Tracker - part two
Buffy watched Spike carefully as they got out of the transporter in the underground garage at the Initiative’s headquarters. The vampire had given no other indication of knowing her or resenting the fact that she’d killed his sire.
Lagging behind a little, she followed Spike and Jerry to a vast room filled with coffin sized pods. Spike walked unerringly to his own and waited until the lid opened and Jerry ordered him inside. He was glad to get in and away from the Slayer.
Spike’s face screwed up with pain as the clamp bit into the base of his skull, and then his limbs went lax. Jerry rubbed the feeding tube against Spike’s lips and he obediently opened his mouth and swallowed hard to help seat it correctly.
“You did a good job today, Seventeen,” said Jerry. “’Til the next one.”
The lid slid soundlessly closed and Jerry watched to make sure that the blood began to trickle down the tube before turning to Buffy and smiling.
“So this is where we keep the trackers,” he explained. “The contents of each building are trained for a different job.” He guided her away from Spike’s pod. “Professor Walsh wants to give you the tour herself. Her office is just down here.”
As Buffy matched his strides, her mind kept going back to the shock of seeing those expressionless manufactured eyes and Spike’s calm acceptance of going into a pod that held him paralysed until he was needed again.
What the hell do they do to them to make them like that?
She couldn’t image Spike calmly accepting anything.
Her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at Walsh’s office. Jerry rapped on the white painted door and when Walsh barked ‘enter’, he indicated for Buffy to go inside.
“You’re not coming in too?” asked Buffy.
“No, got a report to file and then some sleep to catch up on. Hope you enjoy the tour.” He turned on his heel and walked rapidly away.
There was something in the tone of his voice that led Buffy to realise that she really wasn’t going to enjoy this one little bit.
She turned the handle and pushed the door open. A late middle-aged woman was sitting behind a huge desk; its surface was completely free of clutter bearing only a coffee mug and a pot with pens in it. Filing cabinets lined the walls, and Buffy guessed that’s where everything went as soon as it was dealt with.
Maggie Walsh didn’t bother to stand, just pointed to a plush leather chair opposite her and said, “Take a seat. I’m intrigued as to why you have finally decided to visit the facility tonight?”
Sitting down and meeting the older woman’s eyes boldly, she replied, “The tracker that I encountered tonight is one I had come across when he was free. It made me curious about your work here.”
Maggie leaned forward. “What makes me curious is why it still existed after you had your encounter?”
Deciding that she hated the woman already, Buffy replied, “He helped me save the world one time – in return I let him leave town.”
“How odd,” replied Maggie. “Well, it’s not out killing innocents anymore, is it? It took a while but he’s the best tracker we have. You’ve been up most of the night – why don’t you get some rest and then I’ll show you around in a few hours.”
Buffy was about to protest that she was fine and okay to look around now when she saw the glint in the woman’s eye and knew it wasn’t a request.
“Sure, why not.”
With Buffy dispatched to a sparsely furnished bedroom down the corridor, Maggie pulled out Seventeen’s file. The vampire had never looked like cooperating until they had taken drastic action so what had prompted it to aide its natural enemy, the Slayer? If Buffy had told her that it had been for love, she wouldn't have thought it possible.
*~*~*~*
A rap on the door woke Buffy up.
“Professor Walsh’s office in ten minutes,” a man’s voice called out.
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
Buffy got off the bed and smoothed down her slept in clothes before having a quick wash in the basin in the corner. She was at Walsh’s door with two minutes to spare.
“Ready for the tour?”
She nodded. “Looking forward to it.” It wasn’t true – she was dreading it, but it by the smile on Maggie’s face it had been the right thing to say.
“As you may know we train several breeds of demon, although most commonly vampires, for a variety jobs.”
Buffy flinched as a huge Polgara hurled itself at the glass wall of its cell as they passed by.
Maggie chuckled. “These are our hunter-killers. They are so easy provoke into mindless rage, which pointed in the right direction can take out a terrorist base before the people there know what has hit them. Unfortunately, once all of the targets are neutralised, they turn on each other so none ever return from a mission. Their supply is plentiful though.”
“What are these?” asked Buffy when they got to a row of cells containing vampires apparently un-tampered with.
“They are the enhanced hearing vampires. Same principle of course as the trackers in a way. We enhance their hearing by the same methods with which we enhance the trackers’ sense of smell.”
“But, their eyes look normal?” queried Buffy.
“They are. We interrupt the optic nerve’s message to the brain for between six months to a year to get their hearing to the level we need. But we need them to be able to mingle with the public and pass for human.” Maggie turned and smiled at Buffy. “The trackers certainly can’t do that, can they?”
Buffy shuddered as she thought of Spike’s eyes and clenched her fist to keep from punching that self-satisfied smile off the woman’s face.
Maggie continued, “They are used for espionage. One of their ears contains a recorder so anything they hear – we can hear.
After passing several cells all with the vampires in exactly the same position – sitting on a bench-like bed, Buffy asked, “Um…why are they sitting like that?”
“They are unable to move until commanded to. It is imperative that we can control them fully when they are out in the field.
“Oh,” replied Buffy, weakly.
Pressing an intercom button on the front of one of the cells, Maggie spoke to the vampire within, “Eighty-four, come to the front of the cell and turn your head to the right.”
The vampire obeyed instantly and Buffy could just see a loop of fine wire behind the creature’s ear.
“This one has just completed its training and will be in active service one it’s hair has grown sufficiently to cover the implant’s wires,” explained Maggie. “The one in the left ear is the way we communicate to them. They can only hear our commands – to all intents and purposes they are deaf as what they hear with their right ear is transmitted straight to our operatives.”
Buffy shuddered; there was something unnerving at seeing vampires so completely repressed.
“Turn your head to the left,” ordered Maggie.
Again Eighty-four obeyed without so much as a flicker in its eyes.
The hardware in the right ear was a little bulkier but Buffy could see that once the vampire’s hair covered it that no one would notice.
“Go back to your resting position,” said Maggie, letting her finger fall from the button as the vampire complied.
On and on they went, passing row upon row of demons and vampires.
“This is one of the newer models of tracker,” said Maggie pausing at the front of a cell.
The vampire within had two yellow eyes and it turned to stare at them as they looked in.
“He can see us,” remarked Buffy.
“Yes. We have experimented with leaving them with the sight of one eye and as long as we keep it covered for the first six months, the enhancement of their sense of smell is the same as a totally blind subject. We matched the camera to the remaining eye and we vary which one we use to prevent any demons encountered from always knowing which eye to target to take out the camera. It’s an improvement as it can defend itself if attacked.”
Maggie continued to walk. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t subdue them quite as well as total blindness so sometimes we have to take other measures to ensure that the camera isn’t tampered with once in the eye socket.” She nodded towards the next subject.
This time Buffy had no words. The arms of the vampire in question stopped about six inches below the shoulder.
“It’ll be moving to the pods soon – its training is almost complete. The loss of its arms doesn’t affect its ability on the hunt and it is still more able to defend itself than a totally blind subject.”
*~*~*~*
Spike’s pod opened and his limbs spasmed as feeling rushed back through them.
“On your feet, Seventeen.”
He was surprised to hear Jerry’s voice, certain that he hadn’t been in the pod for long. Once out of the pod, he turned towards Jerry and frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that,” protested Jerry. “Come on, this way.”
Spike walked obediently beside Jerry, whose hand on his elbow guided him down corridors he knew by heart. His stride faltered when he wasn’t led to the preparation room but to another a few doors down from it.
“Sorry, buddy. But when old Walsh saw my report, she decided that you ought to be punished. You did manage to speak without being asked and broke with training to kneel down while on the hunt.”
Spike shook his head and ground his teeth as he tried to speak but protesting against punishment was completely blocked by the chip. Jerry quickly prepared his vampire for the punishment cell and then unlocked the door and had to push a reluctant Spike through it. “Be brave, okay? I’ll be back for you soon enough.”
The door clanged behind Spike and he didn’t dare to move. He’d been in here before.
*~*~*~*
“That’s Spike!” squeaked Buffy when they stopped in front of yet another cell. “I thought trackers lived in the pods?”
“They do. This is the punishment cell. Seventeen,” said Maggie pointedly, “got some things wrong last night and if we don’t nip these things in the bud, they quickly become out of hand.”
“W-what happens in here?”
Buffy couldn’t take her eyes from the trembling, naked form standing at the back of the cell. His hands were cuffed behind him, leaving his genitalia exposed.
Maggie pushed a button and suddenly an array of blocks was lowered from the ceiling to form a maze within the room. Even Buffy could hear the hum of electricity running through them. Spike yelped and lurched forwards as the floor beneath his feet shocked him. His lurch brought his penis into contact with the first of the blocks and he howled as the shock hit him.
“But it’s not fair – he can’t see,” yelled Buffy as with another howl Spike hit a second block.”
“If it stops panicking and uses its tracking skills it could get through relatively unscathed, but that first shock always seems to disorient them for a time. And if they stand still too long – they get a jolt from the floor too.”
It took Spike fifteen minutes to get to the other side of the room and his body including – Buffy noticed with a wince – his genitals, bore scorch marks from the shocks. When he reached his destination, a feeding bottle of blood was lowered and Spike wrapped his lips around it and suckled greedily.
For some reason, that affected Buffy even more than the shocks did. She wished that she’d never come.
The tour was completed without her seeing Spike in person again – although Maggie had insisted on showing her some of his training videos. His anguished screams as he woke up blinded would haunt her sleep for weeks.
*~*~*~*
Two years later…
Spike smiled as he jogged along – the scent was almost too easy to follow, the ground beneath his feet was smooth and even. He knew that he was going a little faster then he should, judging by Jerry’s harsh breathing some fifty yards behind him.
“Seventeen! Stop!” yelled Jerry desperately, but it was too late, the car ploughed into his tracker, throwing him into the air before he fell into a heap at the side of the road.
“Oh, my God!” The driver, a young woman, leapt out of the car. “He just ran out in front of me – I didn’t have time to hit the brakes.”
Jerry flashed his I.D. “It’s okay. You hit a tracker, but they’re tough. He’ll be okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
He sank to his knees beside the stricken vampire. “Seventeen? Can you hear me?”
Spike moaned and nodded slightly. His mouth worked helplessly and Jerry quickly gave the order allowing him to speak. “Still alive…but…danger.” Blood frothed at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t let them…hurt the girl.”
“Are they near?” asked Jerry urgently.
Spike coughed, spraying Jerry with drops of blood. “Through the trees. C-can smell them through the trees.” He waved an arm weakly in the direction he’d been running.
Jerry looked up at the woman. “Stay with him ‘til help arrives, okay?”
“Yes, yes. Anything – oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” the woman sobbed.
Reporting the incident through his headset and thanking the stars that standard kit now included a revolver; Jerry left his charge and raced to save the day.
Spike rolled over onto his side and bared his blunt teeth at the woman as she approached him. The pointed toe of her boot struck the already fractured rib and provoked more bloodstained coughs.
“V-v-vampire,” Spike struggled to say.
The woman laughed and kicked him again as her features shifted.
“Got it in one. We knew they’d put a tracker on us so we made the trail lead you here. You’re quick – I’ll give you that – didn’t keep me waiting too long.”
Spike wheezed as he rolled onto his back, and let his arms fall to the sides – inviting her to give the killing blow.
“Oh, no – you’re not getting off so lightly,” said the woman walking around him. “Are the stories of what they do when they ‘retire’ their pets true?”
The violent shudder than ran though Spike’s body was answer enough.
“Thought so. In that case I hope you suffer for the rest of your miserable existence, you traitor of your own kind!”
She put one foot on his thigh and then twisted his lower leg until the knee exploded and with a cut off yell of agony Spike lost consciousness.
Jerry was bloodied and bruised but insisted on going with the rescue squad to retrieve his injured tracker.
“She left him alone!” he roared as he saw the small figure of Seventeen at the side of the road. “The bitch.”
His feet skidded on the gravel at the edge of the road as the sight of the vampire brought him up short. When he’d left him he’d looked to have a broken leg and maybe a punctured lung, but that was all. Now he looked like he’d been through a mincer.
“Hurry up!” he yelled over his shoulder. “He needs to get to the OR right now!”
He vomited as the medics rolled Seventeen onto a stretcher. How could he have been so stupid to have left him like that? The gang who had kidnapped the Governor’s daughter had been more organised than most and if back up hadn’t arrived in time, Jerry knew that he would have been dead. The more that he thought about it- the more he knew that the car accident had been no such thing. It had been deliberate.
*~*~*~*
Four months later…
The shrilly ringing telephone had Buffy alert, heart pounding in seconds. She glanced at the clock. Four thirty a.m. No way was this going to be good news.
“Hello?”
“Is that Buffy?” the voice sounded vaguely familiar and was tinged with desperation.
“Who is this?” she snarled. This number was unlisted.
“It’s Jerry. Jerry Lloyd.” When met with only silence he added, “I’m Seventeen’s handler.”
She sat up. “What’s going on, Jerry? I don’t usually get called by handlers if the Initiative needs me.”
“It’s not about a job. It’s about Seventeen,” replied Jerry urgently. “When you took the tour, did Walsh show you where they retired the vampires when they can’t work anymore?”
A cold hand squeezed Buffy’s heart as she recalled rows upon seemingly endless rows of vampires strapped down and being continually stimulated into ejaculation. Their spendings used in a multitude of products ranging from face creams to, surprisingly, fertility treatments. That room silent but for the hiss of the pumps and the feeble struggles of the ‘patients’. Or the vast laboratory where they were used as guinea-pigs for pioneering surgical procedures – organs harvested and transplanted between subjects in a seemingly endless cycle. Maggie Walsh had happily informed her that the vampire’s larynxes were removed to prevent the technician’s hearing being affected by the screams.
“Are you still there?” asked Jerry.
“What? Yes, I’m here.”
“Seventeen is being retired today.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Buffy said. She’d thought of Spike off and on for the past two years but what could she do? And more importantly, why would she want to do anything?
“I just thought…if it was true and he’d saved the world then – oh, look, forget it! What was I thinking – you’re the freaking Slayer – what would you care?”
“It’s not that I don’t care, Jerry. I just don’t –” she stared at the handset as Jerry hung up on her, “see what I can do.”
*~*~*~*
Jerry slammed the phone down so hard he thought he’d broken it. “Fuck it!” He glanced at his watch. Seventeen would be taken down for pre-tests in an hour – by the end of the day his results would be known and he’d be placed in the relevant section for the rest of his existence.
Running a hand wearily over his face, Jerry walked out of his quarters and down to where Seventeen was being held. Least he could do was keep the vamp company until he was taken away.
Spike raised his head as the door slid open and Jerry’s familiar scent wafted in.
“Hey, Seventeen. How are you doing today?”
“Not g-good,” he managed to reply.
“You’ll soon be all fixed up and back tracking in no time.” Jerry cringed at how false the words sounded to his ears let alone the vampire’s.
Seventeen shuffled further back on the bench that doubled as a bed and shook his head. He’d heard them talking and knew what was in store. Before they’d blinded him he had seen the retirement sheds and wished that that bitch of a vampire had staked him instead of injuring him so badly that he couldn’t heal properly.
He eased his right leg straight with his hands. The medics thought that she must have poured Holy Water onto his shattered knee, because no amount of human blood could get it back to normal.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?”
Spike moaned and shook his head – he didn’t want to tell him – that would make it real. But an order was an order, no matter how gently spoken.
“Stake me,” he said, making sure that he was looking towards Jerry as he spoke.
“Oh, man.”
“Please.”
Jerry swallowed hard. “I can’t. I’d be thrown in the stockade.”
They sat in silence until the technicians came to take him for testing. Jerry couldn’t help but admire how Seventeen walked obediently towards his horrible fate. He closed his eyes and shed a tear for the tracker he’d handled for so long.
Gritting his teeth as he limped along, Spike wondered not for the first time why they didn’t use all their technology to repair his knee rather than effectively throw him away. The simple answer was it was cheaper to get another one than to spend money on what they already had.
He was strapped into a chair, which reclined so that his back was horizontal and his legs held up and wide apart. The courage that had got him into the chair failed him as the technicians began to handle his genitals and he whimpered and trembled violently.
“Shh, now. First few times are for free,” soothed a tech as he injected the serum that would reverse the effect of the suppressants he’d been given since the completion of training.
As the drugs entered his system, Spike felt an almost forgotten tingling in his balls and didn’t need to be able to see to know that his cock was fully erect.
A swab was taken of the pre-come that was leaking from the slit and then a warm hand gently caressed his balls and penis. Within seconds, Spike was yelling as he came for the first time in almost eighteen years.
The tech deftly caught the spend and laughed softly as Spike’s head lolled back as he panted.
“Rest for a while, I’ll be back for more soon.”
Spike let the feeling wash over him, clinging to the pleasure it brought, he knew that soon, that feeling would bring no pleasure at all. He only realised that he’d dozed off when something was shoved unceremoniously into his arse and he woke with a growl.
They began to record how many times Spike ejaculated and the amount of semen collected each time.
By the end of two hours Spike wished they’d cut the fucking lot off. The pump had been introduced and he’d spend the rest of the day being harvested in here before being operated on and taken to the relevant section in the morning.
His dick felt like it was on fire, with a tube inserted in it and something covering the tip to create a painful vacuum that sucked every last millilitre of come from his tubes. The thing up his arse continually vibrated against his prostrate in a way that had been nice for maybe six times. He’d lost count of how many times it had happened now, but he’d guess at something more like six hundred.
Biopsy needles were thrust into his internal organs – sampling each in turn.
Spike was writhing and groaning piteously, so lost in the sensations running through his body that he didn’t notice that anyone had returned. The plug in his arse was pulled out and after one last harvest, the pump was withdrawn from his penis, the abused organ going soft instantly.
Something cold was painted on his stomach and Spike growled in protest. The tests were over – they were going to make it all permanent. “No,” he managed to utter in his desperation, certain that his destination was the transplant labs. Somehow, even the pain in his genitals was better than the knowledge that he was likely to be hacked up into biddy little pieces before being put back together again, and again, and again.
He awoke to pain. That didn’t surprise him. The fact that it was located in his head and not his cock or throat did. When he tried to touch his head, he had another surprise when he could actually do so. Where were the usual shackles? His fingertips touched bandages covering his right eye before they were gently but firmly pulled away by a warm hand.
“Leave them be or you will have to be tied down, okay?”
Spike stiffened. He recognised the voice – hell, he recognised the smell.
“Shh, you’re safe. Relax.”
Safe? Was this some strange usage of the word that Spike didn’t know of? How could he be bloody safe in a bed in the Initiative with the fucking Slayer sitting beside him?
He tried to get off the bed but her hands held him down. “I mean it – I’ll have to strap you down.”
He kept struggling and realised with shock that Jerry was there too – between them they strapped him to the bed.
“We’d better leave him. We’re making things worse. It will be better tomorrow when he’s not in pain,” said Buffy. “We should have kept him asleep for another day.”
Jerry nodded. He put a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
His voice was sincere but Spike couldn’t let himself believe it was true. His drug induced sleep was troubled with nightmares.
He was alert when Buffy and Jerry returned the next day.
“Hey, Spike. How are you feeling today?”
Scared! “Okay,” he muttered.
“Does your head hurt, still?” This time it was Jerry who spoke.
Spike shook his head. “No.”
He heard the door open again and tensed up as the familiar surgical spirit smell of a technician reached his nose.
“Stay calm. They’re just here to take the bandages off, and then we can untie you, alright?”
Spike was too afraid to reply.
“Keep your eyelids closed,” ordered the tech as what felt like a mile of bandage was unwrapped from his head.
He felt the irritating vibration of the camera starting up, just before the tech told him to open his eyes. Spike gasped then squeezed his lids tightly shut again.
“Not real,” he muttered, not even registering that he’d spoken without being asked.
“It is,” said Buffy softly. “Did it work? Can you see?”
Spike hesitantly opened his eyes again and blinked as the camera in his eye socket worked to focus. Then there she was – the Slayer – peering at him with concern. He swivelled his head seeking out Jerry.
A tall lean man was standing next to the bed, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Jerry?” whispered Spike.
“Yeah, Sevent – er – Spike. It’s me. Well, do I look how you imagined I’d be?”
“Younger,” said Spike unable to tear his gaze away from the man who’d been his handler for the past eight years.
Jerry shrugged awkwardly. “We’ve got to be young to keep up with you lot on the hunts.”
Spike tried to lift his hand but it was still tied down. “How? Why?”
Jerry turned to look at Buffy and so Spike did too. The focus on the camera took a bit of getting used as it had to adjust itself with every movement, but Spike didn’t care. After so long without sight – even blurred vision was fine by him.
The technician stepped into Spike’s eye-line. “If you’ll let me answer that?” Buffy and Jerry nodded. “The camera within your eye has been modified so that the images it sees are relayed to your brain rather than to one of our monitors. It was a clever bit of surgery,” she said proudly. “The camera can still be switched off.” She pressed a button and Spike hissed as he was plunged into darkness again. He squinted as it was turned on again. “But you’ll only really need to do that if it needs maintenance. Your speech is no longer censored but may take a little use before it feels natural again. As for the ‘why’ I think that is my cue to leave and your new owner will explain it all.”
Buffy cringed as the tech said owner, but that was the harsh fact. Spike was now her property. If he violated any of the terms she was about to outline, he would be returned to the Initiative for retirement.
“Can we untie him now?” asked Jerry into the silence that followed the techs departure.
“You going to behave?” Buffy asked Spike sternly.
Spike nodded.
His wrists were freed and his rubbed at the red marks with his hands. His eyebrows shot up when he saw his hands. “What?” he breathed, barely audibly.
Buffy grinned at him. “I know they might look at bit odd but we thought they would make life easier.”
Raising both hands up he rotated them to examine from all sides. He had thumbs. Okay, so they were metal and looked like something out of that old movie, Terminator, but they worked. For the first time since being captured, he really grinned. Both Buffy and Jerry laughed.
“You had some work done on your knee, but it’s not going to be perfect,” said Jerry.
Spike drew up his knee and his smile got broader as it moved without pain. Then he sobered as he recalled the tech’s words.
“Owner,” he said to Buffy. “You own me? Why?”
“Look, you’ve got Jerry to thank, okay? He told me that you’d been injured and were going to be retired, but it didn’t seem right seeing as you helped me save the world that time. There is no way for you to be free so I thought that you might come and work with me?” replied Buffy. “My husband left me a year ago – finally decided that he couldn’t cope with me being the Slayer – but in reality he did what my dad did to my mom and took off with his secretary.”
“J-Joyce? She’s a good person,” said Spike quietly.
Buffy’s mouth fell open in shock at his words. “Um…she died.”
Spike dipped his head and cursed himself for putting his foot in it. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. Anyhow, back to my situation. I have two sons – Craig ,who’s eleven, and Cameron, who’s nine. I need someone to watch over them if I get called out to slay and maybe someone to have my back if I need help. Think you can do that?”
“Babysit?” The look of horror on Spike’s face was comical. Was he reduced to this? The Slayer’s babysitter?
“So what do you say, Spike,” asked Jerry. “I could drop by now and then – it won’t be so bad.”
Spike began to laugh.
“Yes! Bloody hell, yes!”
*~*~*~*
Three years later…
“Morning, Spike,” said Buffy as she walked into the kitchen yawning and stretching her arms above her head. “Is that pancakes I can smell?”
“Yeah, I promise Cam that if he went to bed on time last night that I’d make him some. There’s enough for everyone.”
Spike pushed a plate piled high with perfectly shaped pancakes across the table, then before she did more than open her mouth to speak, he passed her the maple syrup.
Seconds later, the two boys tore into the room, flinging themselves onto the stools around the table and helping themselves to pancakes.
“Oh, Spike, these are the bestest ever,” mumbled Cam around a mouthful of pancake.
“Oi,” Spike waved the spatula at him, “you know what I’ve said about talking with your mouth full.”
Buffy started to giggle and then it turned into a laugh she couldn’t control until she saw Spike beginning to sulk.
“I’m sorry,” she said, walking over and wrapping her arms around him. “It just tickles me every time – how domestic you are.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a bloody house vamp most of the time,” grouched Spike, still smarting. “What’s a fella supposed to do to fill his time if not try to put some manners into those two ruffians that you call sons?” He turned and winked his blind eye at the kids who giggled. “You never let me patrol and let’s face it woman – you’re getting on a bit.”
Buffy snatched the spatula out of his hand and whacked him on the arm with it.
“Ow! Bloody hell!”
“I don’t want you to get hurt…your leg…” She dare not mention how much she worried about his eye being irreparably damaged. His nightmares about being blind again were something he refused to talk about.
“Let me worry about my sodding leg. There’s no reason for you to go without me. Craig can babysit Cam –”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” protested Cam, shrilly.
Spike turned round and let out a vampiric growl. “Talking with food in your gob and now bloody interrupting…I swear, I’ll…”
Both boys chuckled and Craig grabbed Cam’s arm. “Come on; let’s go into the living room.”
“But I don’t want to,” complained his little brother.
“Sure you do,” said Craig. “Look at them, any second now and they’ll be kissing.”
Cam’s eyes widened in horror. “Ugh!” he yelled and raced out of the room.
“Bloody kids,” muttered Spike under his breath, but a smile played on his lips.
Buffy reached up and traced her hand over his face. One of the things that the Initiative had insisted upon was that he had to be permanently in his human visage to reduce the risk of him biting. It was something that she had agreed to happily, as she remembered how attractive that face was. The left eye had been replaced with a more natural looking one but the right remained as it was in the program.
He shivered slightly as she touched his eyelids and dipped his head, after all this time, still discomforted by what had been done to him.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, proving the kids right as she reached up to kiss him.
Never in a million years had she thought that by taking Spike into her home, she would eventually take him into her bed, but after eighteen months she’d done just that.
As their lips parted, Spike brushed his mouth against her ear. “And you’re still doing the dishes.”
She squealed and threw the dishcloth at him as he ducked out of her arms and bolted for the door.
Listening to the laughter from all three as he joined the boys in the next room, Buffy smiled ruefully.
Who would have thought a centuries old vampire would keep her feeling so young?
The end.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Betad by the muli-talented dawnofme who also did the banner.
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