve sent Clem to get the Slayer.”

“How many?” Spike didn’t have time to question the reliability or motivation of the untrustworthy barkeep; he couldn’t take a chance with the wiccans lives and needed to know, fast, what they might be up against.

“I counted six, but that don’t mean there ain’t more.” Two demons shook their heads emphatically. “Nah, looks like that’s it. That’s the latest intel.”

“And you’re telling me this…why?” The vampire waited, listening to the even breathing on the other end of the phone; he heard no sign of fear or anxiety.

“So that you know,” Willy paused for effect. “So you know we got ya back, Spike. We don’t want anything happening to the Slayer. And that means her friends and property too.”

Spike winced inside. Property. Now he was some thing lumped under personal possessions. Wanting to be clear, he asked, “And that would mean what exactly?”

Willy chuckled. “That would mean if they move a muscle nearer, you’ll find out just how well thought of the Slayer is in these parts. Girl’s had her moments…but she’s grown into one hell of a woman.”

A statement Spike, silently, but whole-heartedly agreed with.

“Thought you should know, just in case. Things could change fast and I might not be able to warn you.”

The vampire was fast amending his impressions of Willy and thought he’d have made a top class minion…back in the day, when he did that sort of thing.

“Thanks. You said someone has gone to fetch the Slayer? How long?” Spike couldn’t deny he would feel better, so much better, once she was back home where she belonged. With him.

“Should be no more than thirty minutes, tops. Gotta go, Spike. See ya later.” Without waiting for a response, Willy hung up and turned to welcome three more demons. “Guys, drinks and nibbles in the kitchen. But getting drunk can wait until after the show. Capiche?”

Satisfied that they understood, Willy picked up the phone again. He needed to call Walt back and let him know the latest.

***

He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. It had played out so perfectly in his head, and the best team of advisers money could buy had endorsed it enthusiastically. Angel had explained how he’d seen William in the brothel some weeks ago – all had agreed that there was no hiding all the evidence that he’d been there. Best to admit it freely, turn it to his advantage. But try as he might, she hadn’t shown one iota of belief in his story. When he’d told her he’d been called in to help with Spike’s suicidal tendencies, his self-mutilation, Buffy had stared at him with what – if he hadn’t known better – appeared to be contempt. Then she’d smiled humourlessly. No, suddenly, things didn’t look good.

Buffy felt the last of her respect for Angel slip away.

Even when he’d been trying to kill her – especially when he’d been trying to kill her - Spike had remorselessly thrown every unpalatable truth her way. Sure, he’d added a liberal dose of taunting bullshit to get her riled up, but he’d never treated her like a fool. Keeping her eyes locked on Angel’s she asked her last pair of questions.

“I’ll take all that into consideration if you can just answer me this.” Buffy’s hand itched to take a stake from her purse. She fought the urge with difficulty.

“How did Spike get that bite under his arm? What’s stopping it from healing?”

***

He watched the blood drain from their faces when he passed on the news from Willy, noting the way their hands sought each other’s to bolster their courage.

“So, this mojo of yours, what’s it do exactly?” Spike wanted to know precisely what they had in the way of protection, hating the knowledge that he would be useless to do anything if the threat was human.

Tara blinked and opened her mouth to reply, but was beaten to the answer by her lover. “Oh, it’s a combination ward to stop eavesdropping and prevents admittance to anyone without a specific invite. We just haven’t had a chance to test it yet.” Willow tried to smile confidently but was let down by the uncertain twist to her mouth.

“Sounds good, ladies.” Spike could feel their fear and was glad he found no pleasure in it. He wondered if the spells would also stop other unwelcome things, like fire and bullets, but decided a negative response would just get the two wiccans unduly flustered when they all needed to be calm. “Got anything else in your bag of tricks to help repel possible boarders?” Wolfram & Hart might not be pirates, not strictly speaking, but they functioned under the closest thing to a skull and crossbones banner this town had seen of late.

Willow grinned. “Well, funny you should ask…”

The three of them settled once more around the kitchen island and talked tactics.

***

Angel laughed. “I bit him. What of it? You wouldn’t understand, Buffy. Only a vampire could possibly understand what was needed to help in the situation. I did it for his own good, to calm him down. And, yeah, it should have healed by now.” He shrugged, inwardly reliving the moment when he’d smeared the mild poison over Spike’s torn flesh as he’d hung unconscious from his chains. It had felt beyond good to be in a position to play with the monster he’d helped shape so long ago, to let go of his burdensome responsibilities as the instrument of the Powers and just be a vampire for a few stress free hours.

If everything had gone to plan he wouldn’t be in this position of having to explain himself; he’d be indulging in new ways to make his annoying relative scream. More importantly, he’d be a step closer to ensuring he’d be the only Aurelian left capable of fulfilling the prophecy, gaining his heart’s desire. It didn’t occur to Angel that his heart’s desire right now was focussed purely on the possession and slow destruction of the last remaining family member outside of his custody. That it just happened to be Spike, an eternal thorn in his side, was a bonus. A bonus he thoroughly deserved for all he’d done to help the weak over the years.

Catching the flash of anger in Buffy’s eyes he decided enough time had been wasted. “You don’t seem to be getting the point here, Buffy. I’m the Champion for the Powers and Spike is an evil vampire. Him being with you is all sorts of bad; trust me, he’ll do nothing but cause you trouble. The chip won’t stop him.”

Leaning forward again, Angel looked Buffy straight in the eyes as he delivered his coup de grace. “And here’s the thing. You don’t own Spike. The Council of Watchers holds the deed on his hide and I’ve already spoken to Giles, made him an offer he can’t refuse. Spike is as good as mine.” Satisfied, he leaned back and watched the shock settle on Buffy’s face.

For a painful moment, the betrayal she felt from Giles’ going behind her back – and with Angel - almost froze her. Almost. But, the fire of Slayer passion burned it away, and the anger she’d held in check for what seemed far too long was no longer to be suppressed. Her heart released the echo of love it had kept sheltered there, sighed softly at the loss but recognised its time had long passed – and the one to whom it had been given no longer existed. If he had at all.

She was free.

Taking a steadying breath, Buffy sat straight and glared into the mocking brown eyes of the stranger she’d once known. “I’ll say this slowly, one last time. Spike stays with me. The only way you’re gonna have a chance is over my dead body.” The surprise on his face brought a mirthless smile to hers.

“I sent you to Hell once, Angel. Don’t think I won’t do it again if I have to.”

***

A/N: Feedback more than welcome – but be nice as it’s me birthday! Can’t promise to update next week but more is already on the page. *hugs*

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and, at short notice, Chrissie Linnit. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated. Sorry for yet another long wait. *hugs*

Chapter 16

By the time he departed the Council’s Headquarters, later than he would have liked, Ethan could feel the beginnings of a stress headache settling behind his eyes. Little wonder, considering the amount of work he’d put in over the last few hours.

Pausing at the head of the steps leading down to the almost empty London street, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he made a quick mental inventory, a last check before making his break for freedom. Inside the leather pilot’s bag, slung loosely over his shoulder, he carried a variety of appropriated items to assist him now…and later. Along with a handful of Council credit cards, various charms and texts purloined from the depths of the vaults, Ethan had stashed away several vials of the Cruciamentum concoction in a thermally chilled container. The last had been an act of impulse, after he’d taken pleasure in destroying the instructions for making the stuff and its use – from books and databases alike. He’d love to be able to see their faces the next time they tried to use it on one of their slayers.

Ethan also had possession of four passports besides Giles’. A spot check had rewarded him with several he could use with a simple glamour to subtly alter his appearance, as each passport owner’s height and general build matched his own closely enough. He’d downloaded and saved to CD enough new spells and recently documented prophecies to keep him occupied for the foreseeable future…if he was a Watcher. Dear Giles had been more than lax when it came to computer security, and it wouldn’t surprise Ethan in the least if the silly old fart had no clue about the latest technological advances – and had been too priggish to listen and learn from others.

Not unhappy to squander the Council’s dosh, Ethan had booked himself on three different flights to the States under three different names. His final destination had yet to be decided, although Sunnydale was beckoning him with the pull of its Hellmouth, and, as insurance, there was an additional flight booked to Australia under the name of Rupert Giles. With luck, it would be enough to throw the Initiative stooges off his scent.

Murmuring a supplication to Janus under his breath, Ethan tripped lightly down the stone steps and strode off in the direction of the nearest Tube station…and escape.

***

In his wildest dreams Angel had never thought it would come to this. Not once had it occurred to him that Buffy, his Buffy, would chose to defend and protect his worthless grandchilde in preference to handing him over. For a moment he teetered on the edge of capitulation, but the moment was fleeting and in its place crept a cold determination to have his own way. If his Golden Slayer, she who had set him on his road to redemption, was turning away from him then he had no other choice but to take his fate firmly into his own hands…whatever the cost.

However much it hurt him – and it did, truly it did – Angel could not turn his back on The Powers who had declared him to be their Champion. It was remarkable that Buffy had lasted this long, really; a slayer’s normal life expectancy being so much shorter than the almost seven years she had so far survived. She’d been a wonderful servant for good, a shining example of everything a Chosen One should be, but it was obvious now to Angel that somehow Buffy had been corrupted if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit to his superior understanding and need of Spike. So much promise gone to waste, his beautiful girl tainted beyond his ability to save.

Fortunately for him, Angel’s advisers had foreseen just this situation and had insisted measures be taken to cover it’s eventuality. He made a mental note to authorise a bonus once this night’s work had been successfully concluded. Steeling his unbeating heart, the souled vampire looked across the seemingly unbridgeable divide of the table separating him from Buffy. He thought she’d never looked more beautiful than now, her tawny gold hair reflecting the muted lighting, a flush colouring her cheeks and her hazel eyes flashing fire his way. Sighing inwardly, regretfully, he made ready to prepare for the end game.

“Let’s not be too hasty about this,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m going to get another drink from the bar, can I get you another?”

Buffy glanced down at her barely touched glass of water, her raised eyebrows telling Angel without words how redundant his question was. She watched as he weaved his way through the tables of the slowly filling restaurant and disappeared from sight into the adjoining bar.

Without warning a shudder shook her body, someone was walking on her grave. Unbidden, a memory surfaced of a family day out at the funfair when she’d been young - maybe nine or ten. It had been a gloriously sunny day full of laughter. Her parents were still very much together then, smiles never leaving their faces as they moved from rides to attractions and back again. Even Dawn was there, face and fingers messy from cotton candy and whining when she couldn’t go on the rides meant for those bigger than her small self. She knew the Dawn memories weren’t really true, of course, that they were just an addition to her memory implanted by those monks, but they were precious nevertheless.

The only blot on an otherwise perfect day had been when they’d entered the Hall of Mirrors. Mom and dad had been giggling like teenagers as they watched their reflections distort and throw back twisted views of themselves. Buffy had been amused to see herself impossibly long and tall – not so amused at the short and squat with a squished face. But Dawn, poor Dawn… Her sister had taken one look in the first mirror and screamed, “That’s not me! That’s not me! I don’t look like that!”

It had taken a while before the hysterical sobs could be quietened and Dawn could be persuaded to look again. Buffy had held her sister’s sticky hand firmly as they both stood in front of the mirrors again. This time Dawn had been fascinated, peering at the changes in her reflection as she bounced up and down, waved her arms and pulled faces. Buffy recalled clearly her small sister’s solemn announcement. “They’re lying mirrors, aren’t they, Buffy? They’re fun but bad, ‘cos they don’t tell the truth.”

Why was she thinking of that now? What did it mean?

“Miss Summers?”

With a start, Buffy found Walt had silently materialised beside her. “Yes?”

“I do apologise for interrupting your evening, but I have a message for you…from Willy,” he spoke softly, waiting until he had her full attention before continuing. “Your home is currently surrounded by a group of gentlemen who accompanied your…dinner partner from LA. In anticipation, transport has now arrived to convey you back home. I trust this is to your satisfaction.”

Relief, and a not unexpected surge of adrenalin, flooded through Buffy. Despite her truthful promise to stand between Angel and his obsession with Spike, there was no doubting she would feel better back down in the valley, back on her home turf, if the worst came to the worst. Even now, after everything that had been said tonight, she could barely grasp that Angel was prepared to go to such extreme lengths to regain Spike. His reasoning for why he wanted to take Spike away was as off as everything else about tonight. There had been more than a touch of Angelus in his attitude, his arrogance, the attempted manipulation, yet she didn’t doubt for one moment that his soul was still attached. This, somehow, only made it worse.

Anger at Angel was swiftly replaced with concern for Spike and her friends as she nodded to Walt and stood. Gathering her purse before following him to a rear exit adjacent to the kitchens, Buffy glanced back once, relieved that there was no sign of Angel returning to the table. That confrontation, and she knew there would be one, could wait.

Once they had slipped outside, Walt felt free to speak openly to the Slayer. “There are six of his people outside your house, Slayer. Willy’s got a bunch of regulars standing by to give assistance. They’re at 1615 Revello. Clem’s waiting to take you there now.”

Buffy had been walking beside him, almost trotting to keep up with his long strides as they passed the cleanest looking dumpsters she’d ever seen and made their way round to the car park. She filed away for future delving the question of how Willy knew where she was – though she thought Walt could probably answer that question right now – and what he was doing on Revello.

Once she would have let little things like this distract her and gone all kablooey, losing sight of the big picture as she niggled at the details. Now only two things mattered to her: get away from Angel and; get back to Revello to protect her friends – Tara, Willow and Spike. Though if the chance to beat up something, or someone, presented itself, well, she’d grab, and maybe even throttle, the opportunity with both hands.

Clem’s funny little red car was easy to spot. How the large grey demon managed to fit into it was a testament to the TARDIS effect which seemed to be built into these small, foreign models. Buffy couldn’t help but glance towards the sleek monster Angel had driven, stopping in surprise when she noticed its former perfection marred by two flat front tyres.

“You wouldn’t know anything about…” she trailed off, waving a hand towards the vandalised auto. A sly grin answered her. Buffy smiled back, grateful for the help in hindering Angel’s undoubted pursuit. “Thanks, Walt. Just don’t be around when he finds out.”

“I won’t, Slayer,” he promised, raising his hand in farewell as he turned to retrace his steps.

Clem barely waited for Buffy to pull the passenger door closed before pulling away as if the devil was on his heels.

Maybe he was.

***

Spike was trying to feel positive but, in view of the information he’d wheedled out of Tara and Willow, it was difficult. The eavesdropping wards they’d so carefully set earlier were now being adapted. Spike had impressed upon them the importance for the occupiers of the house - namely the Slayer and himself - to be able to sense who or what might be lurking outside, so they were now busy changing the smothering curtain they’d erected into something more resembling a one-way mirror. He’d been impressed with how quickly the two women grasped what was needed, agreed on the amendment to be made and worked in perfect unison. But in other areas things weren’t looking so good.

Willow had enthusiastically extolled the merits of her fireball spell, until it had been made apparent that she’d need an open window or door to allow it to leave the house – and that would only work once the wards were down or had been altered. The biggest drawback was that in order to use magic they would need to see who they were directing their resources against, and lowering their defence would leave them vulnerable to attack. As Spike had suspected, the wards would be great in blocking magical devices but not so good for the more mundane type of weapon normally used by humans: guns, grenades and other, less mystical but equally as deadly, projectiles would need a better barrier than they had at their fingertips right now.

There was another problem, too. Tara was loathe to harm anyone if there was some other way to protect themselves. She’d been against the idea of Willow using her fireball spell in a residential area and, for the first time, Spike was given an insight into just how much Willow relied on Tara for guidance with her magic use. It was somewhat refreshing to find he was not the only being who believed magic had consequences, even the relatively small stuff. And whilst he would have happily argued in favour of torching the rest of the neighbourhood if he could be sure it would leave Buffy’s house standing, he somehow couldn’t see the Slayer beaming to find her home in the middle of the smouldering wreckage of her community.

A compromise of sorts had been reached when Willow had suggested using a binding spell instead, something to hold off the enemy and give Willy’s crew time to intervene. It had its drawbacks as the two lovers would still have to be able to physically see their targets, the redhead being adamant on limiting the use of her power.

“Sorry, recovering addict here,” she’d told the vampire apologetically. “Need to keep things small and focussed or…”

Spike had nodded in understanding. Bloodlust was a bit like that, from what he remembered; easier to control when you weren’t hungry, but hard to ignore when the taste took over. He knew they’d do their best, he just didn’t know if it would be enough for whatever they faced.

There was no doubt when the wards had been adjusted. Immediately, Spike could hear the vague heartbeats of several humans, and at least one demon, on the periphery of his senses. Without the warning from Willy he would have assumed they belonged to neighbours or passers-by. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have picked up on them at all until they moved nearer, trespassed the boundaries of the Slayer’s home - their home.

He nodded at Tara when she rejoined him in the hallway. “I can sense out now, Glinda. Mostly human, but there’s at least one demon out there. Don’t know if it’s one of theirs or one of Willy’s mates.”

Tara rubbed along her arms, suddenly feeling chilled. It had been a long time since she’d found herself in a similar situation, facing a threat without Buffy present to steer the path clear to safety. An arm sliding around her waist signalled when Willow joined them.

Wait. That was all they could do for now.

***

Snapping his cell phone shut, Angel turned back to the bar to collect the wine he’d used as an excuse to give himself time and some privacy to call Smith. His instructions had been explicit and the fool had better get things right this time or he’d be seeing just how angry Angel could become when disappointed. The Sunnydale Heights had filled noticeably since he’d arrived, and most of the crowd appeared to be have flocked around the bar indulging in pre-dinner drinks and convivial chatter. He forced himself to patience as he waited to be served, then carried his spoils back into the restaurant proper.

The empty table bore mute witness to his fury on finding Buffy gone.

***

Without a doubt, Buffy would have rather faced another apocalypse than be sitting beside Clem as the small car hurtled down the suddenly life-threatening road. And, yeah, she knew her driving skills were almost non-existent, but even she would have touched the brakes with a little more sympathy than the saggy skinned creature beside her, the one who seemed intent on seeing if her heart would fall out of her mouth as they slid into each and every bend on the long way down. No time to stare at the pretty sights as they flashed past the windows. Buffy’s eyes were firmly fixed on the snaking road ahead and if it hadn’t been for fear of distracting him, she’d have taken to screaming at Clem after the first hundred yards.

One thing was for certain, her adrenalin would be pumping fast and furious through her veins once they reached Revello Drive. She’d hit her home turf running and look out anyone, or anything, which stood in her way.

***

Smith slipped the cell phone back in his jacket pocket and pursed his thin lips. Was it wrong to feel more than a little smug that his boss had failed to sweet talk the Slayer into giving up her recent acquisition? Possibly, but he was only human - or at least, mostly. At the snap of his fingers two of the security personnel selected to assist on this project soundlessly approached to receive whispered instructions. Once they had left to retrieve the bait from the van, he straightened and left his hiding place in the bushes of 1628 Revello to walk the short distance to the Slayer’s front door. Not bothering to knock or ring the bell, he delivered the agreed ultimatum.

“Hostile Seventeen, you have five minutes in which to join me before more drastic measures are taken to persuade you to comply.” Smith could hear nothing from inside the house and motioned for the D’ral shaman, hanging back by the tree, to join him; the magic dealer always gave him the creeps but was a necessary evil – so to speak. “What are you picking up from in there? He is there, isn’t he? Would just be our luck if the Slayer has him stashed somewhere else.”

The robed demon tilted his head to one side and stared at the closed front door with gleaming green eyes. “It has protection, the house. I cannot see inside. Why would the Slayer remove her slave from protected place? Does not sense make.”

Not what Smith wanted to hear. He had no choice but to carry on as if it were a given that the vampire were in there. For all they knew he could be chained in a cage in the basement, unable to reach them. No matter. They’d try it this way first and then just break in if they had to. As long as the Slayer stayed away there should be no problem and enough time to take whatever measures they deemed necessary for success.

A scuffling noise drew his attention away from the shaman and towards the two black-clad members of the brawn-set, returning with a dark-haired woman almost floating between them. The boss’s current favourite toy, one about whom Smith had separate, and completely confidential orders, from the Senior Partners - all unknown to Angel. Something to smile about...so he did.

Dark eyes settled on the porch before dropping shut as she lifted her head and sniffed the air. A small smile, a secret smile, curved her red mouth as she started to whisper to herself. “Destiny calls, my sweet dark knight. No more dances for you in the silver light, now all must be gold or you will refuse to mark a lady’s card and take her for a whirl across the floor.” Her lips trembled once, the smile slipping before blooming wider and brighter. “Ah, such things you will do to annoy daddy, bad daddy, sad daddy, mad daddy. Daddy takes such paths, twisty ones laid out by masters; he is lost and knows it not. Not for him the shiny prize he seeks so hard. And soon his consolation will be gone too.” A pout, then silence. Drusilla swayed lightly, eyes closed fast and looking more like a sleepwalker than anything else, a sleepwalker in a crimson gown of velvet.

Smith frowned at the vampire seer. “See, it’s that loose mouth of yours which is going to get you offed, Drusilla. Your tittle-tattling has gone on for long enough. If only you could have learnt to be discreet, well…”

Drusilla glanced at him, another smile hovering. “The stars are screaming, can’t you hear, silly man? Are you deaf to the wonderful wrongness, or is your head so full of lying scribbles on dry parchment that you close your ears to their cries? Tsk! Bad dog! Grrrr! No bone for you, naughty puppy. No Christmas presents tied up with bows for the deaf and blind. I know.” She laughed then, a tinkling girlish giggle. “All your fine plans with be for nought, pride before the fall. And the meek shall inherit the earth, and the lion will lay with the wolf to guard the flock, all those little lambs protected from poachers. Such tender shepherds will allow no mint sauce, no vinegar. Where will the meat be then? What shall we eat?”

Before he could give in to the temptation to strike the smile from her face, Smith’s cell phone demanded his attention. One curt phrase was thrown at him, and the news was not good.

Turning back to face the door he called out, to what he hoped was an audience within. “Time’s up. Come out now or your Sire becomes dust.”

***

Tara hadn’t thought it possible for the vampire beside her to become any paler, but she’d been wrong. When the man outside had given his demands both Willow and Tara had giggled slightly, nervous hysteria pulling at them both. It had taken just one look at Spike’s face to kill even that wonky semblance of mirth. Fear and resignation were there, staining his eyes and tensing the fine muscles of his gaunt face. None of them had expected such openness from the enemy outside; it wasn’t what they’d prepared for, in as much as they had prepared for anything. This directness was off-putting but easily fielded. They ignored it, simple.

The second time they heard the voice there was no inclination toward laughter.

***

He’d felt her presence, of course he had. A shock after so long apart, a sudden reconnection to the way things had been when he’d been whole, as nature had meant him to be. Conflicting emotions tore through him and his demon. The residue of man he had been stymied by the response the demon cried out for; wanting to tear through the door and welcome his family, his dark princess, but also wanting to warn her away from his home and send her packing.

Spike could feel Red and Glinda, feel their agitation and fear. It took him a moment to understand that they were afraid of what he would do, or try to do. And that was his stumbling block.

So much in him had, for so many years, been in the habit of protecting his Ripe Wicked Plum, and it was his first instinct was to do it again…now. But the demon had made its choice and it was screaming at him to stay. Dru had left him, pushed him away when all he’d ever wanted was to be hers. The Slayer had chosen him, wanted him to be by her side, picked him out from hundreds of others, given instead of taken, and made him feel again.

Old loyalties warred with new.

“You can’t go out there, Spike,” Tara’s voice wobbled, but held firmly enough. “I’m sorry, but you just can’t.”

He glanced up from his unseeing perusal of the floor to find the good witch positioned between him and the door, determination fixed on her usually placid face. Spike was about to concede, agree – it was what he wanted, right? – when the tosser outside upset the applecart once and for all.

“And if that fails to move you, then we’ll just have to remove your current custodian from the mix. Your choice. It’s make your mind –“

Tara stepped back, frightened to her bones as Spike’s face shifted, golden eyes glaring at her momentarily before he threw his head back and howled, a sound of anger and loss which caught her in its reverberation. As quickly as it had come it was gone, the golden eyes now an agonised blue eyes looking between her and Willow.

“Let me out. Can’t let them hurt the Slayer.” Spike strove to keep a handle on his fear, gladly welcoming the support of his demon; together they could do this, give it up to ensure her safety, watch her back. Even if it meant they never saw her again, were forever parted from their unknowing sanctuary. He watched as the two birds communicated wordlessly, and added his voice to the mix, as low and persuasive as he knew how to be. “Gotta let me do this. You know that. Tell her…tell her I’m sorry we didn’t get to dance together, didn’t get a chance at the nasties. Tell her…thank you, for everything.”

It was strange, watching as the vampire pulled himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders, all emotion gone now from his face. Impulsively, Tara moved forward and embraced him, ignoring the way he held himself stiffly in her arms and only just catching his whispered, “Thanks, pet.” Then he was going past her, opening the door and stepping outside.

“Upstairs, Joyce’s old room. It looks over the front of the house and if we can get the window open without being noticed…” Willow tugged at Tara’s hand and they flew up the stairs together, eager to be ready if opportunity – or fate – gave them an opening.

***

In the end it was decided to take only the most inconspicuous onto the streets. Not a popular move as they were all more than keen to be a part of the action, agreement only coming when Willy pointed out that at this rate they’d be too late if they didn’t get a move on. Seeing the vampiress taken from the van and being closely escorted down to the Slayer’s house had caused more than a little consternation…and triggered the need for action. Now.

Willy knew the Slayer was on her way back, should be here very shortly, but it didn’t take more than a moment for things to go wrong and if Wolfram & Hart’s minions were making moves, well, time for them to be covered. The dirty dozen left to circle - as inconspicuously as twelve variously sized, shaped and coloured demon beings could - to cover their opponents, all with strict instructions to do their utmost not to take out any humans unless absolutely necessary or they’d have the Slayer to answer to.

The two Wolfram & Hart morons stationed at the rear of the Summers’ residence had been knocked unconscious with ease, demons taking their places as the others moved as close to the front of the house as possible without giving themselves away. Willy had heard the threat levelled at the Slayer and quickly sent two of his troop back with the intel, confident that his comrades would think of something to keep her safe.

When Spike left the house, presented himself to the arsehole in a suit, Willy began to wonder if this was all going to end badly after all.

***

The last few days would soon seem like a dream, if he lasted long enough to be bothered by dreams again. It had been too good to last; he’d known that on some level. Seemed like nothing would ever be right in this skewed world where the food owned its predators and demon-orientated organisations, like Wolfram & Hart, stood beside them. But it had been something to have a respite from the new reality, to be seen again, to be real in some way to another being. ‘Slayer.’

Spike stepped off the porch, his eyes never straying from the form of his Sire, the one who had made it possible for his demon to escape a distant hell dimension to take up residence in his undead flesh. As always, Drusilla looked beautiful. Her lustrous dark hair emphasised her paleness and rich red lips, lips he’d known so well once upon a century. ‘Ah, the things we did, my lovely. The fine times we had travelling the world, taking what we wanted, when we wanted, and not a thought for the morrow. Fucking and feeding across continents, fighting anything we fancied for the hell of it.”

“’Allo, princess,” Spike respectfully greeted his maker before being pushed to his knees by the devil-claimed suit he’d seen at the auction. He held himself still, fixated on his once and for so long lover as experienced hands placed the leather-covered metal braid collar around his neck, leaving it deceptively loose in the knowledge that the only way to remove it with force would take his head off too. A connecting strip at the front of the collar led down to the cuffs now being fastened about his wrists. He ignored the man completely, his senses taken over fully with the presence of family.

Dru felt the purposes of greater beings coming to bear, the ones who had whispered such things to her the last few days, shown her path after path that had – or had not– been taken by her, by Spike, by Daddy and Grandmum.

Some things stayed the same in all of those possible worlds, some were reached via a different path. Daddy, the bad one with a soul, always dusted Darla. Sometimes she came back. Spike always made that deal with the Slayer to stop Angelus – well, except for the one time he didn’t, and the world ended. She always pushed Spike away, eventually. Angel always joined Wolfram & Hart – except for that time he’d ended the world – and was nearly always blind to the corruption seeping into him and twisting his cursed soul. Spike always sought out the Slayer. Most times that ended very badly for her poor dark knight, so eager for love and belonging, trying to be what he was not for she who wielded the flaming sword of righteousness. Only when the Slayer had freely chosen Spike to stand by her side had that path taken better turns, when her Chosen-ness could look upon his pain as a kind of payment for all that had gone on before the nasty chip fizzled its blue torture in his head.

Knowing the path before her, having been shown, she delivered the message she’d been entrusted with, in her own way. “Happy twenty-first, William. Now you have the key of the door best look after it, sweet childe. Mummy loves you.”

It only took three strides then he was behind her, stake slipped from his pocket and with a perfect view of Hostile Seventeen’s face he thrust it home and withdrew. Dust clouded the devastation on the other vampire’s face for a second, but not enough to make this less than a most satisfactory moment for Smith.

There was a moment of perfect stillness, and then all hell broke loose.

***

A/N: Sorry not to have posted this before – is because it is not my favouritest chappie. But as it is the best version I have right now (I give myself full permission to come back and possibly amend some time in the future) I thought it time I shared it here. Hope it still manages to entertain. Hopeful that next chappie won’t take so bloody long! BFN

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: Amy, Chrissie and Willa. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support, read throughs and hand-holding.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated, always.


Chapter 17

By the time they reached the bottom of the winding road Buffy had revised her opinion of Clem’s driving - it was exhilarating. Who’d have thought? She’d felt empathy for the passengers and drivers of the two cars coming in the opposite direction on the way down - shocked white faces picked up briefly in the headlights as they’d flashed by and the sound of horns chasing after them.

Unfortunately, the little car failed to live up to her expectations once the road levelled out and its horsepower lost the benefit of gravity. Her need for speed was not going to be fulfilled and having the time to think wasn’t what she wanted right now, not when everything pointed to a setup by Angel. It was at times like this she actually missed having a Watcher, though thoughts of Giles did nothing to make her any calmer. No use believing what Angel had told her until she’d checked it out, but it held the unwelcome ring of truth - Spike wasn’t hers. Not legally.

The interior of the car was bathed in light as something approached fast from behind. In moments it had zoomed past them, a motorcycle, its driver obviously in a hurry. If Buffy hadn’t known better she could have sworn…

“Clem! Make this heap go faster. I think that was Angel.”

***

Willow trembled with a mixture of dread and longing, hoping Tara’s calming presence would be enough to prevent her from giving in to the lure of the magic that had started to build within her. It just felt so good to sense the power itching to flow outwards, to put its stamp on the world, beginning with her little corner of it. Without conscious thought her hand reached out blindly and was instantly clasped, the answering grasp light but firm. A wave of calm coursed through her, chased by a small tingle that set the hairs standing on her arms - and other places – on end. This was okay. This was doable.

Staring at the scene below, Tara kept channelling into her lover a soundless benediction of the Goddess as she studied the auras of the players: two vampires, three humans and a sinisterly robed demon. A small smile tugged at her mouth when she noted that the purest aura came from a vampire…and it wasn’t a demon that possessed the darkest. Sadly, this wasn’t a shock to her.

A shift, a balance, flowed back to her through Willow. Good. Ready, sweetie?

Ready as I’ll ever be. Willow swallowed before she turned to smile at Tara, uncertainty receded and she knew that together they’d be able to do this…even through the little jittery butterflies of nervousness. It really was getting a tiny bit better every time they cast together, but Willow was in no hurry to feel overly confident in her magic again. Tara would be her guide and anchor for the very foreseeable future. Just the way she liked it. She accepted that she had power, but not the experience or mindset to use it as nature intended, and it had been a lesson she’d learned the hard and painful way.

It didn’t look good for Spike out there. The suit man had just finished putting some sort of collar on him and fastened his hands in front. Willow drew forth some elemental juice and stared intently at the lock of the window in front of her, watching as it unlocked and drifted silently open. Neat!

Very nice, Willow! Tara was straining to hear what the vampiress was saying.

“Happy twenty-first, William. Now you have the key of the door best look after it, sweet childe. Mummy loves you.”

Tara just caught the fond smile sent by the dark haired woman toward Spike before the suit man moved swiftly behind her and shoved. At least, it had looked like a shove. For a split second, just as the woman’s back arched and her head was thrown back, their eyes met and held.

Acceptance.

A calm acceptance of what was to come. Then she crumbled, seeming to internally combust without the obvious signs of fire or smoke, until only the skeletal ashes remained, poised in defiance for a nanosecond or ten before puffing outwards and drifting to earth.

The silence was, in a way that had to be heard to be believed, deafening. But Tara’s senses were still attuned to the auras of the diminished band of players, and she was moved to tears by what she saw happening on the small lawn in front of Buffy’s house.

As the last of the dust settled, a shade appeared. Deep charcoal and dense, it shimmered for a second and then separated, became two. The strongest was black as ebony, writhing in what looked to be pain as it seeped into the earth and disappeared. Left was the palest and most translucent aura Tara had ever seen…but it was there, no doubt about that. It floated slowly but steadily into the air, after a few feet began to gain speed and then… Blink!

Gone.

Time resumed its normal service and all hell broke loose.

***

The initial anger he’d felt at being deserted by Buffy had been replaced with rage when he’d found his car unusable. Someone would pay for that…when he had more time. Angel had been sorely tempted to take out his ire on the owner of the machine he’d borrowed. He’d barely restrained himself when the guy had pulled up beside him in the parking lot to offer smirking sympathy at the vandalism to his beauty. The smirk had left the man’s face somewhere between being pulled from the seat of his motorbike, and hitting the wall he’d been casually tossed against. Catching the bike before it hit the ground, Angel didn’t bother to watch the jerk collapse in a heap as he leapt on and increased the revs with a twist of his wrist. Then he was off, recklessly speeding down into Sunnydale…and toward Revello Drive.

***

It seemed to happen so fast, yet there was still more than enough time to engrave the scene so deeply into his memory that Spike knew it would be there for the rest of his days…however many of those he had left.

The bastard from Wolfram & Hart had dusted Dru. Just like that. No reason, no fight, no nothing done to provoke…just Dru babbling a sentence of her usual cryptic nonsense. And now his Sire was forever gone, never to be worried about or seen again, touched nor heard from ever again. Gone. Forever gone.

Spike had done what they’d demanded; he’d left the safe sanctuary of the house, had allowed himself to be trussed up, so there was no call for that evil soul-mortgaged bastard to shove deadly wood into her back. Nobody staked his Sire and got away with it. Her executioner didn’t get to hide behind the two wankers who’d recently flanked the unliving flesh of his Dark Princess.

As the last of the dust fell to earth Spike changed, felt his demon rise in accord with his desire to maim - if not kill - this despicable servant of Angel’s. Revenge for Drusilla, protection for the Slayer. His fangs were still lengthening as he launched himself at the smug face of the murdering sod, growl growing until he ploughed into the men and was momentarily paralysed as the chip fired. ‘Fucking, bloody, buggering hell! Forgot how much that hurts.’

An involuntary cry of pain escaped as his disobedient body dropped to the ground, still twitching as hot burning agony spread out along his nerve endings from the epicentre of the eruption in his brain. Muscles spasmed, contracting and twisting as the effects of the chip were distributed through his frame. It didn’t last long, but it was hell whilst it did.

Just needed a minute or so to recover, then he’d try again. Maybe two minutes.

***

Tara blinked, her vision interrupted for only a moment, but when she opened her eyes everyone had moved.

Spike had vamped out and was trying to throw himself at the suit man, who in turn was hiding behind his two minions. The robed demon had dropped to his knees beside the dusty remains of the vampiress and was pulling a small container from a hidden pocket. Suit guy was trying to take something from his jacket pocket, stumbling back a couple of steps when Spike ploughed into the human shield and fell to his knees with a cry. The chip must have gone off.

From the side of the house burst a motley collection of demons, all giving the immediate impression of being ready, willing and very able to rescue Spike and see off the unwelcome intruders in a matter of minutes...if not seconds. And that would be helpful, because the security thugs were pulling the limp vampire up by his arms and looked to be intent on dragging him away. That is, until they latched on to the threat to their own safety.

Everything seemed to speed up even more.

Spike was unceremoniously dropped as tasers were pulled from belt holsters and fired towards Willy’s ragtag crew. Unsuccessfully fired. Tara could sense the satisfaction flowing from Willow as the malfunctioning weapons were dropped as if they were on fire, not completely unlikely if her lover were using heat to render them unusable. In moments, the two men were exchanging blows with three demons of varying size and ability, barely managing to keep upright as they were driven back and into the road. Suit man was dancing out of the way and edging toward the hunched figure of Spike.

“Backup! Bit of help needed here!” Suit man shouted, almost tripping over the robed demon who had now started to scoop dust into a small tin, completely focussed on his task and ignoring the scuffling going on around him.

Willy had just come into sight and was calling out encouragement to his bunch of diverse beings. “Tran, keep him busy, use your left...okay, use your right. Whatever works for you is good. Hey, Brg, watch it there! Remember what we agreed, guys! Don’t you go forgetting and… Nice one, Graq!”

The last referred to Graq’s adroit tripping of one of the men, before dropping down onto his victim’s back with a thump, driving the breath from him and using his weight to keep him out of commission.

Above the growing sounds of fighting could be heard the throaty rumble of a motorbike approaching at speed. Moments later it roared along Revello, transferring layers of rubber from its tyres to the road as it came to a skidding halt that just missed taking out the scuffling mix of demons and men on the road in front of the house. Even without an introduction Tara knew who the newcomer was.

Angel.

***

Brown eyes scanned the scene from beneath knit brows as Angel absently killed the engine of the stolen motorbike and dismounted, negligently letting the machine fall to the road with a clunk. Everything before him was wrong…well, except for Spike being out of the house and suitably restrained.

He’d given explicit instructions to Smith that this operation was to be handled with finesse and discretion; even the residents of Sunnydale were apt to call on their law enforcement services when violence erupted on their doorsteps during the night. The days of turning a blind eye and blaming it on drugged up gangs had long since lost its adequacy as an explanation since the outing of vampires as a fact and not a fancy.

Angel noted with satisfaction that everyone had stilled on his arrival, almost all eyes were turned his way. He was the centre of attention, just the way it should be. But that was about all there was to be satisfied about. Only two of the four men in his security team were visible, and one of those was being used as a cushion by a hefty blue-tinged demon. The other was being effectively corralled by two more demons, his efforts to evade them blocked at every turn.

Turning his attention back to the more interesting centrepiece on Buffy’s front lawn, Angel’s eyes met those of his supposed assistant, the one foisted on him by the Senior Partners for this mission. Smith. A hint of unease showed in the man’s eyes, possibly caused by being caught in the middle of this farce with a small gun in his hand, though there was nothing farcical about the weapon. Each tiny bullet was doctored to explode inside whatever - or whoever - it hit, and a flesh wound would absorb enough of the venom it was coated in to drop an elephant. Anything smaller it tended to kill. Not something he trusted Smith to use judiciously.

“Put that away,” Angel ordered, frowning when the man hesitated before obeying him with obvious reluctance. “Where’s the rest of the team? And what is he doing?” The last was accompanied by a scowl at the shaman who had ignored him completely and continued with his task – whatever that was – since he’d arrived. Green eyes flashed up to fix on Angel as the shaman closed his filled tin with a snap and rose to his feet, his precious booty finding its way into a hidden pocket in the depths of his voluminous robe. The lack of response was doing nothing to improve the souled vampire’s temper. But there was no time to discipline his subordinates now. Buffy could, would, arrive at any moment and he wanted to be gone before she did, with Spike safely in his keeping. Possession was, after all, nine tenths of the law.

“I would say it’s nice to see you again, Angel, but you’d know I was lying,” Willy remarked in a voice that sounded far steadier than he felt. Where was the Slayer? He threw away the practices of a lifetime and moved, with his five comrades comfortingly close behind, to stand as firmly as he could behind the kneeling figure of Spike. He wasn’t quite sure himself if this was the bravest thing he had ever done, or the most foolhardy. And it wasn’t Angel that was causing a slight cramping in the pit of his stomach.

Sure, Angel was a dangerous customer…when he was Angelus. It was the CEO of the nearest branch of Wolfram & Hart - who, yeah, just happened to be Angel – that had the power to make things very bad for the Sunnydale community of demons. The same demons who had gone against feud and tradition to negotiate their way past prior inclinations and into a place where they had at least a chance to weather the increasing incursions of the Initiative. Vampires weren’t the only members of demonkind who were in short supply in the wild nowadays.

Wolfram & Hart had both the best and worst of reputations. Trans-dimensional, almost completely run by demons for demons, it had much to recommend itself as a plausible law firm for any demon of worth to take his custom to. And they were good, very good. Devilishly good. Right up until the moment that you were up against another client of theirs. Then, well, the value of the payment required could often take on the form of favours in the future, or the passing over of your firstborn, stuff like that. Which was fine and dandy.

Willy understood the intricacies of dealing with demons, how you had to walk a few yards in their shoes in order to even try to understand the values each different species placed on what, to a human, would be deemed trivial or taboo. But he hadn’t met one who thought giving away its first born was nothing. Wolfram & Hart drove hard deals for their clients, and even harder ones to their clients. It was to be expected that honour would be shed after such a long association with humans in this dimension.

So, Angel had some real power.

Not counting the physical kind he looked about ready to unleash in Willy’s direction.

***

Buffy hadn’t had a night go so wrong for her in ages. Even her near death experiences when she zoned out had been less fraught than tonight. And this was being picked up by an – in her opinion – overzealous cop as Clem pushed the pedal to the metal and dragged every horse, screaming and kicking, from his economical engine. The sirens screamed behind them, blue lights flashing in a gaudy - and totally unnecessary - manner. Why couldn’t the fates have smiled on her for once and sent them after Angel instead?

Only two more junctions and she’d be home.

Gripping her stake tightly in her right hand, Buffy let her left rest on the release to her seatbelt. She was ready to face her former lover…to the death, if need be.

***

Willow let out a heartfelt sigh of relief as she finished unbuckling the clasps to Spike’s restraints, thankful yet again for the superb training she had been fortunate enough to receive with Tara in England. Using the power with such subtlety and adroitness was far more difficult and challenging than the wham bang blasts of energy that she yearned to unleash as a testament to her innate superiority. She had been convincingly educated that being superior in power and potential did not equal better. Just meant you had to learn more in order to understand your limitations. Tonight she and Tara had done good, using a little to achieve a lot, small touches that yielded the best results; an open window, sending heat into the black uniformed guys’ tasers, freeing Spike.

She wanted to use more, show more, and make them all understand how powerful she was. Willow knew she could make so many things better in the world if only they let her. The temptation would be there forever, she understood that. Just as she truly understood that her old way would also lead to the destruction of all she held dear.

Holding the binding spell carefully in her mind, Willow prayed that Spike made the most of the opportunity she had given him. The temptation to freeze the scene and take out the bad guys was almost too much to pass by. But she wasn’t going to lose Tara again, not over a vampire who had yet to completely become a person she deeply cared about. Maybe then she’d be as careful for him. Until then she would do her best for Tara…and Buffy.

Where was she?

***

He’d held himself still - crouched on his knees - from the moment he’d felt the presence of Peaches. Now he had a new focus for his grief-driven rage.

He’d listened to his misbegotten grandsire’s words to the murderer of his sire, Angel’s childe. Spike could sense the man’s fear, heard the way his heartbeat hitched a little when the other vampire spoke to him. It wasn’t important. All thoughts of attempted revenge were pushed one side as the safety of his Slayer – the last person left in his universe to have any currency with him – became paramount.

Where was she?

Spike almost gave himself away when he heard the barkeep stand up to Angel. He almost gave himself away when he felt his bonds start to loosen, opened his eyes and watched the buckles on the cuffs about his wrists freed themselves…as if by magic.

Red and Glinda - they were helping him.

Slowly raising his head, Spike looked upon his grandsire for the first time in five weeks. Strange, he looked almost benign in his blue silk shirt and black dress trousers. Nothing like the twisted bastard Spike knew him to be.

“Where is she?” he asked, needing to know where his beloved was. “What have you done to her?”

Angel, as was his wont, completely misunderstood. He’d half expected Spike would ask about Drusilla, his companion for far too many years, especially if Smith had used empty threats against the seeress to persuade the chipped vampire to leave his temporary residence. He wished he’d been able to see his face when he’d realised it was just a ruse. There wasn’t time to regret what could have been a nice little visual to tuck away for future gloating; they had to get out of here…now.

Not concerned in the least with the weak threat presented by Willy the Snitch and his group of demon misfits – there was no reason for concern with a powerful shaman by his side – Angel glared at the man as he stepped forward and, roughly gripping Spike by the upper arms, dragged him to his feet. If the blue fire in the eyes that locked on his had been able to escape, Angel had no doubt he would be instantly incinerated. There was more spirit left here than expected, something he would take pleasure in quashing over the coming weeks and months, years even.

“Drusilla?” Angel grinned, his agile mind already making plans to include his insane childe in some of the many methods he would employ to break Spike…once and for all. Who said fulfilling a prophecy couldn’t have benefits? “Feel her nearby can you, boy?” He couldn’t. The part of his brain that registered the presence of his vampiric family was all taken up with the major irritation he now held firmly in his hands. “If you behave I might even let you see her. Might…” Angel trailed off as Spike started to laugh.

He didn’t know. The Great Poofter didn’t know that his most painstaking creation had passed beyond his reach, despatched by his own minion. A movement caught his eye over Angel’s shoulder, the murderous wanker shifting uncomfortably but keeping silent. It was too funny, too bloody funny.

Spike started to laugh. Even to his own ears the sound was anything but amused, a hint of anguish threaded through the sniggering which ended as he changed, let his true face show. With a jerk he pulled out of the collar and cuffs so stealthily released by witchy talents, wrenched himself from Angel’s grasp, and stepped back to align with the Raggedy Rebels of Sunnyhell.

The screaming sirens which had barely registered before were rapidly drawing nearer, accompanied by the sound of screeching tyres leaving far too much rubber on the tarmac as they cornered under duress. He felt her, coming closer, and it was all he needed.

All he needed to explode into welcome action, for once surprising Angel as his momentum carried them both to the ground when he smashed into him. Both were on their feet in an instant, two master vampires ready to tear each other apart in a flurry of fists and fangs…or anything else needed to vanquish the other.

So intent was he on dodging the meaty fists trying to rearrange his face, so intent was he on keeping his balance after a well placed kick connected with Angel’s kneecap, that he didn’t hear the voice over their combined growls and snarls. It wasn’t until it was repeated, louder, that he vaguely considered obeying it.

“I said freeze, damnit! Anyone still moving on the count of three can consider themselves under arrest!”

One.

***

Willow blocked out the squeal of tyres, the wail of the siren almost upon them, and pulled tight the invisible bands she’d been weaving around the demon magician – she could feel his dark power from here – and Drusilla’s nemesis. Satisfaction flowed between Tara and her when they saw the pair realise they’d been neutralised and began a futile struggle to break free. It would have been good to tackle Angel in the same way…but Spike seemed intent on giving that a go in his own way. And now that Buffy was here, oh, and the cops…

Two.

***

Clem hummed happily under his breath as he brought the car to a dramatic halt inches away from the guys in the street…and an abandoned motorbike. The Slayer was out of the passenger door before all forward movement had ceased, clearing the bonnet and moving to join the action on her front lawn. His friends in blue were going to be mighty pissed at him for speeding…again, but getting another ticket was worth every second of the wild trip. He wouldn’t have missed scaring the Slayer for the world.

Three.

***

With the cops on their tail, Buffy knew that things were going to get even more complicated than they already were. Her heart leapt into her mouth when they skidded round the last corner into Revello Drive…and the discarded motorbike confirmed her fear that it had been Angel to overtake them. “Spike.”

That wasn’t the only thing cluttering the road. Three regulars from Willy’s were keeping a couple of celebrity bodyguard clones from getting involved in the vampire brawl taking place on her not overly large front lawn. Buffy vaguely noted Willy and more of his cronies backed up against the porch as she launched herself from Clem’s car and looked for an opening between the two growling antagonists. Right now Buffy wanted to kick both their butts - Angel for his underhand attempted theft of Spike, and Spike for being outside the house where she’d left him. The chipped vampire had better have a damned good reason for being so stupid.

Before she could make a move Sunnydale’s finest took charge of the situation.

“I said freeze, damnit! Anyone still moving on the count of three can consider themselves under arrest!”

Angel’s fist chose that moment to find its target and smash into Spike’s jaw, sending him reeling for a few steps until strong hands stopped and steadied him. “Buffy.”

Shame Angel remained totally oblivious to the presence of the law, his obsession blinding him.

Fortunate that Clem was able to direct Chuck – the cop he’d had the pleasure of receiving tickets for speeding violations from on many other occasions – to the fact his partner was now approaching a vampire without a chip.

Predictable that Chuck’s shouted warning to Wayne was lost in his partner’s last emphatic shout of “Three!” and coincided with the long arm of the law touching Angel on the shoulder…only to be thrown off.

“Okay, mister. You’ve had your chance. You’re under arrest,” Wayne stated, reaching to his belt for the cuffs.

Finally, Angel understood that his control of the situation had shifted whilst he had been blinkered to everything except Spike. Buffy was there. She was holding onto the other vampire, adding her glare to his, blue and hazel sending identical messages of loathing his way loud and clear.

Then the words sank in.

Morphing back to his human guise, Angel spun to stare in disbelief at the cop. “You can’t arrest me. I’m the CEO of Wolfram & Hart.”

For the second time that night Spike laughed.

***

A/N: As always, I hope this entertained.

This will be the last chapter for a while; BB is going on summer vacation and isn’t expected back until September. But it will be on a working holiday and I hope to stockpile a couple of chapters to post in much quicker succession than has been my wont of late. I am tentatively hopeful that I will have other fic to offer soon-ish.

Thank you very sincerely for all the comments so far – I hope you’ll be back for more in a couple of months. *hugs* xxx

This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: Chrissie and Megan. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support, read throughs and hand-holding, above and beyond the call of friendship.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated, always. It’s been a long time but I hope you think the wait worthwhile.

Chapter 18


He was a fool, a total and utter fool.

On some level Spike knew his self-directed anger was a fragile device barely staving off the almost numbing terror he felt at being, once again, in a cell. The interminable waiting was playing on his already tightly strung nerves, the silence leaving him with nothing but his internal ranting to distract him from the decisions that were, even now, being made concerning his fate. So he was a fool, and he listed the ways. That was preferable to any of his other limited alternatives.

A bloody fool.

Should have grabbed the money the Slayer had offered, tipped a metaphorical hat in her direction, and scarpered. But no, he’d had to listen to his whinging demon and wallow in the feelings the Slayer had evoked in him over the last few days. Had to fool himself that he was love’s bitch – again – and that by staying he could do something to help the small blonde carry out her sacred bloody duty. What a laugh, what a sodding pathetic laugh. Liar.

If he’d left when presented with the opportunity then Drusilla would still be in one piece. No. If he hadn’t been suckered in with poncy delusions of belonging with the Slayer, over and above the fact that she owned his carcass, he’d have been long gone. Tell yourself that, fool! If he hadn’t been such a pushover, such a weak git ready to roll over and have his belly scratched at the first bit of kindness thrown his way… And what’s wrong with that? Spike couldn’t stop the visual of the Slayer’s warm hands coursing across his stomach, dipping lower, teasing gently… No! Yes!

A low growl escaped and he glanced up through his lashes to see if the solitary guard had heard. The man was still flicking through the periodical on his desk, absorbed in the words or pictures it held. Not that Spike blamed him; it had to be more interesting than watching a couple of vampires doing nothing in the cells opposite.

Knowing that Angel was enjoying even less hospitality than he was himself was small comfort though; for all the difference it made, Spike may as well have not survived the auction. And should Angel’s minion have his way then he would soon be dust for attacking him, his last bridge irrevocably burnt…with him on it.

Closing his eyes, Spike slowly let go of his manufactured anger – tried to ignore his latest frustrating and unsolicited hard on – and chose instead to play back the almost farcical series of events which had led him here, to an Initiative-reminiscent cell beneath Sunnydale’s Police Headquarters.

Spike shifted slightly on the foam mat he knelt on, trying to find a better position and trying even harder to quell the rising fear that threatened to undo him. Too many buried memories that stemmed from his first capture by the commandos were struggling to surface, triggered by the white tiled walls and floor of the cell, the bright fluorescent lighting, and further reinforced by the overlaying smell of disinfectant in the artificially cycled air. Trying not to take unwanted breaths was proving to be beyond him, his body refusing to take instruction from a brain still reacting to the aftershocks from a fired chip.

Could he have done anything differently to prevent Drusilla’s dusting once he’d left the relative safety of the Slayer’s house? He didn’t think so; his actions had initially been prompted by his desire to keep Buffy safe – there, he’d said her name, if only in his own head – and he’d stupidly assumed that Drusilla’s safety wasn’t even in question, that it would automatically be part of a two-for-the-price-of-one deal. Bloody hell, he’d never dreamt that Angel would want his creation to be dissolved so permanently. In that, at least, Spike thought Big and Broody could feasibly be without guilt. For a change.

For all his many sins, Angel had given every impression of honestly knowing nothing of Dru’s demise. Even now the great pillock was unaware, still being unconscious and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. And watching his hated family member orchestrate his own incarceration had turned out to be the only entertainment of the night. His current predicament notwithstanding, Spike could still wring a small measure of wry satisfaction from the other vampire’s earlier actions.

Angel had lost his cool, unknowingly doing everything possible to encourage the police to take him down. His refusal to listen - or obey - their commands to desist had been met with a determined onslaught. Tasers and stun guns had appeared and been skilfully wielded by the strong backup to the original officers drawn to the scene in the wake of Buffy’s dramatic appearance. It had needed eight of them to take Angel down, and all the while Buffy had held him back, her hand gripping his arm as she stared grimly at her ex-honey as he captained his fate onto the grim rocks of reality.

The gratification of watching as Angel got just what he deserved had quickly been extinguished though, gone when one more group joined the not so merry throng; the form of their chariot, a black Hummer. The Rehabilitation of Anything That’s Not Human Brigade had arrived as silently as the gas guzzling vehicle allowed, spilling forth the ominously uniformed figures bristling with all the latest in ‘take out the demon’ technology. The sight of them brought back home to Spike the overstepping of many boundaries tonight, and that payment for his crimes might not be left to his mistress.

Buffy hadn’t let him be taken away without a fight though, of the verbal variety. Spike was still amazed, and warmed, by the Slayer’s defence of him. If someone had told him a week ago that a vampire slayer would be standing up for him he would have considered them ripe for the loony bin. But there she’d stood, head up and determined, as pretty as a picture in her little black frock.

Where she’d held herself still in the face of Angel’s forced submission and subsequent bondage – and Spike would have liked to have been the one to apply the chains and hood – the Slayer had become vocal and insistent that her vampire be left alone. All would have been fine and dandy if Dru’s murderer hadn’t put his oar in and levelled an assault charge in his direction. Bastard.

Spike knew what came next, how he’d been as stupid as Angel in his own way. Maybe it was a family trait. There was no avoiding the memory; it wouldn’t let him.

With nothing else to do but wait, his mind was determined to show him again and again what an idiot he’d been. Nothing could erase the Slayer’s shocked face as she’d turned to him, silently encouraging him with her eyes to refute the accusation. Nothing could make him forget his own inane response, driven from his mouth by some contrary impulse that should not have been given voice. Too late now to take back the words. Too late to wish he hadn’t been the one to add more hurt to Buffy’s already heaped plate. What had possessed him to be such a stupid git? Spike had no idea, but still he heard his own voice, almost defiant, replay in his head.

“What can I tell you? I’ve always been bad.”

***

Graq let himself in quietly, carefully wiping his booted feet on the doormat to remove the last of the grime from his traverse of the sewers. He’d stayed as long as possible, watching from the shadows until the men they’d knocked out earlier had started to stir and the Hummer belonging to the Rehabilitation of Hostile Sub Terrestrials Agency joined the three police vehicles crowded in front of the Slayer’s home. Then it was time to leave.

To his surprise, Miv was already up, sitting at her sewing table and labouring at her favourite project. Her small hands made light work of the minute stitches she plied, and she hummed softly to herself, only glancing up to smile as he entered their small apartment above ‘Suits You’, Miv’s profitable and exclusive tailoring business.

“You are back sooner than I expected,” the peacock hued Zra demon said, putting the strange garment down and rising to greet her mate. Concern coloured her gentle voice when she asked, “Did you succeed in your task, my love?”

Sighing, Graq gathered his diminutive mistress into his arms, absently stroking the soft down on her head and back with his scaled hands. “Not the success the Broker had hoped for, my sweet. The lawkeepers of the soft skins arrived at an inauspicious time and we had need to leave. The Broker has kept company with the Slayer, for there has been death of a female hybrid and interference from the dark hybrid from the City of Angels. He seeks to remove her pet, and his servants are powerful. Ow!” Miv’s sharp teeth had nipped him on the softer surface of his chest, and even through the heavy cotton shirt it was enough to cause an uncomfortable pain. “For what was that?”

Miv pulled from his embrace and mock frowned up at her beloved. “You still do not believe me, oh doubting one! The small hybrid is not a pet! He is the Companion of Prophecy…even if he is not whole right now. You shall see that I am right in this. We shall command much respect for our foresight and earn the right to walk in the Slayer’s light once the prophecy has come to pass.”

“So you keep telling me, Miv. But is this a good time to be openly allied to a soft skin? They are turning the hybrids into their slaves across this world, and how long before they set them against the rest of demonkind?” He moved to the couch, scooping a wriggling Miv up and settling her on his lap as he folded his long body down. “I suppose you’ll want me to tell you everything that happened now?” Her nodding head butted his chin lightly. And so he did.

He told how the hybrid was lured from the safety of the Slayer’s home, how – by the time the Broker and the rest of them had arrived – a hybrid had been ended, her dust collected. He spoke of the difficulty of stopping the soft skins from interfering without hurting their fragile shells, and all because they must not anger the Slayer. How things had looked to be going well when the dark one arrived, and the one Miv called the Companion had stood up to him with his demon to the fore. Graq relayed the entrance of the small Slayer upon the scene, together with the lawkeepers.

When he started to chuckle, loud deep guffaws that stopped him from continuing with his tale, Miv lost patience and pinched him in the belly to bring him back to himself – though truly, it was good to hear him amused as it so seldom happened.

“What brings this on? You stop before you have finished and I wish to know more,” she murmured in his hearing opening, licking around it in just the way he liked, to show her annoyance was small, but only for a moment lest he become too distracted to continue.

“Ah, you should have seen it, Miv,” Graq smiled as he remembered the look on the dark one’s face – such indignation! “We were leaving about then, just as the Broker had said should the lawkeepers come upon us. But I could not stop my curiosity – and knew you would want every detail – so I waited a while longer and saw the dark one brought to his knees when he defied the law. Then the shaman disappeared –“

“Shaman? What shaman? You did not mention this before!” she said heatedly. Honestly, ask a male to do one small thing and… Ah! But when they know just where to scratch… “Stop trying to divert me! You are saying that the dark one brought a shaman with him?”

Graq nodded, keeping a claw rubbing along the nape of her neck. “Hush, female, and let me finish. The dark hybrid would not listen and was brought down by the sizzle sticks and spark throwers of the lawkeepers. This made the Slayer content and cheered the Companion…but not all his sadness was gone. The Broker was smoothing the way when more lawkeepers arrived and arguments commenced. The lawkeepers wished to take all to their place of judgement, which the Slayer was not happy with – especially when they laid hands on the Companion and bound him.”

Miv tsked and nodded her understanding of the Slayer’s displeasure; she would have felt the same if any being had treated Graq so.

“The Favoured of the Earth Mother left the house then and came to stand with the Broker and the Slayer. When I left the hybrids were being placed in a vehicle to be transported.” He paused and tipped Miv’s chin up so he could look into her silver eyes. “Sweetling, I had to leave then and could find out no more for you. Those Who Pervert arrived and was best I did not linger.”

Both her hearts nearly stopped at mention of those who still followed the path of the organisation responsible for the deaths of her mate’s kin. His two siblings had been taken four years ago, parts of them incorporated into Adam…and others. It had been a tragic ending to what should have been a dimension hopping treat for the close knit kin. Even worse, Graq had been stranded, his brother being the only one with the knowledge to return them back home. If Miv hadn’t found him when she did… She shuddered delicately, tightening her arms about the one who had come to mean so much to her.

“You did right,” she asserted, licking delicately about his mouth before bestowing a kiss upon his thin lips. “Come, let me show you how pleased I am…before you go back to the Broker’s tavern and wait for news.”

The groan from Graq was part disappointment that he would need to leave her side so soon, but more – much more – in anticipation of the demonstration of her pleasure. Grinning, he stood, cradling his precious cargo in his arms, and made his way to their sleeping place. He thanked again whatever powers there were that he had been fortunate enough to be taken in by such a being as his Miv.

***

She was a fool, a total and utter fool.

Buffy felt sick to her stomach, and she wasn‘t sure how much of it was caused by hunger…and how much was due to concern for Spike.

It was all her fault. She’d been such a fool and now she could lose him…and Buffy wasn’t nearly ready for that to happen. Not when he’d only just come back into her life, woken her. Saved her. And he didn’t even know what he’d done, or what he’d come to mean to her. Hell, even she barely knew what he meant to her, just that he did. Mean something. A lot of something.

She knew she’d have to examine her feelings more fully at some point, but not now. Not when everything she had was willing the outcome currently being weighed in Lieutenant Bradley’s office to tip in her favour. Their favour.

When Tara had been able to explain the awfulness that had taken place in her absence, how Angel had played her for a fool, and the way Spike had put himself out there for her…

If she’d had half a brain she’d have sent Angel packing when she opened the door tonight. ‘Nice seeing ya, Angel. Nope, Spike is not for sale…or anything else. Bye.’ Short. To the point. Succinct. But no, she’d had to play along with him, wanting to get a few answers to some questions, and maybe try to see for herself the changes that must have taken place for him to be the way Spike had described in painful detail. Damn.

Tara’s knee nudged hers. “You all right?”

Summoning a small smile from somewhere, Buffy tried to reassure her friend. “As right as a dumb dyed blonde ever is.” She sighed. “I’m doing all that hindsight and useless wishful thinking thing that is just not gonna help after the event has taken place.” Fidgeting on the bench – one obviously crafted by a demon to make people suffer – Buffy glanced over at the lone person still being interviewed by the police. “If I’d known that what’s his name - Smith – had tricked Spike into leaving the house by threatening Drusilla and me, I’d have –“

“Buffy,” Tara said, lightly touching Buffy’s hand as it rested on top of the purse on her lap, “it’s my fault for taking so long to come out. But Willow was all for squeezing Smith a bit too hard with the binding spell and needed a bit of persuasion not to.”

“Honestly? I almost wish you hadn’t stopped her,” Buffy replied, but at the disapproving look settling on Tara’s face hastily added, “Though that would have been a bad thing, totally bad and not something that Willow should be doing at all.”

Seeing the Wiccan’s lips twitch in reluctant amusement Buffy managed a slightly bigger smile. “Okay. I’m going down to get a soda and give my butt some time away from this torture device they somehow think is suitable seating. Want anything?”

“Oh, tea if they have any.”

“You got it.” Buffy rose and made her way down the stairs to the front entrance and the vending machines. Passing the front desk, she smiled absently at the desk sergeant and almost bumped into a woman hurrying from the other direction.

“Ooops! Sorry,” she said, hands steadying the tall, suited woman carrying a doctor’s bag.

The woman gave a distracted smile. “My fault,” she assured briskly. “More haste, less speed and all that.” And then she sidestepped Buffy to reach the desk. “You paged me, Vince?”

“Sure did, Doctor Munroe,” Vince agreed. “Just a standard check on an unchipped vamp they brought in tonight. His status is a bit up in the air right now, but the Agency wants the formalities taken care of in case they get to remove him.” He pulled a clipboard and a bunch of keys from under the desk and passed them to her. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Vince,” Fanny Munroe said, tucking the clipboard under one arm and taking the keys before turning to find the small blonde woman she’d almost bumped into blocking her path.

“You’re a doctor? For vampires?” Buffy mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that maybe tonight was taking a turn for the better. At the woman’s confused look and sharp nod, she drew a deep breath and produced her most winning smile. “Please, I wonder if you can help me. I have a vampire down there and there’s something wrong with him…”

***

Spike paused in the contemplation of his own ending – where he was torn between hoping that the Slayer would not be there to see him dust, and wanting her to be the one to do the deed - just long enough to note the entrance of a middle-aged woman wearing a white lab coat. It was the last knock on the barrier he’d erected around his taking and neutering, and a flood of unpleasant memories washed over him as he dipped his head and closed his eyes, taking a few minutes to shove blocks back into place as best he could.

He couldn’t close his ears though, and the electrified glass door of Angel’s cell sliding open vaguely registered, followed by the murmur of the woman’s voice a few moments later. The odd word broke through his distasteful and involuntary reverie, making it difficult to fret in a seemly manner when ‘laceration’ and ‘abrasion’ shattered his concentration.

After a few minutes the voice fell silent, the door of the cell closing as quietly as it had opened. Spike waited for the woman to leave so that he could resume his absorbed reflection of the cock up he’d made of his last chance, but it soon became clear that she had other ideas.

“Spike, I believe.”

She was standing in front of his cell, the guard beside her. From the cool appraisal in her eyes he’d been weighed and found decidedly lacking. Tough. However, there was nothing to be gained from pissing her off, so he inclined his head, keeping his expression carefully blank. Something he’d had much practice of.

“Miss Summers has engaged me in a professional capacity to conduct an examination. She has assured me that you will be compliant, and I am willing to take her word, for now.” Spike could hear the threat readying itself. “But, should you decide to resist – in any way – I shall be forced to solicit the services of others to ensure that her wishes are carried out. Is that quite clear?”

Fanny couldn’t understand why the young woman was so concerned about the creature before her. There was little to recommend him apart from startlingly blue eyes and some fine cheekbones. Other than that he was small, thin and looked more like a prison inmate than an exceptionally strong preternatural being. Now if it had been the fine specimen in the adjoining cell… She shook off her personal preferences and observed dispassionately the slight nod of affirmation given by the vampire.

The creature was gratifying obedient until they entered the room put aside for her use. At the first sight of the metal examination table - complete with straps for limbs and neck - he balked, trying to back away as his body was beset by trembling and his head shook in denial from side to side. It was on the tip of her tongue to instruct the guard to stun him when he took a shuddering breath.

Spike swallowed. Did the Slayer know how invasive and humiliating his previous ‘examinations’ had been? Not like he had a choice though; he knew from experience that any sign of refusal or rebellion on his part would just call for force to be used, and that would only make the whole thing even more disagreeable. From somewhere inside he found the strength to move forward, taking the steps necessary to reach the side of the table. Spike waited for the next instruction, knowing full well what it would be.

“Remove your clothing and get up on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The doctor turned, pulling across a folded screen before he could hear her moving to the other side of the room.

Straightening, squaring his shoulders, Spike began to remove the clothes he’d just become used to wearing again. Soon, a neat pile rested on a chair against the wall and he forced himself to hop up onto the surface, now covered by a sheet, and lay down. The guard was firm, but not forceful, as he pulled straps over Spike’s neck, wrists and ankles, making the bonds tight but not overly uncomfortable He was surprised when the guard impersonally covered Spike’s nudity with a blanket, pulled up to his shoulders, before slipping out from behind the screen. Throughout it all the man stayed silent.

Spike could feel panic surging, trying to take a grip, and forced it away. His helplessness was nothing new, but his relative freedom since the Slayer had chosen him made what had been a habitual state even harder to bear. Blinking rapidly he tried to convince himself that Buffy wouldn’t want him harmed, not even when he’d disobeyed her and added to her problems by attacking the wanker who’d finished Dru. Stood to reason she wouldn’t bother getting the doc to look at him if she’d washed her hands of him…didn’t it? Uncertainty replaced the panic, just in time for the return of the doctor.

Fanny pulled a small trolley from the wall and placed it next to the table before moving to the small sink in the corner and thoroughly washing her hands. Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, she looked down at the vampire. Having read his file it was easier to understand the fear he was trying hard not to show. His control over his demon was quite remarkable. Maybe she could see why Miss Summers showed such personal concern for him after all.

Pulling back the blanket to his waist exposed the wounds she’d been requested to give her attention to. His general state of malnutrition further answered the question of why his mistress was worried and Fanny could not but approve of her sensible husbandry.

“Ah.”

Her gloved hands moved gently from one inflamed cut to another, careful not to cause any further discomfort. Fanny had seen this before, but not for a year or so now. She just needed to take some tissue to confirm her suspicions. Without thinking, she reached for a scalpel from the trolley, feeling the vampire tense as she did so.

“I’m going to take a small amount of skin from the outer area of one of these lacerations, and a swab from the centre of the inflammation. It will be uncomfortable, but not painful.” Fanny decided to explain. She felt him relax, glancing at his face to find his eyes fixed upon her. His nod felt like permission, not that she’d needed it, but it was good to know he wouldn’t be causing trouble. Moments later she had her samples – a small hiss the only sound made as she removed a small amount of skin - and methodically readied them for inspection, questioning the vampire as she did.

“When was the last time you ate, the type of blood and the quantity?”

Spike let relief sweep the tension out of him as he settled in to answer the doc’s questions. That hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as he’d thought it would be.

***

Lieutenant Bradley pulled the last of the statements from Revello Drive across the desk. This just confirmed the majority so far. It looked like the whinging sleazoid outside, Smith, had not been strictly honest with them. Nothing new there; his long years in the force had shown him that even the most honest citizen was miserly with the truth on occasion. So what could he expect from a lawyer?

The fax from London had come through twenty minutes ago. It confirmed some organisation called the Council of Watchers had purchased the disputed vampire, Hostile Seventeen, and that Miss Summers was indeed his keeper. One thing sorted at least.

The same organisation had confirmed the other vampire’s status too; Miss Summers was proving to be a font of knowledge where vampires were concerned. So now he was just waiting for a Senior Partner from Wolfram & Hart to get back to him on Angel’s – and what sort of name was that for a member of the undead? – position within their company before deciding what to do about the pile of charges against him. Assault, theft and resisting arrest were at the top of the list.

If Smith would just drop the assault charge against Hostile Seventeen he could return the vampire to the young woman who’d been waiting pretty patiently for the last few hours…and he knew just how uncomfortable that bench was. She and her friend had refused to leave when he’d tried to encourage them to earlier. For some reason Miss Summers thought he’d do something to her vampire without telling her, and none of his assurances to the contrary had had the slightest effect.

In a way he could sympathise with her suspicions, seeing as the vamp in question was down to his last chance. Normally assault would earn a vampire a thorough whipping, enough to dissuade the critter from trying it again. Or a good bout of chip firing, though that had resulted in a few inadvertent dustings when brains had become irreparably frazzled.

If it were only Smith’s word for the assault he’d have been tempted to ignore it. But it wasn’t. His two henchmen had corroborated his version of events – another two being found unconscious at the rear of Miss Summers’ property - and even the statements from neighbours had mentioned the small vampire throwing himself towards the lawyer. Though Miss Summers was adamant Seventeen had just been obeying her orders to remain on her property when she was away - and he couldn’t charge a vamp for following its master’s instructions.

Also in Seventeen’s favour was the statement from one of Sunnydale’s leading entrepreneurs and bastion of the Chamber of Commerce. Willy was not in the habit of going out of his way for just anyone, so Buffy Summers must rank quite highly in his estimation for him to bother. The sudden ringing of his phone was a welcome distraction.

“Yeah?”

A grin spread over his face at the news from the lab. It looked like Mr Smith’s weapon had contained some very unorthodox ammunition, and the technician was talking law suits for failing to disclose the lethal substance coating each doctored shell. That was all he needed to substantiate Miss McClay’s statement of intent to murder.

“Owe you a drink, Rosie. You done good, and one young lady is gonna be mighty happy. Catch you later.”

He rose and crossed his office to open the door. Two blonde heads instantly looked his way, and he beckoned for them to join him as the fax machine came to life. There was only time to catch the letterhead – Wolfram & Hart – before he was joined by the two young women, both looking strained. Ushering them in, he indicated that they should be seated before leaning out of his door.

“Be with you directly, Mr Smith.”

***

Spike had never dressed so quickly in his unlife – and that was saying something. The doctor had released him herself before leaving the room, clipboard full of answers tucked under her arm. Her brusque manner wouldn’t be suited to the bedside of a sick patient, but it served well enough for him.

He’d barely finished pulling his blue tee back on before the guard was back to escort him to his cell, giving him a chance to see Angel coming to, and getting a reaction from his demon for the first time since he’d been locked up.

They’d removed Peaches’ leather hood, but nothing else, and it would have been mildly diverting to watch as he struggled to roll into a better position with the multitude of chains loaded onto him. Unfortunately, Spike was firmly guided into his own small piece of isolation and the chance to have a minor gloat was lost.

An alarm sounded just as his cell door locked into place, quickly followed by darkness as the light disappeared. A few moments later the emergency lighting kicked in and a dull red glow bathed the area like blood.

What the hell was going on?

***

The decision, when it came, wasn’t difficult. Annoying for their plans to have been thwarted by the ineptitude of their own tool, but trying to get the staff nowadays was proving unusually difficult. It appeared the most able were throwing in their lot with the Initiative.

Smith had been a huge disappointment and was, even now, enjoying the price of failure. Letting go of their immediate goal for Angel was a setback only acceptable due to their depth of experience with multiple methods of removing pelts…or whatever passed for a covering of the flesh. And, because Plan H had been almost presented to them as a gift when the Initiative contacted Wolfram & Hart requesting confirmation of Angel’s status, they were able to take some small measure of consolation that the souled vampire was still within their grasp. It was entirely possible that Angel, with the addition of a specifically modified chip, would be the answer to all their setbacks in bringing forth Angelus.

Instructing the shaman to dissolve the spell currently affecting the vampire’s soul – let him stew in remorse for a while – the Senior Partners dismissed the magic wielder, and settled in to discuss their new strategy.

The chalice was half full and they only needed to find the best way to make it brim over.

***

Acknowledging the promise of the Lieutenant to be with him soon, he relaxed back into his chair, hoping his inner turmoil wasn’t reflected on his face. Smith had had his work cut out so far, and he feared his best efforts were not going to cut it with the Senior Partners. What should have been a simple operation had fallen apart - and then some. His main objective, despite what Angel thought, had been to remove the seer.

When she’d willingly sought out Angel, several months earlier, no one had been overly concerned; Angel was pleased to have her company and her presence in his unlife had made him easier to…guide. That had all changed when the crazy vampire had started to babble about visions she was experiencing.

Nothing new, per se, except Drusilla had insisted they were sent to her by the Powers That Be, and that Angel should drop everything to go out into the night and save the helpless. Luckily, for all concerned, her words had fallen on deaf ears. But her recently increased persistence had signed her death warrant, as her usefulness had become far outweighed by the likelihood that, sooner or later, Angel would start to pay heed.

The subtle spell which was allowing Angelus more influence over the conscience of his soul needed more time to settle before the barrier could be torn down completely. Until then, the adulterated prophecy he’d been fed was keeping the vampire obsessed enough to allow the firm to run its usual business without any unwelcome meddling.

He tried to focus on what the officer across from him was saying - something about the charges being brought against Angel. Smith opened his mouth to, yet again, put his case against Hostile Seventeen when a burning sensation blossomed in his gut. The initial thought of too much spicy food was swiftly tossed aside when the burn became fiery agony and he doubled over with a cry. Distantly, he could hear a voice calling to him, and attempted to answer as he stood and staggered a few steps before falling to his knees, gasping as the pain took over and stole his breath away.

Something was burning.

It took moments for Smith to understand it was him. And by then it was too late.

***

“Thank you so much,” Buffy said, releasing her grasp on Lieutenant Bradley’s hand at his pained expression. “Sorry!”

She was turning to leave, eager to reclaim Spike and get the hell out of there, when the question was forced from her. “Can you tell me what is going to happen to the other vampire, to Angel?”

The lieutenant shrugged slightly, his eyes drifting towards the lawyer still in the process of interview outside. “That will depend on the final… What the hell!”

Tara and Buffy stepped out of his way as he dashed from the room, following closely behind. Smith had risen from his seat and stumbled as a noxious smell permeated the air accompanied by a shrill keening.

“Mr Smith, are you all right? Mr Smith!”

Tara clutched Buffy’s hand and they watched, horrified, as smoke then flames burst forth from the man. The two policemen had approached but were now being beaten back as the heat from the writhing figure intensified. Alarms sounded and the sprinkler system was initiated as the billowing smoke touched the ceiling.

Keeping a firm grasp on Tara’s hand, Buffy pulled her friend to the side and started to work her way around the flaming mass that used to be a person, trying not to choke on the acrid fumes as furniture and paper started to smoulder and ignite. The internal rain soaking through her dress was having no effect on the rapidly growing conflagration.

Losing the lights made Buffy pause momentarily, but her eyes adjusted quickly and she’d already tugged Tara with her to the exit before the emergency lighting had a chance to come on. Satisfied that the two men were making their way to the stairs too, she hurried down and through the deserted entrance hall into the night, joining the small crowd already evacuated from the building. The cool night air on wet clothes and skin immediately had them shivering.

All eyes were trained on the second storey where flames could be seen dancing higher in the shimmering air within. Sirens sounded in the near distance as the emergency services closed on the scene, cutting their way through the small amount of traffic cluttering Sunnydale’s roads at this hour.

Tara had had enough excitement for one night. She’d already called Willow twice to keep her up to date and had hoped to have returned to her by now, eager to let the tranquillity of their home wash away the stress of the day. Seeing that man, hearing him… Reaction was setting in, shock freezing her as much as the chill air on her wet clothes, and Tara felt the shaking intensify.

“Spike! He’s still inside.” Buffy was not immune to her friend’s state, but the vampire was in more dire need right now. She just had to get him out of there. “Wait here,” she tossed over her shoulder, dodging the desk sergeant as he waved a clipboard to block her path.

“You can’t go back in there, Miss!”

Too late. Buffy was already in, treading carefully in the eerie red light as she started the search for Spike.

***

A blanket was draped over her shoulders, and Tara turned to find a tall woman standing behind her, hands falling back to her sides.

“I noticed you come out with Miss Summers. Are you a friend?”

Tara nodded slowly, unable to speak through the chattering of her teeth.

Fanny wasn’t happy about having to do this, but she had an early appointment in the morning and there was no knowing how long her client was going to be delayed if her initial guess – that she was removing her vampire – was accurate. The best she could do was pass on the information to Miss Summers’ friend and do a follow-up tomorrow. Vampires had the same amount of patient confidentiality as a dog, so no moral codes were being broken, after all. Without further ado, Doctor Munroe summarised her findings, making the odd note as she did so, and then sealed the notes - and some other documents - into an envelope before handing it to the trembling woman.

They’d moved away from the main entrance as she spoke, removing themselves from impeding the fire crews, now loudly arrived and tackling the blaze. Controlled activity was overlaid with cries and shouts as instructions were issued and acknowledged. From the flames now erupting into the night sky, it would be some time before the fire was under control.

Casting a critical eye over the pale young woman, whose name she didn’t know, and who was unlikely to be telling her - judging from the way tremors were racking her body - Fanny decided to do one more thing before leaving.

“You need to get away from here. You’ll catch a nasty chill if you don’t get dry and warm soon. Can I give you a lift?” A decisive shake answered her. “Call someone for you?” A small hesitation, then a nod. The bedraggled woman pulled out a cellphone with a violently trembling hand and passed it to her. A single finger lifted, and Fanny hit the speed dial #1.

“Hello? I’m Doctor Munroe and I’m calling on behalf of…” She quirked a questioning eyebrow, but it was plain she was not going to get a response; the poor girl looked just about done in. “I’m sorry, I don’t know her name and she’s not able to tell me.” A shriek and babble greeted this and Fanny firmly spoke over the hysterical response her words were eliciting. “No, she is not in a hospital. Tara…” A quick nod. “…was inside the Police Department when a fire broke out. She’s wet, cold and in need of dry clothing and warmth as soon as possible. Can you come to collect her? Buffy? She’s collecting her vampire right now. I don’t know how long she’s going to be but she should be out by the time you arrive.” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait here until you arrive. Miss…?” The connection had been broken.


Passing the phone back to Tara, Fanny looked around for somewhere more secluded for them to wait for Tara’s friend. Putting her arm around her temporary charge’s shoulders, she guided her across the street to a more suitable location, one where they would still be able to see Miss Summers when she deigned to come back out.

Fanny just hoped it would be soon.

***

Spike paced, as much as he was able in the small cell. The alarms hadn’t stopped yet, indicating this wasn’t a drill. Whatever was happening up there he just hoped the Slayer and Tara were all right.

The guard had left the moment the emergency lighting came on, pulling a large torch from his desk drawer on his way. Nothing about him pointed to this being anything to be concerned about, but Spike thought the man had such a taciturn nature it would take an apocalypse to wring a response out of him. Not completely reassuring.

When he didn’t return, and a faint smell of burning laced through the air, it didn’t take a genius to come up with the answer to why his hearing was starting to suffer from the continuous ringing. The only good thing about it was its ability to drown out most of the groans and rattling coming from Peaches as he surfaced from unconsciousness.

Not going to panic. Not going to panic!

And he didn’t. Right up until the moment he looked out of his cell as he pivoted and found himself facing them. Six of them. Wearing the uniform most likely to cut through any composure he possessed and render him frozen with apprehension. Spike couldn’t move, couldn’t think. A small voice was screaming at him to get down on his knees, to remember his training, but his legs didn’t belong to him anymore and he felt immobilised by the contemptuous stares casually thrown his way.

The alarm stopped.

“What’s happening? Where am I?”

Spike found he no longer rated their notice as all heads turned to Angel’s cell and, without a word being spoken, they moved forward as one. They were going to take Peaches, and despite everything, all the reasons he had to hate his grandsire, all the retribution Spike longed to dish out, he couldn’t find it in himself to want this for the old git. No one and nothing deserved the nightmare that was going to be Angel’s lot. And there was not a sodding thing he could do about it.

Again, the sound of the cell door opening, quickly followed by a tzzing sound and a grunt. The clank of links and a scraping noise heralded the return of the commandos, now dragging an again unconscious Angel by the heels. Spike waited for them to pass him by, but was not surprised when they halted and fixed him with cold-eyed contemplation.

“What do you think? Do we take this one too?”

Enough. Spike had had enough. Over the past few days he’d been from hell to heaven…and back down again. He’d take one of two options – dust or Buffy. The Slayer being his choice, should he be given one. But there was no way he was going to let this bunch of sadistic wankers take him, not even if his head blew off from his chip firing.

He didn’t remember shifting, but the fangs and steady growling were proof enough that he had. A burst of energy flowed through his body and he shrugged, loosening muscles, bouncing lightly on his toes. The bloody light was as clear as day now he was seeing through vampiric eyes, watching as one of them reached to trigger the release mechanism for his cell, readying himself to launch an attack before the first taser could bring him down.

Then there was nothing but joy, a fierce consuming joy. He felt her. She was here. Buffy.

A cough and tapping foot sounded behind the commandos. Spinning, they narrowly avoided firing at the small blonde standing in the entrance. Her sodden black dress clung to her frame, and straggles of wet hair hung around her face. She was beautiful…and angry. Though her expression softened perceptibly as she looked past them to the vampire they’d been about to acquire.

“Um, guys? Sorry to spoil your fun. But that one’s mine.”

***

A/N: Hope this entertained. Will do best to update a lot sooner next time. BFN