When Spike awoke, he couldn’t have opened his eyes wider than a slit if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t, really. He was aware. Aware of the fact that he didn’t know where he was or what had happened to him, aware of the drugs running through his veins, the dull ache in his stomach, and he was tired, so tired, that he immediately sank back into oblivion.
It must have been hours later when he finally woke up again, and managed to open his eyes fully to the sterile hospital room he was lying in. No windows. Just a solid looking blue door. The only sound he could hear was the steady beep of his heart monitor.
“Well, at least I’m not dead,” he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse from lack of use.
Just then, an older, severe looking nurse bustled into the room, all business and scowl.
“Hello, pet,” he smiled winningly. “Any chance you’ll let me know where I am?”
“A hospital,” she said tersely, checking a reading on the machine to his right. “In Los Angeles. California.”
“Yeah, I gathered that,” Spike sighed. He moved to scratch his head, and found his left wrist handcuffed to the bed. “Oh, just great.”
“How’s your pain level?”
“On a scale of what?” At her annoyed look, he clarified, “One to ten? Good to bad? Happy face, sad face?” The irritated look persisted, so he said quickly, “Seven. I’m going to go with seven.”
“Good. I’ll raise your morphine dose in an hour or so, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Someone will be in to talk to you shortly.” The nurse left hurriedly, and once again, Spike was left alone with nothing except the sound signifying his heart beating, and his own thoughts. Memories began to slowly come back to him.
Angelus. Some how, some way, he had figured out that Spike was going to turn him in. And now his plan, years in the making, was shot to hell.
How? How could he have figured it out?
Spike was a rash, impulsive person. His emotions ruled his life, and he hated waiting, or keeping secrets. But he had been careful, so incredibly careful. Only Fred and Lorne had known all the details of his plan, and Lorne was gone, and Fred was loyal. Xander had only known the bare minimum, only known what was necessary.
So how had Angelus found out?
And Buffy. Spike remembered Buffy, fighting for him, crying over him, leaving him, because he’d forced her to. Buffy his girl. Buffy the cop. Buffy who’d lied every time she spoke.
“Bloody hell,” he groaned as a fireball of pain began in his lower abdomen.
He had known there was…something. Something she wasn’t telling him, some secret she was keeping. Those beautiful eyes of her were impossibly deep, swirling with emotion and mysteries and knowledge. It had intrigued him. Part of what drew him towards her in the first place. The fact that he never quite knew what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.
Now, he knew. Or at least, he thought he did.
Cops. Her and the boyfriend, if he was even really her boyfriend. He hoped not, but you could never quite be sure. Not that it really mattered.
Spike had never been an optimistic or trusting person. People lied, it was human nature. And everyone was selfish, only out for themselves. He’d been alive too long, seen too much and been betrayed too many times to retain any shred of respect for humanity in general. So that part of him, that suspicious, jaded part, was sure it had all been an act. A damn good act, but an act. Buffy had played him.
Oh, and how well she’d played.
A spark of hope burned inside him, though. It was tiny, but it was there. He wanted to resist it, wanted to cling to his paranoia and his hate and his loneliness. Unhappiness was comforting. Misery was his friend.
But unless she was an Oscar-caliber actress, Buffy couldn’t have faked it all, right? Her orgasms, sure, although he doubted it. But the rest?
There had been something in those eyes. Something pure, and good, and honest. And she had truly cried for him, and tried to save him. Could that all be real?
So he let the spark burn, just for a little while longer, as he settled back against his pillows, and allowed himself to be pulled back into sleep.
“She’s still not answering!” Willow moaned quietly, slamming her cell phone down onto the table in front of her. She and Xander were tucked away in a corner of his precinct, doing their best to locate the missing Buffy, while pretending as if they’d never had any idea where she was.
“I’m still waiting for the witness reports from the crash,” Xander whispered to her. “It won’t be long before someone figures out my car was involved, and was mysteriously missing a driver. Plus, the whole shooting thing is definitely raising some red flags. So we probably don’t have a lot of time.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed and started to tear at the edges of his empty coffee cup. “I almost think…we should talk to Gunn.”
Willow nodded. “I mean, at this point, it’s pretty obvious she’s in danger and we have a few of the disks, right? So even if they find her and question her at least we have some of the evidence and Gunn could help…right?”
“Right,” Xander smiled at her affectionately. He raised his voice and yelled across the room, “Hey! Gunn! Can I talk to you for a second?”
Buffy was not a patient person, for the most part. Especially when she was tied to a chair, helpless, and completely ignorant as to what was going on.
She had heard the front door open, heard a woman crying, heard the word “please”, heard Angelus laugh cruelly, then a loud smack, a whimper, and silence.
It had been too long that she’d been left alone. An hour, at least Forrest had come through once, smoked a cigarette on the balcony, and then left again, all without even looking at her.
That black briefcase was sitting in front of her. Taunting her.
Finally, Angelus came back in, alone, still humming that same obnoxious song.
“How’s it going, Buff?”
“My nose itches,” she sighed, instead of telling him how it was really going. Which was very, very badly. She hadn’t intended for him to reach out and scratch her itch for her, of course, but he did, and his touch sent waves of disgust throughout her body. He seemed to enjoy the revulsion on her face, and the way her body arched away from him.
Angelus picked up the briefcase from the floor and set it on the coffee table. He smiled as he opened it, and from where she was sitting, Buffy couldn’t see any of its contents. That prick of fear about the case grew at the delighted look on her captor’s face.
He rummaged around, and said, “Well, little girl. Things are getting more and more interesting around here, and it turns out I don’t really need you any more. Anything you had to tell me has suddenly become…worthless.”
“Really?” she asked, her heart pounding. “I don’t suppose that means you’re going to let me go, does it?”
His bark of laughter was the response she’d expected.
“You know better than that,” Angelus murmured, eyes glittering.
From the briefcase, he pulled out a syringe and a small vial of crystal clear blue liquid.
“You’re going to serve an entirely different purpose now.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I made my self-enforced deadline! Go me. Thanks as always to everyone who takes the time to review and let me know what they think of my fic! Just an ego boost, let me tell you. Enjoy the chapter, and keep in mind that the events aren’t necessarily occurring simultaneously.