Chapter Three
“Fucking hell!” Craig yelled, throwing the jar of peanut butter across the kitchen where it smashed against the wall.
Heart in her mouth, Buffy raced into the kitchen wondering what on earth was going on. She stopped when she saw her eldest boy slumped dejectedly on one of the stools. His chest was heaving and as she glanced over at the sticky mess on the wall opposite, she could guess the cause of his distress.
“Craig,” she said warily.
“Go away!”
She flinched but took a step closer to him.
“I know how you feel,” started Buffy.
The venom in Craig’s eyes made her tense up. His top lip curled as he said, “You know how I feel? Oh, right. This should be good. How exactly do I feel?”
Buffy dropped her gaze and stared instead at the slices of bread he’d obviously intended on smearing with peanut butter.
“You’re hurting,” she said softly. Encouraged by the fact he remained quiet, she continued, “I know you feel like it’s the end of the world but—”
Craig leapt up, sending the stool crashing to the floor. “I don’t feel like it’s the end of the world. It is the end of the fucking world! It’s the end of my dreams, okay?” He bent down so that he was right in her face. “My life may as well be fucking over!”
“Don’t say that!” This time Buffy held his stare. “When I was called—”
“Oh, spare me the ‘I didn’t think I could have a normal life’ speech, Mom. I’ve heard it before! And in the end, you got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?” He waved his left arm expressively. “All this – the house – the husband – the kids.” His breath hitched and he bit his lip. “But I will never have what I want. I can’t even open a jar of peanut butter for Christ’s sake. I will never pitch ball again!”
He pushed past her, grunting as he jarred his elbow and she heard him thunder up the stairs to his room. The door slammed shut with a force that had the windows rattling. Buffy slowly bent down and brought the stool upright again, before she began to clear away the makings of Craig’s aborted attempt of a sandwich.
“He doesn’t mean to yell,” said Cam from behind her. “He’s just scared.”
Buffy smiled weakly. “I know. And I’m scared for him too. He’s never wanted to do anything else.”
Cam took up a cloth and cleared away the peanut butter from the wall and the floor.
“Make sure you don’t cut yourself,” cautioned Buffy.
Cam looked at her and raised his eyebrows, making her smile and she added, “I know, I know, over-protective mother.” Her smile faded and she glanced towards the stairs. “I didn’t protect your brother, did I? Or Spike.”
“What happened to Craig and what Spike did isn’t your fault,” said Cam.
Buffy took a deep breath. “It’s just we were doing so well and now…”
Cam threw the cloth and pieces of jar in the trash and walked to his mother.
“We’ll be okay. Things will get better. It’s only been a couple of weeks since Craig’s last operation. He just expects too much too soon, that’s all.”
Smiling weakly, Buffy pulled her son into her arms. “Listen to you, all wise and grown up.”
“Um, Mom, you’re still wicked strong,” Cam gasped.
“Oh! Sorry!” Buffy let him go and ran her fingers down his face. “I love you, Cam, you know that, don’t you?”
Taking her hand in his, he drew it away from his face. “Yes I do, Mom. And I love you too.”
He knew why she said it. She was afraid that Spike hadn’t known how much she’d loved him and that was why he’d done what he had. She couldn’t accept that he would have killed himself unless he felt he was unloved.
“I’ll make Craig his snack and take it up to him,” added Cam.
“Thank you, son.”
*~*~*~*
Craig glared at his reflection. He hated what he saw and it had nothing to do with the crooked nose or the chipped front tooth that the thin line of his compressed lips hid. All his life, he’d been a winner. Through the Little League games right up to playing in college. It had been easy. He loved the way the ball felt in his hand and how he could get it to go anywhere he wanted it to go.
Now it was gone forever. In the two months since he’d been assaulted he’d endured three operations. And the prospects of a full recovery diminished each time the surgeon cut into his elbow. The second operation, two weeks after the first, had taken place because one of the plates hadn’t seated properly. After that operation Craig had complained of a lot of pain and at first they dismissed it, thinking it was due to him no longer being on opiate based injected drugs and missing their effect. By the time the surgeons had gone back in, the compressed nerve had made his hand weak and numb. Two weeks on – it didn’t feel much better.
The face staring back at him was the face of a loser. Forever known as someone who didn’t even get to play Minor League, more of a ‘never was’ than a ‘has been’. Sure for a few years someone might remember the winning pitches or the home runs he’d hit, but then it’d be forgotten.
Abruptly, he turned away and sat on his bed. He knew he’d been horrible to his mom, but he couldn’t help it. If she hadn’t fallen apart after Spike had gone. If Spike had had the balls to continue to exist. Then this would never have happened. He’d be back at college and playing every chance he got.
Craig had just flopped onto his back when there was a tap at the door and Cameron walked in, carrying a plate of sandwiches and a couple of sodas.
“Thought you might be hungry,” said Cam.
Craig hated the way they both kept looking at him; as if he was going to shout his head off at them. He hated that he kept on doing just that.
“Thanks,” he mumbled and shuffled across the bed to make room for Cameron to sit on it too.
Cam handed him a sandwich and took one for himself. They sat in silence for a time.
“You shouldn’t take it out on her,” said Cam.
“I know. I’ll tell her I’m sorry later, okay?”
The younger brother wanted to tell him that no, it wasn’t okay. That he shouldn’t have done it in the first place but Cam wisely kept quiet. Since Craig had come home from the hospital, Cameron had tried to think of how he’d feel if his dreams of becoming a surgeon were shattered. All in all, he thought that maybe his brother wasn’t handling it so badly after all.
*~*~*~*
Spike howled as a needle was rammed into his jugular; it felt like the tech was trying to push it through to the other side. With more pain than he thought possible his features shifted to vampiric. The intervening years, being locked into his human visage had given his fangs time to regenerate and he wiped the tip of his tongue over them and smiled.
But not for long.
A dental gag was thrust into his mouth and cranked open. He barely had the chance to growl in protest before his four longest fangs were snapped off at the root.
Bastards!
He thought it – but he wouldn’t say it. Oh, no. For the past two months Spike had been the model subject. Once per week he was shown footage, in and around the home that he’d shared with Buffy. He’d seen Craig come home, face ashen and his arm encased in plaster and held in a sling. He’d seen Buffy weeping at night and he’d seen Cameron bravely trying to keep the household going. No way would he ever risk more harm coming to them.
For some reason this time around, snapping of fangs excepted, they preferred to work on him while he was unconscious. The familiar coolness on his abdomen led to the only place he ever felt peace – the velvety darkness of unconsciousness. He fervently hoped that one day he’d never wake up.
He always did.
So far, since he’d cooperated fully things hadn’t been so bad. Admittedly the barcode ID tattooed onto the side of his penis hadn’t been a fun thing to wake up to. It had stung for days. And the delight in Maggie Walsh’s expression when they inserted the tracking device into the tip of his cock, he could have lived without seeing. Apparently, using the penis meant they could be certain that the vampire wouldn’t try to remove the tracking device. But so far he’d been just used for exercises to do with the data his eyes could send back.
Until today.
He was led to an unfamiliar room and given a pair of plimsolls to put on, which struck Spike as being a little bizarre considering he hadn’t had shoes or a stitch of clothing on since he’d been brought in this time around.
A strange sensation ran though his penis and he moaned softly. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact it was quite the opposite. He glanced down and saw that his cock was half hard. Focussing the left eye, he was a little surprised to see just how warm the head of his penis was.
A jolt from the chip in his head made him lift his head and concentrate on his trainer.
“Are you listening, Seventeen?”
“Yeah.”
Another jolt.
“Yes, sir.” Spike missed being able to roll his eyes. This trainer was a real dick.
“Get out there and do what you’re trained for.” The trainer prepared to release Spike into the huge outdoor training enclosure.
A different door was opened and Spike stepped out into the night air for the first time since his kidnapping. Then he could smell it. His prey. No longer merely a tracker, Spike was a hunter. His job was to lead the Capture Squads to nests of demons.
He set off at a jog, thrilled to feel the cold air caressing him as he ran without a hint of pain or a trace of a limp. Moving silently, his right eye switched to night vision mode, overlaid with the grids. Spike found himself concentrating more on the scent trail than his sight. He would have closed his eyes but they’d done something to him so that he could no longer blink once on a hunt, not wanting any interruption to the signal.
When he located the nest, his orders were to try to ensure as much information about the place was learned. So he slowly reconnoitred the area. Scanning from side to side, the images he saw conveyed to the Capture Squad that would be mobilised.
The sound of the helicopter was so familiar, Spike felt like he’d never been away, and he had to resist the urge to go into the house like a tracker would. But he watched from the undergrowth as the squad went in. There was a sound of a brief skirmish and then out they came. Demons this time – Gnusmas – a lower intelligence breed, Spike momentarily wondered what the Initiative would want to use them for. Then he remembered that this had been a controlled hunt and those dim creatures were easy to capture and release again.
The homing device pulsed and Spike bit back a groan of pleasure as his penis rose in response.
“Seventeen, come here!” called his trainer.
Spike walked out from his hiding place, startling the trainer with just how close he’d been. His hands covered his erection. Permanent nakedness he was used to but to walk up to that pillock of a man fully erect was more than his pride could bear.
“You did well, tonight.”
His trainer gestured for him to move closer. And then he smiled broadly at Spike. “We’re all out of Scooby snacks,” Spike tensed at the inadvertent use of the name he’d called the Slayer’s friends, “but I think you’ll like this treat well enough.”
Spike barely had time to frown when his homing device vibrated again and he fell to his knees, hands clutching his cock.
“Hey, guys, take a look at Seventeen,” called his trainer.
A couple of Capture Squad members walked over.
“Oh, man, their first time is always the best,” said one, slapping Mark on his shoulder.
Spike arched his back and cried out. His hands which had no effect on what he was feeling fell away from his penis and onto the ground to support him, fingers digging into the damp soil. For the first time since his recapture he came, and came so hard that his arms collapsed and he lay on his back as his spendings hit his stomach.
As he lay there panting, he became aware of the others laughing at him and shame and anger burned through him in equal measures.
“On your feet, Seventeen.”
With a rumbling growl that earned him a low grade jolt from the pain chip, Spike stood up and positioned himself as trained with his hands clasped behind his back. It didn’t matter that the mode his vision was in meant that he couldn’t see expressions. He could smell that two of the fuckers were in danger of shooting their loads from watching him.
From that night on, he was used out in the field. If the vampire who’d knackered his knee had thought him a traitor back then, Spike shuddered to think what she’d think now.
He got the job done.
He led the Capture Squad to free demons – vampires mostly – and he watched as they were subdued and taken away. He was fascinated by their eyes. The harsh yellow that all vampires’ eyes turned when the demon showed its face. He stared at them unblinkingly and felt sick that they would likely end up blinded as he was. No matter that the technicians allowed him to see, his eyes had been taken and they controlled him completely. And he wouldn’t wish that on any creature.
Now, after several dozen times, Spike hated the Pavlovian response the hunts caused. His cock remained uninterested when he tried to wank but now, the mere mention of a hunt had him standing at the door to his cell, hoping they’d pick him. Desperate to have those few moments of ecstasy that could blank all thoughts from his mind. The thoughts of his family slowly falling apart.
Once a week, they showed him a clip of either Buffy or the boys and it hurt more each time to see them. Craig was almost unrecognisable to the athlete he’d known. The disabled arm robbed him of all his cocky self-confidence and he seemed to shrink each time Spike saw his image.
Cameron looked like he tried hard to act normal but he failed, and Maggie Walsh had enjoyed telling that he’d failed to graduate that year and so was being kept back. This, the boy who’d been almost teaching his teachers. The lines on Buffy’s face seemed etched ever deeper.
All because of me. I ruined Craig’s arm. I ruined their lives.
*~*~*~*
Buffy flinched as the door slammed behind her son as he fled the house. She reached out and picked up the letter that Craig had let fall to the table as he bolted. She knew what it would say. ‘Dear Mr. Evans, Thank you for your application…I’m afraid that you’ve been unsuccessful on this occasion…’ or something along those lines. They always did.
When Craig had announced that he was going to try to get a job coaching baseball, unable to face returning to college, she hadn’t the heart to tell him that maybe the fact he couldn’t throw a ball might be an issue. She desperately hoped that someone out there would give him the opportunity to still be a part of the game he loved.
She’d been so worried that she’d even contacted her ex husband to see if he could help. But Craig had refused to go to stay with his father for a while, accusing her of wanting to get rid of him.
With a sigh, she stood up and walked over to make a cup of coffee. She was at a total loss of what to do next. Not for the first time, she cursed Spike for his cowardice at leaving them. Glancing out of the window, she was relieved that dusk was hours away and hoped her son would be home before then.
“Cam! Do you want a drink or a snack?” she called up the stairs, to where Cam was shut in his room working on the computer, trying desperately to get back to the level of achievement he’d had before everything had gone wrong. He hated the fact that his friends were now freshmen at college and he was still stuck in high school.
“No, thanks, Mom!” he called back.
Buffy took her coffee into the lounge and slumped down on the sofa, flicking the remote to turn on the TV and hoping that there would be a program interesting enough to enable her to lose herself in it for a while.
The newscaster was cheerily telling viewers how the best of the Initiative’s trackers and hunters, along with their handlers were being loaned out to the British Government for a twelve month contract to help them set up their own version of the massively successful business. Buffy turned the TV off and shuddered.
How could I have ever been involved with that place?
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Spike’s arms around her, comforting her and telling her everything would be all right. A tear rolled down her cheek as she realised she could no longer even remember what being held by him felt like.
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Betad by dawnofme
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