“Hel-lo, Hostile 17…”

“Alert control and Alpha team. We've tagged Hostile 17 with a tracer, and we're in pursuit.”

Spike staggered through the brush in an attempt to elude the pursuing commandos. The object that penetrated the leather of his duster remained embedded in his back as he continued forward. Despite his earlier graceful movements, his feet had become heavy as lead weights while he stumbled through the overgrowth.

Within moments, a weighted net fell upon him. His boots became intertwined in the mesh, bringing him to the ground with a heavy thud. Instantly, four commandos landed on top of him. Crackles of electrical pulses roared within Spike’s ear, before multiple jolts surged throughout his body. In an instant, blackness consumed him.

“Alert Professor Walsh that Hostile 17 is contained and prepared for transport,” Forrest instructed Graham with a firm authoritative tone. The remaining commandos retrieved an unconscious Hostile 17 from the ground. Once placed in the belly of a non-descriptive white van, Forrest and Graham entered. Once the van door closed, the truck drove into the night.



**** ****



Voices outlined the perimeters of Spike’s consciousness. Without giving any indication of his awakening state, he began familiarizing himself with his surroundings: he was lying on concrete floor, minimal lighting was visible through his barely closed lids, and a myriad of heavy stenches permeated his sensitive nose…demons, lots of them. Within moments two voices broke through the constant murmurs, off to his left.

“So what’s up with these two? Who the hell did these humans piss off to end up here? And what’s up with his hair?” One squeaky voiced demon inquired.

“Did you jussst hatch yesssterday? He’sss a vampire!” Another voice hissed. The demon’s voice resembled an angry snake.

“Sor…rey, heard of them. Just haven’t seen one before! My clan usually avoids them. They smell foul, like a human! Nasty!” The first voice responded, revulsion lacing his words.

“Well, ssshe sssmellsss pretty good to me. I bet ssshe tassste even better! Too bad that ssshe’ll be dead before we get to sssample her.”

“How the hell did you two last anytime in the ring, never mind on the outside? That’s a slayer!” A third voice bellowed from Spike’s right side. Demon number three now stood to his left, next to the other two demons.

“What’s a slayer?” Demon number one questioned.

“Neither of you heard of the Slayer?” Based on no response from either demon, Spike assumed that neither had a clue. His thoughts were correct, when demon number three continued, “One little girl that is sent to battle all the evil upon the earth? Not ringing any bells? You two are pathetic! I hope that they pit you against her, before the vamp over there. Then you’ll really see what a slayer is…when she’s ripping your empty heads from your necks!” Demon three scoffed.

“What…like this?”

With a sickening crack, Spike decapitated demon number three’s head with one violent twist. Demon number one, a reddish short-furred creature with large bugged eyes and two short, twisted horns upon his head stared in shock. His reptilian counterpart, a slender demon with greenish scales and a head of a snake hissed,

“Yesss…like that!”

Spike glared at the two demons with disdain. He pushed past them, to see the woman who was the center of their conversation. She remained unconscious upon the floor unaware of the events that had just transpired. A feral grin stretched across Spike’s full lips from the tantalizing sight before him.

“Hello cutie…”

Before Spike could step forward toward the unconscious Slayer, the first demon spoke,

“I wouldn’t pass over that red line, if I was you. You’ll dust if you do. See that pretty bracelet you have?” Spike looked down briefly at the red line drawn upon the floor that surrounded her. Then his gaze moved to the silver bracelet with archaic writing encircling his wrist before returning his gaze to the demon.

“That’s what keeps us in line. Those red lines are all over the place. Just make sure you don’t cross them, and you’ll be fine. Well, until…oh, by the way…ripping that asshole's head off, that was like so cool! I’m Forizonoriniz, Fozi for short. You don’t know how annoying that guy was. He’s been here for a while. He was due for his twenty-first match today…well until now. Too bad he doesn’t disintegrate like vamps do when they die. I don’t know how you’re going to explain it to the guy with the ponytail. Well, good luck with that!”

Ending his rant with a mock salute, Fozi quickly walked to the other side of the enclosure. His reptilian counterpart immediately followed. Spike’s eyes rolled at the incessant prattling demon’s departure. His gaze then returned to the woman at his feet. Dozens of pairs of feet pounding upon concrete rang in his ears, rerouting his gaze.

Within moments, a dozen heavily armed men with cattle prods and several with cross bows entered from the far right. In the middle of the group stood a middle aged, heavyset man wearing an ill-fitting business suit.

“I see that you’ve made yourself welcome vamp. Well, you’re lucky you have a date with an important woman, so I won’t take that loss out on your hide.”

With that, he turned to head back up the stairwell. With a casual wave of his jeweled hand, the guards sprang into action. They moved in sync, six surrounded Spike, while the remaining six kept weapons trained on the other demons in the enclosure. Despite being a master vamp, Spike admitted momentary defeat.

Resigned to his current situation, Spike moved toward the direction the guards motioned to. Under trained weapons he ascended a set of stairs, toward a back entrance. The guards proceeded to shackle Spike and put him in another van. After approximately twenty minutes they reached their destination. Despite the whirlwind of movements, being removed and forced forward, Spike noticed he was in an underground loading area. With a deep intake of unneeded breath he assumed he was in a major city, due to the smog that filled his lungs.

“Maybe LA?” He pondered, as all six heavily armed guards silently herded him into a freight elevator. When it finally stopped its ascent, the door opened to the 13th floor. Spike was then ushered through several doors and now stood outside an ornate wooden entrance. Without any notification the door opened from the inside, into a spacious office.

With forceful shoves Spike was escorted to the chair placed in the middle of the room. Once seated, Spike noticed a sizeable oak desk, set further back. An attractive, polished woman leaned on its edge. She had wicked gleam in her eyes and mischievous smirk upon her full lips. The man from earlier stood off to the side, looking at Spike maliciously while he slowly sipped his drink.

“Welcome, Mr. Spike. Gentleman, I don’t think our guest is planning to do anything unwise. On the contrary, I believe he will be very well behaved. Don’t you agree, Mr. Spike?” Spike gaze remained upon the woman, while she addressed his entourage. Once she finished speaking, her gaze settled upon him trying to confirm her words.

“Yes, luv. I’ll behave. Be a good boy, I will.” Even though the woman fully recognized the sarcasm dripping from his words, she silently instructed the guards to release him with a slight nod.

Four guards continued to train their weapons upon Spike while two others removed his shackles. Once they were finished, they all left the room. Spike’s gaze remained locked with the woman’s, before she spoke,

“I hope that your trip here was pleasant?”

“Yeah, I will be writing to the Zagat’s guide about the accommodations. Bloody brilliant they were,” Spike responded with equal sarcasm that matched his earlier tone.

“Well, I apologize for any inconvenience to you Mr. Spike—“

“It’s just Spike, luv. And you are?”

“Oh, I apologize for my rudeness. I’m Lilah Morgan, an attorney for Wolfram and Hart, and you have already met Mr. Darin MacNamara.” With an extended hand, she motioned toward the other person in the room.

“Yeah, a bloody great host he is. Well, now that we’ve had our introductions, why am I here, Lilah?” Spike purred her name, in an attempt to use his charm to find out the reason for all of this.

“Straight to business, I like that about a man, well, vamp. You’re here for one reason and one reason only, to kill a slayer.” Spike’s mind was set ablaze from her words, despite her candid tone. Regardless of his interest, he retained his stoic features.

“Been there, done that…twice. I enjoy the crunch, the rush. The two slayers who lives I took were during battles of life and death, which of course was theirs. The slayer you had trussed up in that basement was unconscious. The way she was would be like shooting fish in a bloody barrel. The excitement all but lost.” Spike continued to appear uninterested in the conversation, while he mindlessly picked at his chipping nail polish, even though her intriguing words still raced through his mind.

“I’m aware of your achievements; the first slayer, Xin Rong, during the Boxer Rebellion in China, 1900. The second was Nikki Woods, New York 1977. The first, subsequent to a lengthy battle, you got the upper hand, and tore out her throat. Well, after she gave you a permanent scar upon your left brow. You proceeded to share her blood with your past paramour and sire, Drusilla. The second, Nikki, you snapped her neck, after a fierce battle which took place on the subway. You stripped her of her leather trench, which you now wear as a badge of honor.”

The reference to Drusilla stung slightly, but Spike continued as if nothing was amiss. His gaze moved from his nails and fell upon her, his tone still mocking.

“Colored me impressed, luv, someone has been doing their homework. Gold stars for you. Yeah, on that note, where is my leather? Feel right naked without it.” Upon hearing his words, Lilah began to eye him hungrily, picturing in her mind’s eye the vamp before her being just that—naked.

Her gaze roamed over his slouched form, lingered upon the impressive swell encased within his jeans. After her leisurely perusal, her gaze finally met his.

“I take it you like what you see, can smell it. Maybe if you get rid of the King of Bling over there, I can assist with that incessant niggling between those creamy thighs.”

Once Spike’s words ended his tongue snaked forward and curled against the front of his teeth. Lilah’s gaze became immediately fixed on his tongue. Her mind was flooded with all the possibilities that could transpire with this impressive specimen before her. A loud throat clear echoed through the room, breaking Lilah’s stare.

“Can we please get on with the reason why the vamp’s here? And as a hint, it’s not for a love connection,” Darin spat out, while he approached her. Lilah acknowledged the man’s interruption by huffing out her response, clearly showing her disappointment.

“If we must.”

“Fine, take all the fun out of it, pops. What is the exact reason for me being here? Actually, first off, how did I get here? Where-ever here is?”

“Well, let me give you a brief overview. Wolfram and Hart have many business associates that require our services. That includes the government. Within the last months, a new governmental facility has opened within Sunnydale. This facility was opened to deal with the increasingly large numbers of HSTs…”

“HSTs?” Spike asked, looking for an explanation.

“Hostile sub-terrestrials. This increase of HSTs has activated a group called the Initiative—“

“Those are the bloody wankers that stuck this soddin’ chip in my noggin! There the reason why I’m here!” Spike roared, his demon visage flashing forward. He stood quickly, violently knocking his chair backwards.

In mere moments, six guards stormed into the room, several armed with a tasers. With inhuman speed, Spike grabbed Lilah and placed her between him and the guards, the desk at their backs. Darin cowered behind a leather couch, which was far away from the current action.

Spike in full game face, snarled at the guards. His hand wrapped aggressively around Lilah’s throat. Despite the situation, Lilah calmly told the guards all was under control and to leave. Regardless of their hesitation, they followed her request. Once the door closed, she continued her calm tone.

“Now, can we finish our discussion? I feel that once you’ve heard the terms that we will set forth, you will find this merger quite profitable for all of us.”

Despite her position, an angered master vamp near her throat, Spike didn’t sense from her any uncertainty or fear from the situation. Taking full advantage of this woman in his grasp, Spike grounded his erection against the swell of her ass, while running his raspy tongue along the column of her throat. Pure bliss caused Liliah’s eyelids to flutter due to his pleasurable, tactile assault. Within an instant, he was gone. Seated back in his chair, Spike faced the flushed woman, a prominent smirk adorning his lips.

“Please, do continue.” With a wave of Spike’s hand he urged her continuation.

Upon hearing Spike’s voice, Darin peered from behind his leather barricade. Once he deemed the situation to be under control, he proceeded to sit upon the couch. The ice within his drink rattled in the glass, due to the shaking of his hand.

Spike and Liliah completely ignored the clearly upset man. Spike was casually sprawled in his chair, while Lilah slowly brushed away invisible lint from her sleeves. Both appeared to be unaffected by the recent events. Then with a steady voice, she continued speaking,

“Where was I—“

“The Initiative, the bloody sods that created this shite storm that has been falling on my head since their little operation.”

“Yes, well, the Initiative has successfully contained many species of demons and the like within their subterranean units. Some of the population, they have captured have been, for a lack of a better term, more suited for our purposes instead of theirs. Ultimately, with negotiations, each entity has found lucrative advancements.”

“That’s all well in good, but what does that have to do with me?” Spike’s gaze narrowed, suspicion lacing his words.

“You have been on our radar since your little excursion to LA several months back, when you were on the search for the vampire’s Holy Grail—“

“The Gem of Amara?”

“Exactly. When you arrived, you caused a slight upheaval with the locals. Especially with one resident vamp which our firm denotes as a high priority.”

“So, I tortured my grandsire a little. He’s still about, fighting the good fight, for soccer moms and kittens or some such. No harm, no foul I say.”

“Well, that is true, except your little visit put you on our radar, along with him. Once we were informed of your recapture by the Initiative, Wolfram and Hart felt that you would be a nice addition to our venture.” Spike’s brow furrowed at her statement, which held in place during his response.

“What type of venture would that be?”

“A fight club, a demon fight club to be more precise. After many negotiations, we came to an agreement. It was decided your skills are better suited here. It would be a waste to dissect a fine specimen like you. In addition, this opportunity offers you the freedom, where theirs does not. Well, unless you consider death a freedom.”

“How pray tell does one go about winning their freedom?”

“Once you have won twenty-one matches. Then you are released, simple as that.”

“It’s never that simple, but let’s just say it is, where does the Slayer fit into all this?”

“Each of you will be the others final battle, the twenty-first win. The Pièce de résistance! The battle of the decade! William the Bloody, Master Vampire, the Slayer of Slayers against his sworn enemy. The crowds will eat it up! Ten-thousand dollars for entry into the building that night, with an addition five-thousand fee for the main event—“ Lilah’s gaze became hazy, while she calculated the promise of substantial amounts of money within her head.

“I appreciate her death being lucrative to you, luv, but there is one slight problem…“ Breaking from her faraway gaze, Liliah’s eyes moved to study the vamp before her as she asked,

“Which is?”

“The soddin’ chip they shoved in my noggin. I can kill demons, but humans are a no go. So sorry to rain on your monetary parade—“ Spike’s words were cut off mid way by Lilah’s retort.

“That is no longer a problem.” A definitive nod followed her words.

“But…what? How is that no longer a problem? Even when I threaten a human, bolts of electricity surge…wait a minute. Earlier, when I used you as a human shield, there was no buzzin’ in my noggin. Didn’t think anything of it until now, so you mean—“

“The chip is deactivated, yes. Think of it as a little early reward for your wins. In addition, your accommodations will be better than your demon counterparts. We need you fit for winning. As a matter of fact—“

Lilah walked around her desk. Once she reached the phone she pressed a button and spoke into the speaker. A muffled “Yes?” came through the other end.

“Yes, please send in Spike’s advancement. Thank you.”

Spike looked at Lilah, with confusion filling his features. With a teasing smirk, she returned his gaze until the sound of two people entering broke their stare. Spike turned to witness a petite blonde being escorted into the room. A brawny man held both of her arms behind her back.

With a nod from Lilah, the man released her and took a position by the door. In the middle of the room the woman stood shaking. The heavy stench of her fear rolled off of her in waves. With a quaking voice she begged those before her.

“Please, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I just want to go home…please…”

While she begged to whoever would listen, Spike’s gaze fell upon Lilah. With a slight nod and tilt of her chin toward the girl, he rose from his seat. Slowly, he stalked forward. The combination of the heady scent of her fear wafting from her and the racing blood pounding within her veins filled his senses, making him ache.

Spike placed his hand upon her shoulders. As the woman’s big green eyes stared at him, his face contorted to his vampire visage. With a scream she heralded his transformation. In an instant, Spike roared, roughly pulling her forward. His fangs instantly pierced the column of her throat. With greedy gulps, he devoured her life’s essence. Spike’s feasting was the only sound that was heard, until Liliah announced,

“Wonderful! We’re all in agreement.”

48 hours prior…

Buffy lay upon Riley’s bed, with only a sheet wrapped around her nude body. She smiled contentedly, as she remembered their shared moments. This was the first time, she had awakened after a night with a man, and he’d remained. At first, Buffy was slightly shocked, which quickly transformed into immense happiness. Almost like a normal couple. Well, as ones who fight demons can be, they shared a brief conversation and gentle kisses. Before they could go any further with either, Riley’s phone rang. He answered, before the second ring.

“Riley…”

“We have a situation.” the stern voice on the other end declared. Riley extracted himself from the bed, stood and walked several paces away from Buffy. The importance of the caller and their words set his features into a stone façade.

Briskly he responded, “Yes, I understand,” and closed the phone. Riley’s features softened as he approached Buffy who had remained on the bed.

“Who was that?” Buffy’s brow furrowed, while she tightened the sheet around herself. Her question hung in the air briefly before he responded,

“Professor Walsh, she was just instructing me on the protocol for an issue we have. Now that I fully understand what needs to be done. All will be taken care of.”

“Just like that, no questions? No…” Riley’s hungry lips cut off Buffy’s words.

“Don’t talk, not now.”

Once Riley’s whispered words brushed past Buffy’s parted lips, he resumed kissing her. Within moments, the fabric barrier was pulled away. With his body, he encouraged her to recline upon the rumpled sheets. Riley continued to place urgent kisses upon Buffy’s heated flesh. She responded with breathy moans and mews of pleasure. Her mind whirled with desire. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed Riley reach into his end table. Buffy’s heavy lids fluttered, in anticipation of the ecstasy that would soon follow.

Riley’s bulky body pressed hers into the mattress. Before his whisper reached Buffy’s ears, a sharp pain blossomed on the column of her throat. “This is what needs to be done,” were the last words she heard, before darkness consumed her.


**** ****

The Present

Buffy’s mind began to spin while she slowly regained consciousness. She fought to return to the quiet realm of sleep, until her senses were bombarded. Numerous odors intermingled into an overbearing stench, assaulting her nose. Her skin tingled. Her limbs were heavy. All the while, her fifth sense screamed that something was amiss. Buffy attempted to open her eyes. After several attempts, she was finally able to. Confusion filled her mind as she attempted to retrieve her memories. Slowly, bits and pieces formed, as she pushed her weary body from the ground.

“Fighting Polagara demon…captured it…sex with Riley…” Buffy struggled to piece together time. Some of her memories eluded her, like the morning after with Riley. When she tried, her mind remained blank. Buffy decided she needed to get out of her head and assess the situation.

Slowly, she scanned the area. It appeared that she was in a basement of some sort. All was quiet, too quiet. Her stomach roiled from lack of food. Her tongue lay thick in her mouth. She gagged slightly before she could form the words. Which came out of her mouth as a raspy murmur.

“Where the hell am I?”

While Buffy pulled her legs from under her, to stand, a figure moved from the darkness. Her movements stilled. Her gaze regarded an average looking man of medium build with blonde hair, cinched at the nape of his neck into a ponytail. With a devious grin, he responded,

“You could call it hell. You’re not the first one, nor the last. Finally awake, sleeping beauty? Didn't know how long you were going to be out.”

“Who are you?” Buffy’s voice trembled slightly from his words and hardened gaze.

“Names don’t mean a thing down here. Just call me Master. Follow my simple rules, and you’ll maybe live past twenty-one.”

The minute his words penetrated her hazy mind, Buffy filled with a blinding rage. In an instant, she stood before him, pure adrenaline fueling her movements. Fists clenched, gaze blazing with anger. Through clenched teeth, she seethed,

“Well, I plan on living a lot longer than that asshole. So, as a personal favor from me to you, I would show me the exit to this shit-hole and walk away. You have no idea who you are messing with.” While Buffy eyed him coldly, his crooked grin widened. With a loud scoff, he responded,

“If I listened to every demon that threatened me with empty words, I wouldn’t be as rich as I am. No sweetheart, you don’t know who you’re messing with. Now sit your pretty ass down and pay attention.” Buffy didn’t move, but her eyes narrowed. Her defiance silently encouraged his continuance. “Fine, stand bitch. Long story short, you are here to fight. Twenty-one wins, then you get to leave, simple as that.”

“Fight? Fight who…you? Fine let me kick your ass now and call it my twenty-first win,” Buffy quipped.

“You and every other freak here, wish it was that easy. See that red line surrounding you, and that pretty Tiffany bracelet around your wrist? Those will assure you don’t get punch happy with me or anyone else. Well, except for those you are selected to fight against.”

Hearing this, Buffy’s gaze followed the red line, which surrounded her. Then her eyes moved to her left wrist, which indeed did have a large silver bracelet on it. Her hardened gaze rose and met the man before her.

“So, a little jewelry and a red line…oooh…I’m scared. I faced three apocalypses with scarier things on their resume than these.” Buffy’s sarcasm hung heavy from each word.

“Go ahead and test how scary they are. You’ll be dust before one foot passes over the line. Care for a demonstration?” Before Buffy could respond to the man’s mocking tone, he called over a smallish, blue demon. The creature resembled one of Disney’s animated gargoyles, which hung around with Quasimodo in the bell tower.

“Yezz, Master?” The creature bowed slightly, once he approached the man. Without a word, the man shoved the demon towards Buffy. The moment it passed over the red line, it bursts into flames. The only things to remain were its bracelet and the echoes of screams.

While his vile, arrogant words still echoed in the air, he returned to the shadows, which had birthed him. Buffy shook uncontrollably. Her mind raced with endless questions. Despite the number of “Whys? and Whos?”, one question continued to demand to be answered, “How the hell do I get out of here? Wherever here is.”


**** ****


Despite the endless amount of time that had passed, Buffy remained motionless. Her back pressed against the wall, far away from the line. Her mind was the only part of her, which ran continuously since her tour guide to hell had disappeared.

She could recall more fragments of her memory. She remembered the morning after with Riley. “He was still there…phone rang…Professor Walsh…kissing Riley…all went black.” Buffy’s eyes widened, her mind reeled with worry. “What happened to Riley, is he here too?”

Before she could stand in an attempt to look around for any hints that Riley may be nearby, four heavily armed guards came forward, each possessed tasers. Temporarily leaving her thoughts of Riley, Buffy’s mind began calculating the amount of force and what order to attack the guards in, when the man from earlier stepped forward.

“Now, now, you better stop that pretty-little head of yours, from continuing any further. You’re not going to bring down anyone. Especially me, so you better quit before you do something extremely stupid. Since I’m a gentleman…”

Buffy’s scoff interrupted his words momentarily. His jaw clenched, before he lunged forward. Prior to his advancement, another man grabbed him by the shoulder. Instantly, this new man stilled the other’s movements. This new man, a middle-aged man, sporting an ill-fitting suit and enough jewelry to make even Liberace jealous, eyed Buffy with disdain, before he spoke,

“Really, Jack, you’re going to let this little girl goad you? Don’t waste your time. She’ll get hers. Speaking of which, your penthouse suite is prepared.” Hearing his taunting words, numerous chuckles from several guards filled the air.

Despite how small and lost Buffy felt, she stood before them with her “don’t fuck with me” stance: her chin raised high, arms crossed over her chest, steely gaze, lips in a tense line. Ignoring her completely, the Liberace reject continued speaking,

“Well, today is your lucky day. I’m feeling a little generous. You have a choice. You can remain conscious or unconscious, during transport. Either way, you will get there. Just remember, there are lots of things that can happen to a woman when she’s unconscious.”

Regardless of his words, Buffy’s features remained stoic. Fortunately, all those before her were human. If any vamps were among them, their ears would have been filled with the frantic pounding of her heart. She was terrified. The man, who was named Jack, responded to the other man’s words,

“Fuck her! Don’t give her a choice! Despite her being human, she’s still one of them. You can’t believe a word they say!”

While he spoke, Jack pulled a device from his back pocket. With a flick of a small switch, a bright blue stream of electricity danced between two metal prongs.

Instinctually, Buffy lowered herself into a fighting stance. Four more whirls of pulsing electricity filled the air. The four guards positioned themselves for a confrontation.

“I said she has a choice, damn it! If I can deal with a cocky master vamp, then I can deal with one little girl! Stand down, NOW!” Mr. Reject roared.

Immediately, the four guards followed his command. Jack hesitated. His enraged glare remained firm on Buffy. Several moments passed, their gazes held in a stalemate. Mr. Reject’s warning bark, which echoed through the room, broke their stare.

“Jack!”

Gradually, Jack disengaged his taser. His murderous glance flickered to the other man, before turning and pushing his way through the guards. Upon his departure, Buffy stood to her full height.

Brushing away invisible lint from his suit’s sleeve, Mr. Reject eyed Buffy, then spoke, “Pretty impressive resolve, hopefully that will carry into the Ring. The higher-ups will definitely be pleased with their two new additions. So, before we were rudely interrupted, your choice?”

“Conscious.” Buffy’s voice was rough from lack of use. She decided to keep her response to one word. She was afraid if she said anymore, this resolve that he just praised, would crumble before their very eyes.

“Very well, but don’t take advantage of my hospitable nature. Money or no, I won’t be made a fool of.” Following Mr. Reject’s warning and a slight nod to the guards, he exited the room.

After his departure, Buffy received several brusque orders. Restrained with a pair of cuffs behind her back, she escorted out of the room. Buffy flinched several times while she passed over numerous red lines, the memories of the grisly demise of the little blue demon still fresh within her mind.

Numerous endless corridors later, the guards stopped her in front of the second, of two large metal doors. With a single swipe of a key-card, the small red light turned green. With a whirlwind of motions, Buffy was thrust into the room. She was forcefully pushed against the cold metal wall. One guard held the back of her head, as another unlocked her cuffs.

Moments following the release of her head and arms, the loud slam of the metal door and the whirl of the electric lock encouraged Buffy to finally open her eyes and slowly pull herself from her current position.

Rubbing her sore wrists, Buffy stepped back several feet to look at her new room. The walls appeared to be solid metal, no ridges visible. Off to her right, a slab of metal formed a bed. A thin mattress, adorned with a single sheet, announced its purpose. She turned to continue her visually assessment, when a teasing, unexpected voice echoed,

“Welcome slayer, don’t suppose you have a light?”

Buffy’s eyes widened, as she spun towards the voice. One word hovered on her lips, her mouth agape, before it blasted forward,

“Spike?!?”

Buffy’s wide eyes held on Spike’s splayed body. His arms were pillowed behind his head, his face tilted slightly towards her.

“Slayer.” Spike’s deep baritone voice passed by a slightly crumpled cigarette hanging from his full lips.

“Spike?”

With a slight shake of his head, Spike pulled himself up from his reclined position and rolled his eyes. Swinging his lean legs over the side of the bed, he extracted the cancer stick from his mouth, and sarcastically responded, “Yes…me Spike…you Slayer.”

“Shut up, Spike...” Buffy scathingly spoke as she began to pace, searching for a way out.

“Ah, there’s the Slayer that I know and hate.”

Spike’s sarcasm halted her movements. She glared at him, irritation filling her features. Through gritted teeth, she questioned, “How can you just sit there? And, how the hell did you get to be over a hundred years old? No wonder why I’ve beaten you every time. You have no sense of self-preservation.”

“Oi! You’ve never beaten me!” Buffy’s poignant look caused Spike to add, “Fine, but I wasn’t beaten. It was a draw.”

“Whatever, Spike.”

“And for your information, my sense of self-preservationis heightened, thank you very much. However, the reality of the situation has dictated there isn’t a bloody thing I can do right now, except reserve my energies ‘til the time presents itself.”

Buffy shook her head disdainfully, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes, before she responded, “You know what Spike? All that bullshit that just fell from your mouth sounds like a lame excuse for you to sit there on your… lily…white…ass!”

This final insult caused Spike’s demon to burst forward. In several clipped strides, he stood before her, just mere inches from the red line that separated the room in half. His golden eyes filled with rage. His chest heaved with unneeded breath. With a clenched jaw, Spike growled his response to her accusations,

“Been here a bit, yeah! Already searched…nothing! No seams or gaps to gain any purchase. Bloody metal box we’re in! Which, by the way, is at least a foot deep. Past there, is concrete. Past there…don’t bloody well know. Vibrations didn’t go that far! Door is computerized. Beyond there, countless blokes armed to the gills with enough weapons to take down a bleedin’ army of demons. Not to mention our complimentary bracelets, and these fucking lines everywhere! So tell me, Slayer, how do you figure I’m just sittin’ here on my arse!?”

Spike and Buffy’s gaze remained fixed for several silent moments, before the truth of his words penetrated her mind. Breaking away from his gaze, Buffy looked downward. Her eyes widened and began welling with tears. To further shield her sorrow, Buffy turned away from him. With a sense of defeat, she headed towards her ‘bed’.

Smelling the salty tears hovering on the air, Spike’s demon receded. With a heavy sigh, he mirrored her movements. Endless moments of tense silence passed between them before Buffy lifted her head, her whispered voice capturing Spike’s attention.

“This is real, isn’t it? I’m just waiting to wake up in Riley’s bed, finding out that this is some MSG induced nightmare.”

“No such luck, Slayer. Well, unless we’re sharing the same nightmare.”

“Sharing nightmares? Now that’s far fetched, even for Sunnydale.”

“My un-dead life in Sunnyhell, now that's a perpetual nightmare.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Following their agreement, another stretch of silence followed. Each appeared uncomfortable from the quiet and their close proximity. Starting to fidget, Spike tapped his fingers on his legs in rhythm with a song he softly murmured. Buffy’s eyes wandered around the room. Once she became bored with that, her gaze settled on Spike.

“I think you have ADHD,” Buffy blurted out. Hearing her words, Spike’s singing ended abruptly and his fingers stopped moving.

“What?”

“I said…”

“I know what you said, but why did you say it?”

“You’re always so fidgety. Like a shark, you never stop moving.”

With a casual shrug of his shoulders, Spike responded, “Have lots of energy. Don’t have the proper outlet to release it in.” Following a suggestive wag of his eyebrows and curl of his tongue, Buffy’s face scrunched with disgust.

“You’re such a pig, Spike!”

“Oink, oink baby! Oh, please, you really shouldn’t act all prim and proper, Slayer. The stench from the sex you had with Captain Cardboard is all over you. It makes me want to heave.” Hearing his comment, Buffy leapt from the bed, her pacing filling the small space.

“Ugh! There’s no way I can stay in this room with you!”

“Well then, call the concierge, maybe they can give you a different suite.” Following his taunting words, Buffy halted her movements. Her seething glare fell upon him.

“Spike, I’m warning you, shut your mouth, or you won’t make it to your first match.”

Spike instantly rose from his bed. Mirroring her in position and expression, he responded, “Bring it on Slayer! Oh wait, there’s the pretty red line between you and me. Better yet, let’s not forget something else that is even more dangerous than that line…” Spike snapped his mouth closed quickly, before he spilled that his chip had been deactivated. He wasn’t going to disclose that tasty tidbit until their fight, when he was finally fangs deep, draining her dry.

“What? What’s more dangerous? That freak with the ponytail or the guy that looks like a home shopping club reject?” Mirth surrounded Buffy’s scoffed words.

“So, you’ve met that sleazy bastard Darin MacNamara? How about Lilah Morgan, you’ve met her?”

“No, I’ve only been introduced to Jack, that’s the guy with the ponytail and Mr. Liberace Reject, that’s the one you called Darin.”

“Huh, so were you told why we’re here?”

“Why I’m here, yeah. Jack told me I have to fight and kill twenty-one demons, and then I can be released. But believe me, I’ll be long gone and those sick bastards will be in jail, way before that.”

“Yeah…yeah, Scoobies will save the day. Always do, ten minutes before the show ends. ‘Til then, you’re stuck here with the rest of the demons.”

“I’m not a demon!”

“Sorry to burst you’re holier-than-thou bubble, but in their eyes, you are. And at this moment, their opinions are the only ones that seem to matter.”

“For now, but they’ll get theirs.”

“No doubt, and you won’t be the only one that will insure they do. There’s a room full of demons itching to lend a hand or claw whatever the case may be. So, that’s all he told you, twenty-one wins then you get your get out of jail free card?”

“Yeah, that, and I should call him master. A cold day in hell before that happens.” Following her statement, Spike’s laughter filled the room.

“Would have loved to have seen your face when that sod said that, bloody priceless.”

“Big fun, sorry you missed it.”

“So, he never told you anything else…” With Spike’s probing tone, Buffy eyed him with suspicion.

“Spike, stop beating around the bush, if you have some other info, just spill. Despite how much I loathe you, we have to work together on this and unshared info is a no go.” The combination of this intriguing secret, and the fact he could tell her himself, caused a wicked smirk to erupt across his lips.

“I guess he never told you the final battle is between you and me?" Buffy stared at him incredulously. Her silence was her only response before he continued, “Looks like I’ll bag my third Slayer after all.”

Buffy remained silent following his disclosure. Several moments passed, while Spike soaked in her reaction. Aggravating her mental wound further, he continued, “I wasn’t planning on letting the cat out of the bag quite yet, but seeing that delicious expression on your face and the fact you’re speechless, which believe me is next to an impossible feat, is far better than my original plan.”

Spike gloated, continuing to take in the bewilderment that filled Buffy’s features. After several moments, she found her voice, asking a quick succession of questions.

“How? When? Who? Why?”

“All valid questions. How? Don’t bloody well know, was unconscious. When? That was covered by the how answer. Who? My bet is on the people that brought me here. Why? Well, why the hell not? Need a clear noggin to bag my third Slayer, don’t I? Anymore questions?”

Hearing his explanations, Buffy’s jaw clenched as she voiced her threat.

“You know that I have to kill you, right?”

“You can try. First, you have to get through twenty other demons before you get a crack at me. Then, and only then, do you get the pleasure of putting your hands on my tight, lithe body.”

“Not a problem. I’ve taken out twenty demons in a week or less.”

“Oooh…scary. Don’t rightly know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“Shut up, Spike!”

“Already resorting to the ol’ stand by? Pity, you’re already slipping. First, it starts with your witty quips. Next, you’ll be fighting some demon and he notices that you drop your left shoulder, and bang, good bye Slayer.”

“Fuck you!”

“Semi-harsh language from Betty.” Spike stretched his arms over his head, slowly returning to his bed.

“Well, even though this conversation has taken a path riddled with intelligent repartee, I’m knackered.” Spike removed his boots and slid between the sheets, his back facing her. Several moments later, he clapped his hands twice and the room fell into darkness.

Buffy remained motionless in the middle of the room. Each moment that had transpired since she awoke on the cold concrete floor, plagued her mind. For the ump-teenth time that day, tears brimmed on her lower lids. Spike’s eyes snapped open as his nose was bombarded with the smell of the Slayer’s salty tears.

“Bollocks! Slayer, are you crying…again?”

“No…no, I’m not. I have something in my eye.”

“That’s lame, Slayer. Even the whelp wouldn’t fall for an excuse like that, and that boy is bloody clueless to everything that goes on around him.”

Knowing the whelp Spike was referring to was Xander, instantly brought forth thoughts of him and everyone else at home, triggering Buffy’s tears to fall in earnest. Her choked sobs echoed through the room. With an irritated huff, Spike sat up and turned toward her.

Clapping his hands twice, he turned on the lights. Rooted in the same spot, stood Buffy. A steady stream of tears fell upon her flushed cheeks. Her teeth clamped on her bottom lip, attempting to stifle her cries.

“Stop staring at me, asshole!” Buffy yelled. The echoes of her claps extinguished the lights once more.

“Do you think I want the bloody lights on? Trying to sleep over here, yeah? Just thought a little light can guide you back to your bed, so I don’t have to listen to all that incessant blubbering!” Spike snapped, clapping again. Bright light filled the room, exposing Buffy once more.

“Knock it off!” Buffy screeched, shutting off the lights once more with two claps.

“Fine, whatever, just get away from my side so I can sleep. Even though I can’t go over there personally and shut you up, doesn’t mean my boot can’t!”

“Go right ahead, and you’ll fight barefoot!”

“Daft bint!”

“Asshole!”

“Cold-hearted bitch!”

“Jerk off!”

“Cheers Slayer, that’s a smashing idea!” Following his words, Buffy heard the echo of a zipper lowering.

“What…what are you doing? Don’t you dare do that!”

“It’s my bed…my cock… I’ll wank it if I wanna!” Spike shouted, acting like a petulant child.

“Ouch! What the fuck Slayer! You’re not getting your shoe back, you know that right?” Spike growled, rubbing the side of his head where her boot had struck.

“Don’t care, I’ll fight barefoot. Just the fact that I stopped you from doing that, is a perfect example of the ends justifying the means.”

“Who said you stopped me? Just a quick pause that’s…Ouch! Oi, watch the heart! You’re not getting this one back either!” Spike growled, rubbing his chest where the second boot landed. “Fine…fine! I give up! Anyway, he pulled a turtle long ago with all your weeping.”

“TMI, Spike!”

“Get used to it Slayer. Being my roomy, well, until some lucky demon with one good day snuffs you out, you’ll just have to deal.”

“God help me,” Buffy huffed.

After several steps, she found her bed. Wearily, she slid between the sheets. Following several moments after placing her head on the pillow, exhaustion claimed her. Spike listened intently to the steady tattoo of her heartbeat and even breathing. Before sleep pulled him under, he murmured, “You and I both, Slayer. You and I both.”

Spike’s eyes shot open from the shuffling noises, interrupting his sleep. Since becoming a vampire, he never fell fully asleep, too many enemies…too many ways to meet a dusty end. Without moving, his ears zoned in on where the sound came from- across the room. Several more moments filled with constant rustling, drove Spike to growl angrily, “Bloody hell slayer! Can’t you stay still over there?”

“I’m trying to get comfortable,” Buffy’s muffled whine, accompanied her continued movement.

“Well, save your complaints for management! Just stop your wiggling, so I can get some decent kip!” Buffy finally stilled. Following several beats of silence, Spike’s lids closed once more. They remained that way until she moved again.

“Really? It’s it too much to ask for you to keep bloody still?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just I’m reallyuncomfortable.”

Spike realized after several beats why she was. With a roll of his eyes, he spoke.

“Slayer, the loo is six paces to your left.”

“What? I can’t…not with you here,” Buffy whispered with embarrassment.

“Then don’t, no blood off my fangs.” Holding back his snicker, Spike continued, “Rain, waterfalls, fast running streams…”

“Shut up Spike!” Buffy snapped, as she pressed her thighs closer together.

“Drip…drip…drip…”

“Shut up…oh no…fuck it!”

Buffy threw the sheet back and shuffled six paces to her left. Spike heard the hurried rustling of her clothes and the quick descent of her pants. After several beats, despite her attempts to cover it with strategically placed coughs- came the stream of relief. “Ahhh…”

“Better?”

“Much.” An automatic swoosh of water followed Buffy’s sighed response.

“Slayer, the sink is two paces to your right.” Spike instructed her before he closed his lids once more.

“Thanks.” Buffy murmured, as she ran her hands under the stream of cold water. Cupping her hands, she captured several mouthfuls before she headed back to her bed.

After several tosses, turns and shifts, Buffy settled. Spike murmured to himself, “About bloody time,” once she finally stilled. Finding comfort, Buffy’s lids fluttered, as sleep started to drag her under.

“Slayer, the shower is seven paces, to the right of the loo.” Hearing Spike’s words, her eyes snapped wide open.

“What?”

“I said…”


“I know what you said, and I don’t stink!”


“From where I’m lying, you’re pretty ripe slayer.”

“Whatever Spike! Your one to talk, your dead!”

“Oi, I may be of the undead, but I surely don’t smell like it. Unlike others that shall remain nameless…YOU!”

“If I smell so bad, why are you just complaining now? Been in the same room for hours, and the only thing you’ve commented on was…um…you know.”

“Oh ph...lease. You can shag solider boy, but you can’t say it? And for the record, I wasn’t referring to the scent of bonking it’s something else. Quite nasty, if I do say so.” Buffy’s eyes widened from the allegations that she stank, especially since it was after she pulled her pants down.

“I’ll have you know, I’m all with the hygiene! I’m clean as a whistle, whistle clean I am, so for you to say that I…that I stink really…”

“Shut up for a minute slayer! I’m trying to think over here, and your incessant prattling is scrambling my noggin!” Spike’s words, followed by his deep intakes of unneeded breath, stilled Buffy’s rambling momentarily before she whispered once more.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to place that scent. Ah…that’s it! It’s the same smell that laced the blood that the commandos tried to feed me when I was first captured. Luckily, I didn’t drink it. A fellow vamp told me it was filled with a sedative of some sort. Why do you…” Spike’s voice faded, as Riley’s words filled her mind, “This is what needs to be done.”

Buffy’s fingers slowly rose to her throat. With her fingertips, she found a small, raised puncture wound. Her eyes widened with disbelief. Buffy sprang from her bed, shuffled six paces and dropped to the floor. With her hands, she sought the metal rim of the toilet. She pulled herself upward and dry heaved several times. Once her stomach ceased its spasms, Buffy slumped on the cool metal of the ground. It felt comforting, minimizing the heat and anger that rushed to her skin. After several slow, cleansing breaths, she dragged herself back to her bed.

The room was filled with a heavy silence as she slid under her covers. Tears streamed down her cheeks at the realization Riley had done this to her. He slept with her, drugged her and sold her to be some sort of modern day gladiator. Spike’s nose tickled once more with her tears.

After several beats he spoke, “Those tears aren’t for him are they?”

“Him who, Spike?” Buffy’s voice sounded so small and wounded, which caused Spike to snap his response.

“Captain Cardboard, that’s who! He’s the bastard that sent you here, wasn’t he? How did he do it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it Spike.” His eyes widened as he connected the facts in his mind.

“He drugged you while you were shagging?”

“Spike, I said, I didn’t want to talk about it.” Buffy’s tone remained soft, but rose slightly with ire.

“So what, you’re three for three? I guess Angel was right…you’re not worth a second go. Really slayer, you have tragic taste in men.”

Hearing his words, Buffy sprang from her bed. Her eyes flared with rage. Fists clenched, as she screamed her response, "Fuck you Spike!”

Spike let Buffy seethe several moments before he spoke, “That’s it. You feel it slayer? Feel the rage? Take it and use it. Don’t let that wanker get the best of you. Remember how you feel right now, each, and every time you enter in the ring. You’ll never lose, with that type of fire.”

Buffy blinked several times as his words washed over her. She hated to admit it, but he was right. If she went in the ring all weepy, she’d end up dead. This feeling of sheer and potent rage, this would assure her survival. “Once I’m on the outside, human or not, Riley is a dead man,” Buffy inwardly vowed.

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Buffy agreed, while she sat on her bed.

“Of course I am slayer. Well, about everything except you’ll never lose. Naturally you will. By my hands.” Spike’s light teasing tone, replaced her anger with the ghost of a faint smile.

“We’ll see Spike, we’ll see.”

“That we will. Now, go back to bed. We need our rest, got demons to kill.”

Buffy reclined on her bed with a thousand thoughts buzzing through her mind. With a mental shake of her head, she cleared them. Right now, she needed to sleep. Tomorrow may be the first day of these “battles to the death.” With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes. Instantly, the room was flooded with bright lights.

Before she could ask Spike why he turned on the lights, a loud voice echoed, “Prisoners…assume the position! Foreheads and palms on the back wall! Now!”

Spike pulled himself from his bed, grumbling both British and American curses. Buffy sat up, watching him move and follow the voice’s command. His palms were flush against the wall. Before he placed his forehead, he turned towards her.

His jaw clenched as he yelled, “Slayer, get your skinny arse up! These bastards are not going to ask twice. They’ll zap you, if you don’t move now!” Spike tilted his head slightly, while he contemplated his words. With a grin, he continued, “Actually, you know what, stay there. It will be quite fulfilling to see you writhing in pain from an electrical shock.”

“Shut up, I’m moving!” Buffy hissed, as she walked towards the wall.

With a slight whoosh, the door that led to Buffy’s side, opened. From their positions, neither could see who walked in. Due to Spike’s heightened senses, he could hear five heartbeats intermingling with the faint buzzing of electricity. At least two were armed with tasers. The heavy stench of cheap cologne assaulting his nose told him Darin MacNamara was back.

“Ah, I see our two newest guests have found their accommodations suitable. If you haven’t, well, just remember there’re at least thirty other demons that would find them quite luxurious. I assure you, they would trade in a heartbeat, or several depending on the demon you ask. You two should be flattered I am concerned of your well-being. This is not done with every demon that comes here. It appears your arrival to the final match is of utmost importance.”

“Aren’t we lucky, mate.” Spike sarcastic tone echoed off the wall. Hearing his words, Darin’s eyes narrowed as his angered gaze bore into Spike’s back.

“Not your mate, demon. It would be best you keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told. I’ve may have been significantly compensated for the two of you, but this does not mean I won’t kill you myself for your insubordination.” Darin’s voice was cold and callous. Once he finished addressing Spike, his eyes turned towards Buffy. With a deep breath, his pleasant tone returned.

“Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted. Oh yes, speaking of your well-being... here are your daily rations.” His eyes shot to Spike briefly, “None for you leech. You’ve already had yours. Ok, that’s about it, don’t expect to see me again. This was a one time courtesy visit, for the higher-ups.” Darin turned to exit the room before he passed the threshold; he called over his shoulder.

“First battle tonight little girl, they expect you to be properly dressed.” His hearty laugh was drowned out by the heavy metal door sealing shut. Several moments after the door closed, they pulled themselves from the wall. On the floor, was a Styrofoam tray, which held a viscous lump of some foreign substance resembling mutated oatmeal.

“I really hope those are raisins,” Buffy murmured as she slowly approached the mass. Spike’s hearty laugh filled the room as he pointed towards her bed. Her eyes followed and landed on the item that triggered his laughter.

“No…no…no!” Buffy yelled, approaching her bed. Her eyes widened as she held up the first offending item.

Within her grasp, was a black leather bustier. Upon further inspection, she noticed adorning the cups and hem were strategically placed pieces of gilded metal. She proceeded to look down at the two other scraps of leather. Which were so miniscule, they could not be construed, in her mind, as articles of clothing. She lifted up the larger of the two, which she believed to be a skirt. Shaking her head in disbelief, she lifted the final piece up for inspection. Instantly, her eyes widened.

“No fucking way! There… is… no… way, I’m wearing that!”

With petulance, Buffy threw the leather scrape down on the floor. Spike’s laughter ceased momentarily hearing her words. Immediately, his hearty laughter returned with renewed intensity, which was directed towards the offending item he spied at her feet, a black leather thong.

After choking down most of the vile food-like substance, Buffy tried to rest. Her lids refused to obey as Darin’s words, “First battle tonight little girl” incessantly rattled in her mind. Darin’s voice was then replaced by her own thoughts.



“Besides my first few months with Merrick and the yearly apocalypses, I can’t remember ever being this nervous about fighting a demon.”



Across the way, Spike remained unusually quiet, with the exception of some random lyrics he softly sang, while he casually lounged on his bed. His exterior appeared calm and collected, but his mind rambled.



“Even as a fledgling, I never truly worried about becoming dust. Hell, I sought out my own demise! For over a hundred and twenty years, one way or another, I could escape any situation. Even when it seemed impossible, the possible happened. The rabbit’s foot and horseshoe I have shoved up my arse, better do their jobs! Well at least another twenty-one times! Spike inwardly scoffed.



Unable to remain sitting, Buffy began pacing the room. With each passing, her eyes fixated on the ‘outfit’. The leather disaster remained on her bed, except for the tiny scrap on the floor.



Following her mini temper-tantrum, Spike’s amusement seemed to echo endlessly, until it was finally replaced by sputters of dying laughter. Once ended, the silence began. Buffy surprisingly preferred his amusement to the silence that now hung heavily in the room.



The pacing continued, until Buffy flopped down on her bed. Surprisingly, she had the urge to talk to someone about how worried she was. The only person there was Spike. Strangely, she really wasn’t too put off by that.



“Spike?”



To her own ears, she sounded foreign. This was mainly due to the once continuous silence, but partly from the politeness of her tone.



“Yeah?”



“Are you…what I mean…I’m kinda…I know this sounds weird but…never mind.”



Spike’s features filled with curiosity, from her stammered speech. Buffy normally wouldn’t initiate a conversation with him, unless it was laced with threats. She also appeared somewhat nervous. Needing to know what she was thinking, he sat up to face her.



“What’s on your mind Slayer?”



Buffy’s gaze fell to her bare feet, as she slowly drew an arc with her pointed toes. Her whispered response broke through the awkwardness.



“I’m nervous.”



Her declaration caught him off guard. He waited for several beats before he commented.



“Did you?”



“Yeah, I said it, I’m nervous.”



“What for? You’re the bloody slayer! This is in your job description, another day at the bleedin’ office.”



“And it probably will be, it’s just…” with a shoulder shrug, she continued, “I never had to fight under these conditions before.”



“What? Decked out in Xena attire?” Spike gave a deep chuckle. Hearing this, Buffy stood and began to pace once more. Her arms flailed, as she seethed.



“See…I knew I shouldn’t have said anything! Stupid Buffy, thinking I could talk to you about anything!”



“I am little nervous too, Slayer.”



As always, Spike’s mouth moved before his brain could have a say in the matter. Saying this, his gaze fell from her, to his own feet. Buffy’s movements abruptly stopped. Her eyes widened slightly, as her head slowly swiveled to look towards him.



“Did you?”



“Yeah…yeah I did. Enjoy it while you can Slayer, cuz I’m completely off my bird at this moment, and I will never admit anything of the sort to you, again.”



Spike’s gaze lifted and met hers. A silent acknowledgement and a trivial amount of camaraderie passed between the two. Before another word could be spoken, a loud voice sounded through the room.



“Twenty minutes!”





Buffy’s eyes moved first towards the doorway, then to her bed-- more specifically to the articles of leather there. Spike’s laughter recommenced as Buffy blanched from the task before her putting these vile pieces on her body.



“Looks like I’m going to get a show! Damn…all I need is some blood, bottle of Jack and my fags, and this would be exactly like that time in Amsterdam’s red light district!”



“Shut up Spike.” Buffy’s voice didn’t hold its typical bravado, and seemed to hold more of a tone of embarrassment than anger.



“Now, now, don’t be like that. Come on, give Spike a little show.”



With a devilish leer, his gaze traveled over her body, holding briefly on her breasts before descending further. Fury consumed Buffy as she scooped up the clothing and threw them.



“If you like them so much, you wear them!”



With agile grace, he stood and caught them mid flight. He appreciatively held up each garment for inspection. The tip of his tongue pressed against his front teeth, while his eyes and hands moved over the leather.



“Your sick Spike!”



“What, not sick, just a man. Appreciative of scantly leather-clad, gorgeous women…” Buffy’s brow arched at his words. Before she commented, he continued, “or a pesky Slayer who is about to be embarrassed beyond belief, beaten and killed. You know, the standard evil trinity for a good day.”



Spike lobbed the clothing towards her and returned to his bed, discreetly hiding the erection forming within his snug denims. Buffy begrudgingly picked them up off the floor.



Her eyes widened and darted over towards the wall behind him, as she silently attempted to hint, in her mind, the obvious. Spike’s gaze remained on her, completely ignoring to her hints.



With a huff, she scoffed, “Spike…turn around!”



“No…make me.” With a smug grin, he crossed his arms over his chest and met her challenging glare straight on.



“Spike, please. Despite how much I hate to say it, I have to put this…these on!” Buffy huffed with exasperation.



“And…”



With a slow, steady intake of breath, she answered, “And I would appreciate it if you gave me some semblance of privacy.”



Spike’s mind rambled with more witty banter, but noticing the death-grip that she had on the clothing and the beseeching tone of her voice, he relented.



“Fine…fine, but I get to say whatever I want, when you’re changed. Deal?”



With a shake of her head, Buffy agreed begrudgingly. “Yeah, deal.”



Spike stood and walked towards the wall. He placed his forehead upon the cool metal and called out, “Go for it Slayer.”



He could hear the distinctive sound of her disrobing. The metal from his zipper, bit into his erection, as a mixture of pleasure and pain radiated throughout his body. His mind started to picture her, as she was at this very moment, completely bare.



In his mind’s eyes he envisioned, her flawless bronzed skin. Small pert breasts, adorned with rosy peaks, puckered from the chilled air. Gazing lower, her flat, toned abdomen, which housed a tiny navel, just made for the tip of his tongue. Further still, her cleanly shaven mound.



He then pictured her splayed upon her bed, thighs parted, offering him a glimpse of perfection…her quim. Hidden within her velvety folds, the sweet distended pearl and the epitome of heaven, her heated core. His gaze fixed on her body, until her husky voice pulled his eyes upward…Spike…



“Spike…hello…Spike!”



“Wot?”



“I’ve been calling you for like…forever, and nothing! If you want to keep staring at the wall, fine by me!”



Spike lids fluttered, as he pulled himself from his thoughts and the wall. Slightly shifting his hips, he dislodged his cock, which was most likely permanently imprinted with metal tracks. He turned towards her voice. All he had envisioned paled in comparison to the sight before him.



Her petite, womanly form was adorned with minuscule scrapes of strategically placed black leather. It appeared each piece was custom made for her, as they highlighted her finer assets: small, pert breasts, toned and flawless skin. Staring in awe, Spike’s didn’t hear nor did he process her demand.





“…boots?”





“What?”



“I said, give me my boots.” Buffy didn’t appear affected by the outfit, despite her earlier ranting. Her voice was filled with strength and authority. Spike scarred brow cocked from her tone. His snarky response followed.



“I see that you’re taking the Dominatrix mind-set like a duck to water, Slayer. Bully for you. Just remember, I don’t give a damn what you say or how you say it. If you want your boot, you gotta beg for it.”



Buffy crossed her arms over her leather-covered breasts, with a huff and eye roll. Knowing that the guards would be coming back soon, she relented.



“Please Spike, can I have my boots?” Buffy asked offhandedly.



“Yeah, don’t seem too sincere there Slayer. You need to do…much…better…than…that. Get on your knees and ask for it,” Spike taunted, following with his customary tongue roll. Buffy responded to his instruction with a death-glare. With an exaggerated exhale of breath she lowered herself into a kneeling position.



“Please Spike, can I have them?” Buffy’s voice lost its harshness, and was replaced with a smooth, seductive tone.



Spike’s cock jumped, scrapping against the metal zipper once more. His eyes flashed with pure desire. He attempted to rein in his lust as the heavy silence enveloped them. After several moments, he tossed over one boot. Still kneeling, Buffy caught the boot, sat down and slipped it on. Once finished, she looked at him poignantly, silently demanding the second. Spike noticed her look and responded.



“What? I said ask for it not them. You have to do something else to get the other one. Now let me think of something creative…” With exaggerated taps on his chin, Spike continued to eye her.



Before Buffy could snap her response, another voice sounded throughout the room, “Prisoners, assume the position!”



Spike quickly tossed over her other shoe, while he groused, “Bloody pillocks taking away all my fun.”



Deftly, she caught the boot and started to slide her foot inside. Before she could finish, Jack and five guards sauntered into the room. Jack noticed that Buffy was still on the floor. He grabbed her by the hair, arching her neck backward to the point of pain, forcing her to face upward.



“I said assume the position!”



His fist still embedded in her hair, he began to drag her towards the back wall. Her arms and legs attempted to gain purchase in order to cushion the violent motion. Once they reached, he brutally released her, pulling some strands out in the process. Not making a sound, Buffy immediately scrambled into ‘position.’



At first, Spike watched with anger bubbling just under the surface. Despite the numerous times they had fought, this felt different, more vile and sadistic. While her hands and forehead remained placed, Jack landed several kicks to her ribs. Hearing her stifled cries and witnessing her winces, Spike’s demon roared forward.



“Oi, ya wanker! Leave the lady alone!”



Jack’s hate-filled glare fell on Spike. With a loud grunt, three guards rushed him, as Spike remained motionless. One guard hit him on the back of the neck with a crossbow, causing him to fall to one knee. Spike’s treatment mirrored Buffy’s except for a crossbow, loaded with a wooden arrow trained on his chest. He retained his position despite the blows he received.



Once the air returned to Buffy’s lungs, she yelled, “Stop, just stop it!”



Following several more strikes, Jack whistled and the guards backed off, with one leaving a parting kick to Spike's ribs. Jack grabbed Buffy’s hair once more, bringing her ear close to his mouth.



“Did we hurt your fellow demon? Makes my stomach churn at the thoughts of what you two have been doing in here…alone.”



“Planning on ways to kick your arse, that’s what we’ve been doin’,” Spike snapped as his golden glare fixed on Jack.



“Looks like you’re the one who was beaten, leech.”



“What…that? Mere love taps. I’ve received worse when I was shagging some bint.”



Spike’s taunting words, earned a sneer from Jack. Their hate-filled stares held, until Buffy shifted slightly.



Jack’s gaze lowered to the woman at his feet. With a clenched jaw he seethed, “Are you ready to die, little girl?”



With that, he pulled his hands from her tresses, as he pushed her head forward in the process. He stepped away, and with a nod of his head, instructed the guards to escort Buffy out of the room. Spike watched intently as they left. Momentarily, their eyes met before she was gone.



Spike slowly pulled himself from the wall and shuffled towards his bed. As the silence enveloped him, his gaze held firm on her empty side of the room.

Four days ago



Willow: When did you get a pager? What’s going?



Riley approached the table, as Buffy stood.



Riley: That’s our cue. Mother wants us.



Buffy: Will…



Willow: I know. Talk later.



Willow watched Buffy and her new friends exit the Bronze. Unsettling feelings passed over her. After several moments of an inner dialog, Willow labeled them as a visit from the green-eyed monster and set off to find Xander and Anya on the dance floor.





The Following Day







Willow awoke to streams of daylight filling her room. Slowly rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rolled over to notice that Buffy’s side was just how she had left it. When Willow saw the empty, undisturbed bed the same feelings that plagued her last night, returned.



With her ‘resolve face’ in place, Willow quickly got out of bed, grabbed her toiletries, and headed towards the bathrooms. With one thought echoing in her mind, Something’s not right, need to see Giles, now.



Less than an hour later, Willow was at Giles’ doorstep. Through the door, she could hear him and the others talking. With a quick knock, she stepped inside.



“It’s the, uh, the gritty texture, isn’t it? Maybe you’re more a cherry-berry fellow.”



Digging through the numerous open boxes in front of him and Anya, Xander found and held up another bar for Giles to try.



Giles’ face was scrunched with disgust, from the foul food in his mouth. Willow handed him a tissue and with a grateful smile, he took it, turning to do what he needed to do.



“Giles, it looks like you were rendered powerless against that vile substance. Maybe we can use Xander’s boost bars as another line of defense in our arsenal,” Willow jested with a cheeky smile. Xander scoffed his response.



“Very funny Wills, they’re not that bad. Come, sit down, you look like an almond-licorice woman to me.”



“Eww and no thanks, I would like to keep my taste buds for food that doesn’t render a man speechless. Anyhow, I’m here on Scooby business, more specifically Buffy and the Initiative business.”



After taking a long draw on his tea to dispel the bad taste from his mouth, Giles faced Willow. His features filled with unease as he questioned her.



“What are your concerns Willow?”



She began to explain what transpired last night at the Bronze and how Buffy hadn’t come back to the dorms yet. When Willow brought up the subject of Buffy spending the night with Riley, Giles removed and started profusely cleaning his glasses. Once she finished, Giles placed the over-cleansed lenses on the bridge of his nose, as he spoke.



“Ah, yes, Willow, perhaps this is jealousy that you are feeling? I know it is difficult when friends, especially ones who have shared so much, start to pursue outside friendships. I don’t believe that…”



“Giles, it’s not that! I’m really getting some bad vibes about this. One minute the commandos are all hush-hush, the next, they give her a pager and ask her to play army? I don’t like it, and I don’t trust them, especially Professor Walsh. She doesn’t seem like the type to give up control easily, or if at all, and Buffy isn’t one for taking orders. You of all people should know that Giles.”



With a heavy sigh, Giles nodded his agreement. “I see your point Willow. Sit down, I need you to tell me everything about Riley, Professor Walsh and the Initiative. Do not leave anything out. Even the smallest detail may be beneficial.”







An Hour Later







“I think that about sums it up Giles. You’ve squeezed all the info you can from my cerebrum,” Willow sighed as she closed her eyes, letting her head fall onto the back of the couch.



“That reminds me of a wish that I once granted, almost two hundred years ago. This woman wanted vengeance against her intellectual husband, who was continuously berating her with words she didn’t know. So she wished all the info that he knew would be squeezed out. I did exactly that. Let me tell you, brain matter is very difficult to get out of the carpet,” Anya stated bluntly, biting into a maple-walnut boost bar.



Xander’s eyes widened with disbelief, at Anya’s candor. Willow blanched and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Giles breathed deeply, and then replied.



“We appreciate your trip down memory lane Anya, but I do believe Willow was being figurative not literal.”



“Oh, that may be, but I was being honest when I said it’s difficult to get brain out of the carpet.” Anya nodded, as she explained. Willow incredulously looked towards her. In an attempt to ignore Anya, she spoke.



“I’m going to call the dorms and see if Buffy has left a message.” Several moments passed. With a disappointed sigh, Willow placed the receiver onto its cradle.



“No messages Giles, this is so not like her. She would have called me the minute she got up to talk about…um…girl things. The feeling I have, is getting worse by the hour. Even though we are in research mode, we need to do more and now.”



“I agree with Wills, non-callage from the Buffster equals badness. It’s in a woman’s genetic make-up to maintain contact with her girlfriends, always. My bat senses are tingling G-man, I think we need to check around.” Xander stood, placed his jacket on and headed towards the door.



“That’s a good idea. Xander and Anya, check the Espresso Pump and her house. However, do not alarm Joyce. We don’t want her to worry unnecessarily. Willow, go back to campus and check the dorms. She may be sleeping or at the library studying.” Giles was met with a ‘really?’ look from Willow, he then continued, “fine, not the library, but she may be about. I’ll stay here waiting for you all to check in. I have some sources I can contact. I believe there is far more than meets the eye, with Maggie Walsh and the Initiative.”







**** ****





Angel Investigations





Piles of demon reference guides surrounded Cordelia and Wesley. With a huff, she slammed the heavy cover shut and eyed Wesley with contempt. After several moments, he looked up from the text and spoke.



“What?”



“This really sucks, that’s what! Here we are breathing in all this moldy, book dust and the broody black hole himself, which by the way, doesn’t need to breath, is sleeping the day away in his bat cave!”



“Cordelia, in a few hours Angel will be going into a home, where one of the family members is possessed by an Ethros demon. In addition, he still hasn’t fully recovered from our previous case involving the Tyah.”



“Yeah, because barely dressed women running around LA is a new thing…puh…lease! I can see how a possession would be difficult, but it’s still no excuse! I researched! I baked! He’s just giving us all the grunt work…again! I’m telling you, when he gets his undead ass up here I’m going to—“



The shrill ring of the telephone broke Cordelia from her rant. Following two rings, she answered. Unlike before, her voice held a sweet and charming quality.



“Angel Investigations…we help the helpless, how may I help you?”



Her brow furrowed from the caller’s words. After several moments, she responded, “Oh, hey Giles—no Angel’s not available right now, well in case you forgot, he still has a case of the ‘grrrs’ you know, a vampire— British people don’t have much of a sense of humor, do they?”



Wesley glowered at Cordelia, as she poignantly eyed him. Then she continued, “Nope, no sense of humor at all. Anyway, if you want, Giles, I can give him a message when he rises— See that was another joke, never mind. Okay, shoot—Yup— Missing—ahun—yeah—okay. I’ve got it, bye Giles.”



Cordelia hung up the phone, sighing heavily. Wesley ignored her as he resumed his research. After several more increasingly louder sighs, his eyes left the pages and fell to her.



“Is there something wrong?”



She rolled her eyes and responded coolly, “I’m flattered that you noticed. Well, it seems Sunnydale has misplaced their slayer.”



“Buffy is missing?”



Cordelia’s eyes widened. With clenched teeth, she seethed. “Why don’t you say it a little louder genius! Hello, a supernatural being with supernatural hearing, just downstairs. If you want drama central—again, by all means say her name.”



“I know that Angel cares for her, but I don’t think—“



“Wesley, this goes way beyond caring. I know you only caught the final act, but their relationship is one big drama, a forbidden love. Once soulful vamp looses said soul—turns evil. Girl sends him to hell. He comes back all feral. Big secret of his return, they’re together, but not. Killed a giant snake and blew up a school. He leaves, disappearing in a billowy cloud of smoke, the end.



Or so we thought. Let's not forget since he’s been here, they’ve seen each other twice. Once at Thanksgiving, after, well after he was told of a vision she was in danger. He rushed to Sunnydale and made with the big fun stalking around in the shadows and never telling her he was there. This, by the way, went over real big with her,not. Then she came to LA hell-bent, claiming he was a sneaking around in her town and this was some new torture he devised for her.”



Wesley’s eyed Cordelia. She stared back and scoffed, “what? It wasn’t like I was ease dropping or anything. Anyway, they were together in his office for less than ten minutes, which half of that time they fought some demon with three eyes. Let’s just say he’s far less broody now. ”



“He was more broody? Is that possible?”



“Oh, yeah, impossible to believe, but it’s true. So you see Wes, I am not giving him this message.” She crumbled up the paper and threw it in the garbage. She exaggeratedly wiped her hands together and continued, “it will be much better for all of us, if he doesn’t know about their missing slayer.”







**** ****





Several Hours Later





Willow headed towards Giles’ apartment feeling defeated. She’d searched the entire campus numerous times over, even the library, to no avail. No Buffy. The once niggling feeling had grown and now sat like a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. Passing several fraternities as she walked, another idea, or person came to mind. Riley. With renewed hope, Willow headed towards Lowell House.







**** ****







“You’re filthy and vile. You will be thoroughly punished!”



A heavy, leather bullwhip lashed pristine, naked flesh. The owner of said flesh winced, but remained motionless in his bindings. Kneeling on the floor, arms spread wide--to the point of pain. Held by chains fixed to adjacent walls, damp, blond hair hung in his blue eyes.



“How dare you! You belong to me!”



The whistle of the whip sounded through the air, before it hit its mark, his back. Once more, only a stifled flinch was his reaction. Several more violent blows fell, each drawing blood from deep welts left upon his fair skin.



Once finished, her labored breaths were the only sound in the room. Stalking before him, she harshly grabbed his chin, lifting his head upwards. A mixture of pain and pleasure swirled in his eyes.



Their gazes held before he whispered, “Am I forgiven, mother?”



“You still have more penance to serve, Riley. However, you were such a good boy. Now mother will give you a wonderful treat,” Maggie purred as she slowly undressed, removing all the barriers existing between her and her ‘son’.

Willow climbed Lowell House’s stairs with trepidation. The building didn’t hold the same welcoming quality it did a few weeks ago during their frat party. Inhaling deeply to settle her nerves, Willow placed several soft knocks on the door.



She waited several beats before knocking once more. As her hand was poised, the door opened quickly, startling her. Standing just inside the partially opened door, was one of the commandos. His narrow, dark eyes fixed on her. They questioned her purpose there, without him saying a word. Awkwardness surrounded them, until Willow spoke.



“Um…hi, Forrest right? I’m looking for Riley. Is he home?”



“And you are?”



“Willow, we met last night, at the Bronze. I’m one of Buffy’s friends. That’s why I’m here—“Before she could finish her words, he interrupted brusquely.



“She’s not here.”



“She’s not?”



“No.”



The former Willow, in her shy, geeky stage would have fled from such a callous, harsh tone. Not now. With confidence, Willow pushed forward.



“Well, is Riley?”



“He’s indisposed at the moment.”



Willow’s brow rose slightly from his word choice…indisposed. ”What is he hiding?” Willow inwardly questioned. Needing to say more, she spoke.



“Okay, do you think you could give him a message? Could you let him know—“



The door closing cut off Willow’s words. She was stunned momentarily by Forrest’s rude behavior. Shaking her head, Willow turned and headed down the walkway, grumbling unkindly about Riley’s friend.



Halfway to the street, another gentler voice echoed from behind her. Turning, Willow noticed another one of Riley’s friends jogging down the walkway. He quickly caught up to her.



“Hey, you’re one of Buffy’s friends, right?”



“Yeah, I’m Willow. We met at the Bronze last night.”

“Graham…” He held out his hand. He shook hers briefly. Once introductions were completed, he continued. “Can I ask why you are here?”



“Well, I was looking for Buffy. Forrest, the helpful guy that he is, told me she wasn’t here and Riley was indisposed,” Willow groused as she used her fingers to make air quotes around her stressed word.



“Sorry about Forrest, he’s a tad grumpy lately. He lost a project that he worked really hard on, and every time he thinks he found it, he looses it again,” Graham explained.



“Been there myself, I understand, but it doesn’t mean I accept that as an excuse for him being really rude. Anyhow, the main reason why I’m here is that Buffy’s MIA. I know she was with Riley last night. That’s why I need to talk to him.”



“He’s kinda busy, maybe I can help. Well, we were all together, until they left us around one am. I haven’t seen either of them since.”



Willow pressed forward. “Graham, I know that Forrest said Riley was busy, but do you think you could bother him? I only need a minute or two, that’s it.” Willow hoped her softened tone and warm smile would, with any luck, sway him.



Graham tilted his head slightly, almost as if he was listening to something. A few moments passed, and he responded.



“Yeah, that’s fine. Come back to the house, Riley will meet us in the foyer.”



Reluctantly, Willow followed Graham back towards the house, despite her entire being screaming in protest. She remained several paces behind until they reached the door. Opening from the inside, Willow noticed Riley standing in the foyer waiting for her. Hesitant about entering, she remained on the porch. With apprehension, Willow spoke.



“Hey Riley, do you mind if we talk privately for a minute?”



Riley’s gaze fell to Graham and then shifted off to the side, possibly to someone who was standing behind the open door. He nodded and slowly walked towards her. Numerous times, she witnessed him flinch, as if he was in pain. Graham silently walked into the house. He firmly closed the door, leaving them alone.



“Hey Willow, how’s it going? Sorry about Forrest, he’s—“ She finished his sentence.



“Lost a project that he worked really hard on, and every time he thinks he found it, he looses it again. Am I right?”



“Yeah, how did you know? Oh, that’s right, Graham. Forrest can be a tad grumpy when things don’t turn out his way.”



“We all can. Speaking of which, do you know where Buffy is?”



”Not the greatest segue way, but it will do,” Willow inwardly thought.



“Buffy? Well, um, she hung with the guys and me last night, until about zero, one hundred hours—“Noticing her brow furrowing in confusion, he explained. “That’s one a.m. Afterwards, she and I, well…we spent some time…alone.” Riley’s gaze darted down towards his feet with his final word.



“Where is she now?” Confusion continued to mar her features.



Riley glanced at her, looking slightly sheepish. He seemed to be blushing slightly. With hesitation, verging on shyness, he responded.



“Well, this morning, I had things that needed to be done, so she left. I can’t tell you where she is now.”



Willow could see how Buffy had fallen for his mid-western charms, but something didn’t add up. Knowing how Buffy felt following the two disastrous ‘morning afters’, she wouldn’t merely up and leave. If she did, which was highly unlikely, Buffy wouldn’t have gone the entire day without contacting her or the others.



There was far more to the story than Riley was telling. Not willing to show her hand just yet on her thoughts about Riley’s, or the Initiatives', involvement with Buffy’s disappearance, Willow quickly placed a warm smile on her lips.



With a cheery tone, she spoke. “Well, thanks Riley. Call me Miss Worry-wart. I’m just worrying over nothing. She’s probably at Giles’ right now, discussing the newest big bad in town. When I catch up with her, I’ll tell her to give you a call, bye!”



Willow quickly descended the stairs and headed towards the street. Once there, she turned briefly, waved twice then continued towards Giles’ apartment. As soon as she was out of viewing range of the Lowell House and Riley, Willow began to run full speed towards her destination.





**** ****





Matching her wave, Riley watched Willow depart. Once she was gone, his pleasant smile disappeared immediately. The kindhearted facade fell from his face as Riley entered into the house, meeting Graham and Forrest, who were still in the foyer. Silently, they ascended the stairs and headed towards the mirror, which camouflaged the Initiative’s elevator.



Three sets of eyes gazed into the glass without looking as they awaited the retinal scan. Once completed, the reflective wall moved, revealing the elevator. Each entered in order of command. Riley spoke clearly into the voice activation panel. The door closed, and they descended.



Once they reached their destination, each stepped out and headed towards Professor Walsh, who stood facing a wall of monitors. Each monitor revealed different sections of the Initiative and Lowell House. The men sat behind her, along with five other agents. Her hardened gaze moved from the screens and landed on the group before her.



She spoke in a harsh tone. “I see that we have a situation here gentleman. Our recent acquisition appears to have some strings still attached. They need to be severed, immediately.” Her gaze moved over each man several times before she continued.





**** ****





Present Day







Rough hands forced Buffy down the dimly lit hallway. Jack had peeled off from the group along with three guards a hallway back, which was a blessing. While he was present, the only sound heard was his heavy footfalls and the grumbles under his breath. His lack of presence seemed to bring relief to all, not just her.



Once they entered the main room, the pungent stench of demons, blood, and death assaulted her nose. The foreign substance that she’d choked down earlier, made its presence known. Buffy swallowed deeply several times to return it to her soured stomach.



The guards guided her towards a set of blood red doors at the furthest end of the room. Off to her right, Buffy noticed a dozen demons standing just beyond a red line. Their gazes moved from a metal grate and fixed on her. Each emitted numerous rumblings as she passed.



Reaching the ramp, which lead to the door above, both guards’ hands tightened on her upper arms to still her forward movements. Buffy could hear a thunderous combination of shouts and chants. Several moments passed until the crowd’s yells transformed to one mantra — “Kill, kill, kill”.



Silence followed briefly, until the cheers echoed from the room. Once more, Buffy's stomach rolled. The door opened and out walked a snake-like demon flanked by two guards. Quickly, they walked past her, heading towards the demon holding area. Its lidless eyes met hers briefly, while a forked tongue flickered forward. She believed that a smirk graced its gaping maw.



Shortly after they passed, two guards exited the area beyond the doors. Both held a length of the chain. Attached to the end, were two grappling hooks that were deeply embedded in the shoulders of a bloodied body of a dead demon.



Buffy’s eyes widened as the reality of what existed beyond these doors hit her full force. The guards noticed her tension. Their grip tightened maintaining a firm hold on her upper arms as they ascended the ramp.



Echoing over the roar of the crowd, a smooth cultured voice amplified.



“Ladies and Gentlemen the Macnamara brothers welcome you to another night of high stakes, high voltage entertainment. First time to our ring, a rare beauty, but don’t let this fool you. She’s a highly skilled fighter with the taste for slaying demons. Let’s welcome – The Slayer!”



Deafening cheers filled her ears, as she was pushed forward into a cavernous area. Buffy blinked several times to adjust to brightness of the lights. Buffy took the opportunity of introductions as time to take in her surroundings. Six-foot, concrete walls encircled her. Topped by four feet high, chain-link fencing, complete with a red warning rail.



Beyond there, dozens of name-less people all screaming for death, hers or one that she would supply. Either one would suffice. Following the cheers, the announcer introduced her opponent.



“And her opponent, another first-timer to grace our ring, Pei!”



Buffy turned to see a loose-skinned demon escorted into the enclosure. He looked like a cross between a human and a Shar Pei, floppy ears, big black eyes, small fangs, and hands adorned with long talons. With a hearty shove from the guard, he stumbled slightly then stood several feet from her.



Buffy’s gazed at the demon before her. Clad in loose black pants, a tee shirt and boots. He appeared almost, normal. Continuing her assessment, she stifled a laugh, when she noticed the words written across his chest —“Kittens…the other, other white meat.”



Their gazes held, until the echo of the doors closing broke it. With a lopsided, serrated grin, he spoke, “Hey, um, unlike the announcer said, I’m Wally, short for Walter. Those humans thought that Wally didn’t sound scary enough, so called me Pei. I guess it’s short for Shar Pei, you know the dog. Anyhow, you’re from Sunnydale right? My cousin, well my cousin’s cousin, twice removed is from there, Clem. Maybe you know him?” Buffy’s wide eyes remained fixed on him as he continued. “I guess not. So, I would ask what a girl like you is doing in a place like this, but that would be a cheesy line. But, really, how did you get stuck here?”





Wally’s face scrunched with confusion from her lack of response. He spoke once more.



“¿Usted habla español? Um…Vous parlez français? No? Parlate italiano? Sorry that’s all I’ve got.”



Following a chuckle, she responded. “Um, hi Wally, I’m Buffy. I would say nice to meet you, but that’s not true. That would mean I’m glad to be here which I am so not.”



“That’s ok, I understand. I want you to know, I don’t want you dead, but I don’t want to die either. Maybe if we just stand here they’ll call it a draw and we can leave, you know, alive?”



The crowd’s disapproval raised several decibels as they continued to speak. Behind him, Buffy noticed the guards hauling out a large, high-pressured hose and training it on Wally. The furrow of her brow caused him to turn.



Instantly, he raised his hands to shield himself and quickly began to back pedal, shaking his head violently as he moved. After several steps, he was pressed against the wall, his eyes wide and filled with fear.



“What’s wrong Wally?” Her gaze held firm on the frightened demon before her as she slowly approached him.



With a shaky talon-tipped finger, he pointed speechlessly towards the hose. His terror filled words, spilled forward.



“Water…water it kills our kind, very painfully. It shrinks our skin, like dry cleaning in the wash. Until it suffocates us, well, unless we die from the sheer pain first.”



Before Buffy could respond, Wally’s big, sad eyes fell upon her as he spoke. “I’m sorry.” With that, he rushed forward.



Instinctually, Buffy sidestepped his charge like a matador. Turning she witnessed him stumble slightly, and his head hit against the wall with a sickening crunch. Immediately, he buckled into a life-less heap on the ground. The impact appeared to have broken his neck.



The crowd chanted her name due to his death, regardless of Buffy’s participation in it. Two guards wrapped their steel grips around her upper arms and escorted her from the ring. She heard the announcer’s voice as she left.



“The winner…The Slayer! Expect big slays from her in the future! Now, coming to the ring…”



Still stunned, the guards dragged her down the hallway and deposited her none too gently, in her room. Buffy plopped weightlessly on her bed as she replayed the short battle with Wally.



“Never before had a demon acted so human-like. Well, except for Angel, but he doesn’t count with his soul and all,” Buffy murmured, her gaze remaining unfocused.



After several moments, with a heavy sigh, Buffy mentally shook her head and looked over to Spike’s side of the room…empty. She hadn’t seen him when she left the ring, but she hadn’t really seen anything at all.



All at once, a bombardment of feelings hit her: desperation, sadness, anger and sheer exhaustion. Her gaze traveled across the length of the room, she noticed the shower. Eying it hungrily, her skin itched for the comfort that water could give. Violently tugging off the restricting leather bindings, she headed wearily towards the shower.



The shower consisted of a solid piece of translucent Plexiglas that ran from the ceiling to the floor and a showerhead that protruded slightly from the wall. Buffy hesitantly stepped into the area. Automatically, a deluge of warm water danced over her fatigued body. Buffy sighed contentedly, as she submerged her head under the stream, enjoying every moment.



Buffy proceeded to search for some soap. She noticed a small niche in the wall that contained a tiny spout. Placing her hand tentatively under it, a squirt of slippery liquid landed in her palm. Large beaming smile graced her lips as she repeated the action to increase the amount.



Buffy moaned while she worked the soap through her filthy locks. Her hums increased as her hands ran down the length of her body. She turned and placed her head under the water to rinse away the filth and grime. Her mind was completely shut off from the early horror, only pleasure filled the space. This is why she didn’t hear anyone enter the room.



“Honey, I’m home…” Spike announced as they shoved him harshly into the room. The sounds of pleasure and falling water drew his gaze. Before him, separated by plexiglas stood the completely nude Slayer. Bubbles offered the only cover, for her taut body. After several moments of speechlessness, two choked words fell from his mouth.



“Bloody ‘ell.”

One Hour Prior



Spike’s lengthy strides ate up the small space before him, while his mind raced. A short time had passed since the guards had taken Buffy to her first battle. Agitated ramblings spilled forth as he continued to pace.



“No, no you don’t care if she survives! She’s the bloody slayer for fuck sakes! Should be relishing in the fact that some demon is going to have his one good day, not worrying about her like some bleedin’ git!”



Spike was broken from his thoughts when the unexpected announcement of “Assume the position.” echoed through the enclosure.



His demon flashed forward briefly and then receded. Grumbling colorful words about his captors, Spike quickly stripped off his tee and carelessly threw it on his bed. He proceeded to head over to the furthest wall, where he placed his palms and forehead upon the cool metal. Once the door slid open, Spike’s ears were flooded with the sound several tasers pulsing and four strong heartbeats. Hovering in the doorway sneering, Jack eyed Spike as callous words passed his lips.



“Showtime leech.” Triggered by his words, the three guards approached the submissive vamp, one murmured instructions on his approach.



“Turn slowly, hands in the air.”



Spike’s scarred brow rose with the seemingly unintended bad pun of an old black and white western. Once he followed the guard’s instructions, his gaze met and held firm with Jack’s. With mirth gleaming in his eyes, Spike pursed his lips and blew a taunting kiss. Jack scowled briefly and nodded briskly towards the guards.



On his silent command, two guards grabbed Spike’s upper arms to escort him to his destination— The Ring. Traveling the same path as Buffy, Spike was inundated with the heavy stench of her fear, which increased the closer he got to the main room.



Passing over the threshold, his demon visage emerged when the overwhelming reek of death and blood surrounded him, replacing Buffy’s fear. The guards led him to the red line surrounding the demon holding area. The same place, only two days before, where he had awoken. Several demons turned to watch him enter. The remaining demon’s stares were fixed on what lay beyond the metal grate.



Heading towards the group, golden eyes flashed when he witnessed where their gazes held. Standing in the middle of the gladiator style enclosure, stood the wide-eyed, scantily clad slayer. Regardless of the innate strength and power she possessed, Buffy appeared so small and lost within the arena. Gone was the confidence she held while in Sunnydale, being replaced by uncertainty and trepidation.



“And her opponent, another first-timer to grace our ring, Pei!”



Spike witnessed Buffy stiffen as the commentator’s baritone voice rang out. Entering, or more so shoved, into the arena was a dog-like demon. Looking slightly familiar, Spike shook away the thought and focused on Buffy.



“Boy, even though humans usually make my fur crawl, I wouldn’t mind showing that chick my sword,” commented a blue furred demon off to Spike’s left. Numerous demons chuckled following his remark. In response, Spike golden eyes and fangs flashed as he let forth a menacing warning growl in his direction. Holding his claws up in mock surrender, Spike’s intense stare returned to Buffy.



Due to the deafening chants of the crowd, Spike was unable to hear the conversation transpiring between her and the demon. However, studying her face and body language, he could tell that she didn’t feel threatened. She appeared almost…relaxed. This expression and posture held until he witnessed her eyes widened when she glared at something over his shoulder. The demon’s reaction to whatever was brought forth caused him to cower and eventually attack Buffy.



Instantly, slayer reflexes kicked in and within a moment, the fight was over. The slumped dead body of the dog-demon and the roar of the crowd were the only remnants of the non-existent fight. Buffy was grabbed by the guards and escorted from the ring. Spike pushed through the crowd and headed towards the red line. He attempted to catch her gaze, which appeared to be fixed on nothing as she was dragged past him and he assumed, brought back to their room.



Shortly following her departure, another fight commenced and ended just as quickly, when one demon decapitated another with its bare claws. When the victor was leaving the ring, Jack called forward, one of the demons Spike met when he first arrived. The demon was being escorted towards the ring, as Jack’s gaze moved from him to Spike.



“Ready blood-sucker? Time to meet a dusty end.”



With false bravado, Spike approached and stepped past the line. Two guards took their place behind him and urged him forward. Standing on the threshold of the arena the commentator made his announcement.



“Our next contest features one of the more popular fighter’s we’ve had the pleasure of presenting, a rare find. This true champion possesses the deadly combination of skill and strength. Let’s give it up for the menace of Venice, the one, the only—Forizonoriniz!”



The crowd’s once dull roar, increased in intensity and volume. Fozi stood motionless, eyeing Spike with deadly intent while the announcer continued.



“Forizonoriniz’s challenger makes his ring debut tonight. He’s a highly skilled fighter with a taste for blood and torture. Let’s welcome— William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers—Spike!”



With a slight shove from the guards, he entered. The bright lights and deafening sounds of the crowd assaulted his senses. Attempting to get his bearings quickly, Spike blocked out all that was around him and focused on the red furry demon before him. Releasing his inner cockiness, Spike spoke with a taunting tone.



“Fozi, you seem like a decent bloke. As a little favor from me to you, I’ll make this quick, won’t hurt a bit.”



Fozi’s eyes twinkled with mirth while a feral, knowing grin graced his serrated maw. His head lolled back slightly as his body began to twitch and shake. Fixated on his actions, Spike stood motionless.



Instantly, the tufts of fur split apart, giving way to bulging, onyx flesh. His snout elongated as three rows of fangs descended. Once small horns and claws lengthened and twisted. Now three times the size he was when he entered, the only feature that remained, was the wide fathomless eyes that still held delight.



“Oh bollocks,” Spike cursed, his widened gaze searched the demon’s transformed body for the best way to attack him. Not seeing any outward weaknesses, with a loud war cry, Spike charged forward.



With lethal grace, Spike successfully landed a spin-kick to his abdomen. Instantly, his body jarred from the wall of muscle he connected with. A deep chuckle sounded from Fozi when Spike followed up with a strike to his face. Having the same result as the kick, the slightly agitated demon retaliated with a deadly swipe of his clawed hand. The talons whizzed through the air while Spike skillfully rolled away from his blow. Realizing a frontal assault was futile, Spike decided to use his speed and agility, to his advantage.



Gradually, with predatory strides, he circled Fozi. Awkwardly, he followed Spike’s movements. Once in reach, Fozi lunged and raked his claws down Spike’s chest. Leaving five bloody gashes in their wake. With a roar of pain and frustration, Spike attempted a leg sweep. When Fozi clumsily jumped, Spike took this opportunity to spring from his crouched position and jump onto his muscular back.



Fozi’s bulky arms unsuccessfully flailed behind him, in an attempt to dislodged Spike. Securing himself, he held on tightly, encircling his forearms around the demon’s throat.



While he continued to shake and thrash, Spike maintained his grip and wrapped his legs around the demon’s waist. Fozi used his claws to tear into Spike. Slicing through denim into flesh and reaching the bone. Despite the agonizing pain, he deftly maintained hold. Fozi stopped moving and attempted to reach him once more with his arms. Spike took this opportunity to release one arm from his neck. Quickly reaching up, he violently yanked one of his horns from his massive skull.



Fozi bellowed in pain, resuming his fierce shakes. Spike squeezed his thighs tighter, grasping the horn and with both hands thrust the appendage into the demon’s jugular. Spurts of bluish-black blood propelled forward, spraying the arena and Spike, with a foul, thick fluid.



Spike continued to twist and force the horn deeper, while Fozi spun aimlessly in an effort to disentangle him. After several futile moments, the demon stilled and with a final expelled breath Fozi fell forward, landing face first onto the ground.



Before he hit, Spike jumped off his back and stood to the side. With unneeded breaths, Spike panted heavily while he watched in awe. In death, the beast transformed from the mountain of muscle, back into the smallish, red furred demon.



Staring at the bloodied body of his opponent, Spike felt out of sorts. Neither the violent death created by his own hands nor the crowd’s thunderous applause and cheers did little to appease his demon nor soothe his state of mind. Normally, he relished in death and destruction, but this felt cheapened some how. With an unsteady gait, he headed towards the door, while the commentator’s voice echoed through the arena.



“Ladies and Gentlemen, for those that are keeping track, that win was number one for the vampire, in five minutes thirty-eight seconds. Keep your eyes out for this one—Spike!”



Wearily, Spike headed towards his room with three guards in tow. Once the metal barrier slid open, the sweet intoxicating scent of Buffy tickled his nose. Instantly, his human façade slid forward, as his pain and disturbing thoughts disappeared. With a teasing tone, he called out.



“Honey, I’m home…” Spike announced as they shoved him harshly into the room. The sounds of pleasure and falling water drew his gaze. Before him, separated by plexiglas stood the completely nude Slayer. Bubbles offered the only cover, for her taut body. After several moments of speechlessness, two choked words fell from his mouth.



“Bloody ‘ell.”



Pure unadulterated lust darkened typically sparkling blues. He gaze remained transfixed on the vision before him. Golden flesh kissed with cascades of water and bubbles. Her rosy-tipped peaks adorned small and pert breasts. Toned abdomen housed a perfect navel made just for the tip of his tongue, which gave way to—



“Spike!” Buffy’s scream and twisting body broke Spike from his lustful perusal. She attempted to cover each exposed area, to no avail. With one arm wrapped around her chest, concealing her breasts and the other covering the apex of her thighs, which now firmly pressed together, Buffy screeched once more.



“Spike, what the fuck are you doing? Turn around…turn around now!”



Blinking himself out of his trance, Spike finally responded.



“Now, why would I do somethin’ like that Slayer? Free show an’ all, would be a right shame to let all of this go to waste by me scurrying and coverin’ my eyes?” Defiantly, Spike crossed his arms over his injured chest. His stare and smirk remained fixed.



“Spike, don’t be an ass—“



“Speaking of arses, take a spin Slayer, haven’t had a glimpse of that tasty peach yet.”



“Fine, fine, you want to stare, go ahead!” Buffy snapped, while she remained partially covered. Spike’s scarred brow rose while waiting for her to move. With a huff, Buffy continued.



“I was bluffing. Please Spike, give me a little dignity.” With imploring green eyes, Spike finally relented.



“You know Slayer, for mortal enemies I’m giving you far too many liberties. Tellin’ you now, this is the last favor, I’m doin’ for you. So enjoy.”



Spike turned towards the wall. Buffy stepped out from the flow of water. Once she moved, the stream automatically shut off. Shivering from lack of coverage, Buffy’s teeth started to chatter. After several moments of hearing this, Spike’s voice echoed through the room.



“After all that yammering, why aren’t you getting dressed?”



“I don’t have a towel to dry off with.”



“No shite Slayer! It’s not the bloody Ritz, no fluffy towels nor complimentary chocolates on your pillow, we’re captives remember?”



“I know it’s just…”



“What?”



“I don’t want to use my sheet then I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”



Hearing the pout in her voice, Spike envisioned Buffy’s pursed bottom lip as she sat on his lap during Red’s wonky spell. The combination of the memories of that day and her bare, wet body behind him caused Spike’s cock to painfully press against the tight confines of his denims.



“Just use my shirt Slayer.”



Spike sidestepped several paces until he reached his bed. Removing the shirt, he balled it up and threw it over his head. Buffy hesitated momentarily, before sliding the worn fabric over her body. The hem grazed at the tops of her thighs, just barely concealing her sex. Grabbing the collar, she lifted the material to her nose. The faint scent of all that was Spike; cigarettes, whisky and leather tickled her senses.



Spike heard the shirt caressing her bare flesh. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned his hands skating over her nubile body, teasing her nipples into hardened peaks. Stroking her taut stomach, while he descended lower towards—



“Spike, I’m decent now, you can turn around.”



He cursed under his breath that was the second time she blocked his mind from reaching the glorious heaven between her thighs. Spike sighed and turned around. His gaze landed on Buffy sitting shyly on her bed. With her fingers, she worked her damp locks into a braid. Each movement of her arms caused the hem of his tee shirt to rise ever so slightly. Never before in his undead life was he envious of anything more so than the piece of cloth that adorned her body.



Stifling a groan, he turned to sit on his bed, to shield his wayward erection. Attempting to keep his mind off the tantalizing woman across the way, Spike decided to talk shop.



“So, what happened in the ring Slayer?”



Buffy’s hands stilled briefly. With a slow and steady intake of breath, her eyes lowered. Despite her whispered response, Spike could hear every word.



“I don’t know. I went in there scarred out of my mind that some demon was going to tear me apart. Then, Wally—“



“Who?”



“The demon…his name was Wally. He told me that he didn’t want to fight. That he didn’t want to see me dead, but by the same token, didn’t want to die either. He suggested that we shouldn’t fight and maybe they would call it a draw. Let us leave. Who knew, a pacifist demon? Well, it was a good theory until they brought out a hose.”



“A hose?” Spike’s scoff, drew Buffy’s eyes upwards. When he witnessed the unshed tears hovering on her lower lashes, the humor left his features.



“He said that water kills his kind. It makes their skin shrink until they suffocate. What a horrible way to…so they forced him to attack me. He was only trying to save himself. The scary thing was the slayer in me chose to move, not the person.”



“Slayer, despite what happened in the ring tonight you can’t go in there thinking every demon is willing to chat and attempt to make peace. They’re out for blood, your death and the twenty-first win. You need to remember that.”



“Spike, do I detect a hint of concern in your voice?” Buffy jested as she regarded him.



“Yeah, well I think its blood loss or something. Anyhow I want my shirt back and for me to get out of this hellhole, you’re my ticket out. Twenty-first win an’ all.”



“Right, twenty-first win,” Buffy agreed while she stifled a yawn. Noticing this, Spike stood, pulled his boots carefully from his feet and slid under the sheet. Gratefully, the bleeding had stopped, and he could feel the flesh knitting back together, due mainly from the fresh human’s blood he consumed the other day.



“Nigh’ Slayer,” Spike called out, after he clapped his hand to shut off the lights. Rolling over to face her side, he witnessed flashes of Buffy’s pert globes while she climbed into bed. A soft sigh of comfort escaped her lips as she nestled beneath the sheets.



This overwhelming stimulation of sights and sounds went straight to his cock, which hardening and lengthening once more. Attempting to escape the Buffy overload, he turned and buried his head under the pillow. “It’s goin’ to be a long night,” Spike murmured as he willed sleep to come and take him under.

Hovering on the edge between dreams and reality, Buffy awoke to the serene sounds of flowing water. Initially, she willed the tranquil noise to lull her back to her dreams where she was free from this dreaded place. However, consciousness continued to push forward until she could no longer hide.





Buffy’s sleep-filled eyes fluttered open as she glanced at her surroundings. "Nope. Still in hell,"Buffy inwardly griped. After several blinks, her gaze focused on where the sound originated. The shower. More specifically Spike...in the shower.





Her eyes widened to comic proportions as her brain caught up to the messages her sight delivered. Spike…was naked…in the shower. Completely sans clothing…bare assed…naked as a Jaybird…in his birthday suit…gloriously nude. Mimicking a psych experiment, Buffy's mouth began to salivate worse than Pavlov’s dog, from the mind-numbing sight before her.





Almost flawless alabaster skin christened by water and deft hands. Chiseled muscles flexed and relaxed with each movement he made. Boldly, her gaze lowered. Nestled in a thatch of dark curls jutted forward an impressive testament to his manhood. His long thick cock looked as though Eros himself sculpted it. Utter perfection.





After countless hours of Buffy-plagued dreams and torturous moments with an erection that demanded attention, Spike pulled himself from bed. Without liquor, cigarettes, or a violent kill to get his mind out of his pants and hers, he decided to shower. Stripping off his tattered jeans, Spike winced several times as he pulled away the blood soaked material stuck to his mending flesh. Quickly entering the shower, his motion triggered the cleansing deluge of water. He moaned slightly while the streams cleared away days of filth and blood. The heat pulled tension from his muscles and the chill from his bones.





Slowly working up a substantial lather on his weary body, sounds of a human stirring drew him from his task. Not just any human, but Buffy. As a true predator, without appearing distracted but all his senses on full alert, Spike could hear her heartbeat and breaths increasing. Casually turning, hands still caressing his skin, he fully faced her. Spike stifled a grin that tickled the edges of his full lips as he heard a slight gasp from Buffy’s direction.





Relishing in the thoughts of a captive audience, he continued to savor the careful attention he placed upon his body with long, lavish sweeps of his lather-filled hands. Following exaggerated circular motions upon his chest and abdomen, his hands descended. Reaching his pronounced erection, Spike encircled the rigid shaft and with sweeping downward and upward strokes, he thoroughly cleaned the appendage.





While one hand tended his cock the other gathered his heavy sac in his palm and with tender swipes of his fingers, he bathed. Spike’s eyes blissfully closed with dual sensations of his ministrations and Buffy’s captive gaze upon him. Once he felt the sweet abyss of his climax drawing closer, he removed his hands from his body, and turned away from her to rinse. Spike ignored his mind and cock, demanding release as he slowly stepped from under the spray.





Inwardly Spike reminded himself that this little ‘show and tell’ was to tantalize her, not scare her away. Precariously, he walked a fine line between showering and masturbation. Spike knew that Buffy was still questioning all the changes that had transpired in her life over the last few days. The biggest one was that all demons were not evil and disgusting. Well, his exhibition was slightly evil, but in a good way. Wanking in full view of her would have ruined all that was slowly being built between them and a toss wasn’t worth it.





Spike slowly walked towards his bed, giving her an extended view of his perfect posterior. With a flourish yank, he pulled the sheet off and wrapped it skillfully around his slim hips. Running his fingers through his sodden locks, he sat on the bed and inspected his damaged jeans, all the while listening to the rapid heartbeat and breaths of his roommate.





Buffy was in complete awe at what had transpired before her. Never in her young life had a mundane activity such as showering, stirred her inner passions in this manner before. A fine sheen of perspiration lay on her skin. Her heartbeat raced. Her was mind blank, except for thoughts and tantalizing vision of one person. Her womb was heavy and slick with wanton desire.





Knowing she couldn’t confine herself to bed the entire day, Buffy made a conscious decision. She needed to make Spike believe that she was still asleep, and just now waking. Lying completely motionless, she attempted to regulate her breathing. She knew her heavy breaths were probably amplified to a vamp’s sensitive hearing, especially without the noise from the shower being a buffer. Slowly swallowing the lump of nervousness in her throat, after several beats Buffy inwardly thought. "Showtime.”





With exaggerated stretches and moans, Buffy began to stir. Another grin threatened to return to Spike’s lips, before he tamped it down. Once harnessed, his gaze rose and watched her performance. Spike was in awe how gorgeous she was; hair tousled from sleep, a rosy flush spread over her skin, pupils still dark pools of desire. He shifted slightly as his cock swelled further and pressed against the thin sheet, as he played along with her act.





“Mornin’ slayer, sleep well?”





“Mmm…yeah, like a rock. How long have you been up?”





”All bloody night.” Spike inwardly groused as his cock jumped, demanding attention.





“Not long, only took a shower then you woke up. Don’t know, about twenty minutes.”





“Oh.” Sitting up, Buffy’s gaze immediately fixed on his chest. Noticing the five nasty red welts marring his flesh, a wave of guilt flooded her. She was too busy ogling his body like some big ho to notice he was injured.








“Spike, what happened?” His gaze followed hers as he peered downwards. His eyes widened slightly as his cock jumped once more within the confines of the sheet. Still peering downwards, hoping she noticed, but not, he asked.





“What?”





Buffy quickly rose from her bed and headed towards him, as close as the line would allow. Concern filled her features and words. “What do you mean what, those nasty gashes, that’s what? How did this happen?” Spike gave her an incredulous look while his scarred brow rose in question. Noticing this she continued. “I know it happened in the ring, but how?”





“Nasty bloke took a swing at me when I got too close, voila, instant gashes.” With a sweep of his hand, he waved it in front of his injured chest.





“Well they look like they’re healing nicely. So, is that it, or are there anymore nasty things you’re hiding?” Once more, his cock stirred while his mind raced with dirty innuendos, that his tongue begged to release.





“Well, there’s this…” As Spike stood, the sheet shifted on his hips. Buffy’s eyes widened and fixed on the impressive bulge barely hidden under the linens. Instantly, she flushed and slapped her hand over her eyes.





“I don’t want to see that Spike!” Buffy sputtered while his tee shirt rode upward, precariously close to revealing her covered sex. Stifling a combination groan and laugh, Spike responded.





“Geez Slayer, I thought after all you’ve seen you wouldn’t be so skittish around them.” Buffy’s hand dropped. Her now angry gaze narrowed and held firm.





“I’ll have you know there’s only been four…I mean three…only three that I’ve seen, and one doesn’t really count because I never truly looked at it! How dare you assume that I wouldn’t act surprised that you were trying to show me your—“





Spike lifted the bottom of the sheet to reveal his injured legs. The flesh appeared newly mended, but angry gouges still resided where the demon’s claws tore into his flesh.





“—wounds,” Buffy’s deflated, embarrassed tone echoed through the room. Her gaze held on his damaged lower legs. Relishing in her humiliation, Spike’s features held a hundred years of practiced faux innocence as he spoke.





“Slayer, what did you think I was going to show you?” Regardless of over a century of using this mock sincerity, Buffy saw right through it. Her eyes lowered and briefly scanned the area where his manhood resided, then returned to his.





“Nothing much,” cheekily her tone rang out. Her challenge caused Spike to step up his verbal assault.





“I find that hard to believe Slayer. I’ve seen many wounds before, and I assure you, mine is quite impressive.” The rumble from Spike’s purring words instantly caused her core to clench and dampen. Her body’s treacherous reaction had her shivering with desire, from his deep seductive timbre, which inundated his seemingly straightforward words, with blatant sexual undertones.





“You’re shivering, cold Slayer?”





Despite the heat that radiated from between her legs and pulsed within each vein, she silently nodded her agreement. Buffy needed something, anything that would break his gaze swirling with craving and raw hunger.





His golden gaze never held the intense predatory stare that his piercing blues held at this moment. She felt completely exposed. His eyes devoured and consumed her entirely, leaving only a quivering mass of desires in their wake. "Even with a full suit of armor, he would still make me feel naked," Buffy thought. Before her id completely took over and kicked out its two very important friends, she used his question as a way out.





“Yeah, could you turn—“





“Oh, yeah sorry, I’ll let you get dressed. Um, toss over the shirt when you’re through. Like to cover up these nasty wounds. Itching somethin’ fierce and I don’t want to scratch at them.”





Eyes trained on his turned form, Buffy began to dress. When she removed Spike’s tee from her body, each inch of flesh screamed out for the worn fabrics return. Raising the shirt to her nose, taking one final long draw, she captured and trapped his essence within her chest and mind. She held her breath briefly to hold on to this one piece of him as she tossed the tee over to his side. After several moments, the air burned in her lungs and finally forced her to dispel the treasured breath in a long sigh.





“Spike, I’m all set, thanks.” Hearing her words, he turned and started to collect his clothing. Attempting to lighten the heavy burden of sexual tension in the room, Spike started to tug at the sheet around his waist. Mesmerized, she watched for a moment until her Super Ego spoke up.





“What are you doing?”





“Getting dressed. Thought it be turn about fair play. I saw yours, now you get to see mine,” Spike responded with a brow wiggle and smirk.





A momentary flash of contemplation filled her features, until her inner good girl pushed to the forefront once more.





“I appreciate your fairness, thanks, but no thanks.”





“Suit yourself.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he indicated with his finger in a circular motion for her to turn around. Following his silent command, Buffy faced her bed. In her line of sight was the wall. However in her mind, flashed memories of Spike in the shower.





He appeared before her resembling an animated statue of Michelangelo’s David. His lithe muscles stirred under almost flawless marmoreal flesh. His strong grip bestowing strokes her hand twitched to replicate. Before her mind could go any further, reality crashed through her lustful thoughts.





“Prisoners, assume the position.”





Echoing the grumbling falling from Spike’s lips, Buffy moved into position. Her door slid open giving way to several guards and Jack, his boorish words filling the room.





“Well, well, well looks like you both earned rations. Now, before you get all teary eyed, not my idea. The way I see it, a true fighter not only battles others, but one’s self—fatigue, hunger, injuries. Overcoming all of that really proves your strength.” With an eye roll and shake of his head in disgust, he continued. “I don’t know why I bother to give my enlightening thoughts, probably lost on you mindless demons anyway. So, here you go.”





Jack nodded towards three guards behind him. Turning to leave, he called over his shoulder. “Tonight second battle for you both. And little girl, don’t expect to get another free pass.” With that, he was gone. Replaced by the guards bearing their food.





Spike could sense one guard approaching him. Under his breath, he could hear his murmured thoughts on how "‘it sucked that he got stuck feeding the leech'". The closer he became, the guard proceeded to grumble how "'he really wanted to feed the demon bitch'" and "‘he had something of his that she would love eating.’"





Instant rage caused Spike’s demon to burst forward, while the guard’s crass mutters announced his position, only a few feet away. Following the sound of the two plastic, liquid filled packets bouncing off his bed, Spike spun and lunged at the guard. With a flash of fang and fury-filled golden eyes, the man screamed for help.





“It’s on me! Get it off!”





Instantly, Spike felt pulses of electricity surge through his body. Following several waves, oblivion began to pull him under. On the perimeters of his consciousness, he could hear Buffy begging the guards to "‘stop’", to "‘please, stop.’" Her sweet pleas were the last sounds he heard as nothingness closed in and swallowed him whole.





With a final, parting kick to his motionless, prone body, the guards left. Once the door slid closed, Buffy rushed to and hovering before the red line, as she repeatedly called out to the unresponsive vamp.





For the umpteenth time, Buffy’s concerned gaze fell on him as she paced. Endless hours seemed to pass as she continued to hold vigil over the still unconscious Spike.





“Stupid, stupid vamp! What the hell were you thinking? Actually that’s a stupid question, Spike and thoughts are completely un-mixy.” Buffy’s tone was a mixture of concern and sarcasm as her voice briefly displaced the unnerving silence.





Spike’s mind fought through the suppressing blackness. Buffy’s voice and her overwhelming essence, which permeated his shirt, was his beacon of light through the dark. Once he pushed through the smothering haze, his spinning mind and shards of pain racking his body, welcomed him back. His tongue lay heavy in his mouth as his throat choked words forward.





“Thanks ever so Slayer. You could have waited to take a turn with kick the Spike once I was awake. You know, so I can fully enjoy the insult.”





Hearing his hoarse whisper, Buffy stopped mid-stride and rushed to the painted boundary. Slowly raising himself from the floor, Spike grimaced while he pulled into a sitting position, his back supported by his bed. Blindly reaching behind him, after several attempts, he grabbed one of the two blood bags that lay there.





Calling forth his demon, his fang pierced the plastic. With greedy draws, he gulped down the entire contents in a matter of moments. Licking stray droplets from his lips and fangs, Spike’s eyes closed briefly. Once opened, they settled on Buffy, who remained standing before him.





“You stupid, thickheaded—“





“Slayer, stop you’re making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”





“—bleached menace! You’re lucky I can’t go over there, because right now I’m totally in the mood for kicking a little demon ass!”





“Why you getting your leather thong all in a bunch Slayer? Would of have really mattered if they dusted me?” Buffy’s hesitation to answer spurred his continued taunting words.





“Here come the warm fuzzes…”





“Whatever, it’s not like that I careif you get dusted. It’s more that it would get really boring in here if you’re not around to make fun of. And…and if you’re gone, then who’s going to mouth off to Jack? Those are the only reasons why I want you around, so don’t go getting a big head over it.”





Aggravated that his injuries affected her as much as they did, Buffy turned away from him ending their conversation abruptly. Attempting to distract herself, she headed over to her ice-cold rations. Forcefully digging through the viscous lump, she sought out raisin-like morsels, placing them slowly into her mouth.





Spike knew the conversation was over once she’d turned her back to him and ate in silence. He realized any reply would be futile. Typically, the silence would cause him to talk more, but with his mind still buzzing with echoes of pulsating electricity, he welcomed it.





Wincing as he slowly blinked, the spinning in his brain, mimicking the times when the chip would fire. Like then, with any wrong movement his head felt like it would burst at the seams. Once he drained the second packet, his demon receded as he crawled on his stripped bed and fell asleep.





Following several nibbles of mystery substance, Buffy followed his lead as she slid herself under the sheets. She tossed and turned several moments before she understood what her treacherous body craved. Him. Slowly turning over and once situated her gaze fell upon and remained fixed on his relaxed features.





Never before had she really looked at him. He was a complete enigma. Not only did his physical features entice: long, inky lashes rimming sparking blues, sculpted cheekbones and jaw line that resembled chiseled marble. His full lips that even as he slept, held a knowing teasing smirk. His personality enticed as well, his brutal honesty, loyalty to a fault, humor, quick wit, and his willingness to defend those around him regardless of the consequences to himself. All of these qualities made her mind spin with confusion.





As sleep began to pull her under, one thought remained. ”When did Spike go from a mere thought to my only thought?”

Buffy fell into a deep sleep. Old and new memories filled her dreams. Her eyes twitched beneath heavy lids.



From the darkness, and ethereal figure swirled before her. Eventually, these wisps of iridescent air took the form of her mother. A warm loving smile etched her beautiful classic features. Her arms spread wide, offering a temporary sanctuary from the world, bestowing with unconditional love.



Joyce slowly disappeared, replaced by clear pictures of Willow, Xander, and Giles, seated around Giles’ apartment. Studying ancient tomes designated for the next Big Bad. She still felt loved. However, the peace and safety her mother’s embrace and presence offered had disappeared.



Soon their faces and the comforts of home faded away, transforming into infinite faces of demons. Monsters that should only exist in nightmares and fables, but for her were all too real.



From the sea of demons before her stood only one, which drew her gaze. Endless shadows encased him, hugging his body in a snug form of leather and denim. Only the beacon of bleached white locks separated him from the dark that cloaked him. His mischievous grin and fathomless blue eyes ensnared Buffy.



He disappeared as she continued forward. The darkness wrapped around her, consuming her. No longer did the wondrous feelings of warmth and affection exist. Only the cold hardness of malcontent reigned. His grin and fathomless blue eyes ensnared Buffy.



After the years of her residing between light and dark, the darkness had come forth to stake its claim. No longer did she live within the darkness, she had become one with it. With each battle, each slay, the shards of darkness punctured her mind, heart, and soul. Constant battles with real and figurative demons were slowly becoming her sole reason for being.



Scattered memories melted into an alleyway behind the Bronze. The dust of a newly staked vamp swirled in the air, as a slow sarcastic clap filled the silence. Birthed from the shadows was an unknown vampire, clad in leather. His features were set with a hardened gaze and set smirk. Despite his human facade, his words tore through her, as though they were fangs.



”Nice work, love.”



“Who are you?”



“You’ll find out on Saturday.”



“What happens on Saturday?”



“I kill you.”



As Buffy watched him retreat into the shadows another memory came. The deafening sound of glass shattering, wood splintering, and the screams of scared students and adults alike fleeing. Now standing amidst the debris and melee stood the definition of danger. With a slight flurry of pictures, he now stood before her, smirking in demon guise. His strangely soothing timbre caused her to shiver with fear and unexpected excitement.



”Fe, fi, fo fum. I smell the blood of a nice ripe girl.”



“Do we really need weapons for this?”



“I just like them. They make me feel all manly—the last Slayer I killed…she begged for her life. You don’t strike me as the begging kind.”



“You shouldn’ta come here.”



“No, I’ve messed up your doilies and stuff. But I just got so bored. I’ll tell you what. As a personal favor from me to you, I’ll make it quick. It won’t hurt a bit.”



“No Spike, it’s gonna hurt a lot.”



Her memories moved forward once more, to them standing in her living room while her mother watched with utter confusion. Begrudgingly, they made an agreement to end Angelus’ ploy to raise Acathala. He kept his word, keeping Giles safe and taking Dru away, leaving her to close the portal, which Angelus’ blood had opened. Once closed, the process dragged Angel to hell and her heart with him.



The dream skipped to Spike’s brief, but pertinent visit, when he gave insight to her and Angel’s relationship. Which both had adamantly refused to acknowledge or name. With complete certainty, he told them, as they all stood among vampire dust and a ruined magic store, that they would ‘never be friends, and he would always be ‘loves bitch.’ With keen insight, he labeled their feelings and recognized their doomed relationship, before they did.



Flash to him huddling under a worn and tattered blanket, seeking sanction from the deadly sun and the Initiative, using knowledge of the unknown as an advantage to gain safe passage into Giles’ home. Teasing and taunting words were thrown between them, as they chained him to the bathtub, a chair and to her side. Despite the mutual loathing, he helped, in his own way. His aid began slowly chipping away at the shell of hardness surrounding her mind in regard to him.



Her memories flickered with like a photo album caught in a fierce wind, flipping to each time, each fight, and each word they shared. Finally, the pages settled.



She was perched on his lap, his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist. Deft fingers, drawing lazy patterns upon exposed flesh. His soft caresses leaving white-hot desire and need in their wake. She remembered his strong, yet gentle mouth on hers, probing, exploring, tasting, memorizing, until they were both dizzy with need. His whispered words of their future and his devotion, danced upon whispered in the shell of her ear.



All too soon, the spell was broken, leaving her bereft and lost. The love, although false, seemed real within her mind and heart. It still does each time she gazes upon the heavy silver skull ring that lies nestled amid her other cherished jewelry of a silver cross and Claddagh ring.



The flashes of memories began to slow and stop at the recent past. His fathomless blue eyes held respect and sheer awe. His heartfelt, caring words surrounded by sarcasm and indifference, to hide his true feelings. Despite his protests, his actions rang clear. He called forward her deep unexplored feelings for him, which she’d shunned and dispelled repeatedly. These were now the only things that kept her sane and whole.



In an instant, she’d stripped all the hate and loathing of the past away, leaving him not only emotionally, but also now physically bare to her gaze. His near perfect form christened by water, flowing over tantalizing flesh. His deft hands stroking, pleasing but never finding release, leaving them both unfulfilled.



As he turned away from her, the cold steel walls of their room, transformed into a deluge of water encasing them both. His human façade was gone. His demon, with descended fangs glistening in the soft light, a look of unsatisfied hunger and desire swirling in his golden eyes remained.



Unafraid, with a slow loll of her head, she bared her neck to him. Tenderly, he gathered her in his strong arms. With leisurely laps of his raspy tongue, he ascended the column of her throat. Basking in his overwhelming ministrations, her eyes fluttered closed.



Following several tediously slow, pleasurable passes of his tongue needle-sharp fangs gently pierced her jugular. As her life’s blood filled his mouth, she felt cherished, desired, and saved. While her blood flowed, so did the moisture between her thighs. Slowly, all too soon, his fangs retracted. Instantly, his sparkling blue gaze filled with reverence, held hers. Placing her hand tenderly to his cheek, words poured forth from her heart, “Spike, I lo—“



Startled form her dreams, Buffy sat up quickly. Her heart pounded, as her breath heaved in and out of her slack mouth. Her own unspoken words still hung heavy within her head. As did what she witnessed last. That was not dream, nor a memory. From the familiar feeling washing over her, she knew it was a vision. Gaining some semblance of control, she slowly gazed upon her co-star.



Still asleep, he lay on his unmade bed. Spike's right arm haphazardly covering his eyes, while the other rested on his chest, which slowly raised and lowered with unneeded breath. Before she could process all that transpired within her dream, Jack’s harsh, hate-filled voice echoed through the room.



“Twenty minutes till show time little girl.



Buffy slowed slipped her weary body from bed. Despite the many hours of sleep, she felt more exhausted now than she had been prior. Tentatively, her gaze fell on Spike, who remained motionless, before slowly undressing.



Spike’s consciousness greeted him with an incessant pounding resonating through his head. His stomach roiled with each beat, threatening to purge his newly swallowed feast. After several moments of silently willing the pain to stop, he noticed that the pace of each throb had slowed, now resembling a steady drumbeat, or more so, a heartbeat.



Grateful it wasn’t his head that was imitating a ticking time bomb, Spike focused on the sounds in the room. His cock immediately lengthened and hardened informing his brain what the noises he heard were, Buffy undressing. The soft whispers of clothes sliding across flesh, pooling to the floor, and her slight sighs from the liberation of said clothes, all tantalized his mind. Instantly, he was inundated with her heavenly musky essence, making his mouth water and his cock press painfully against his already constricting denims.



Before he could shift his arm and gaze upon his dream made reality, Jack’s voice rang through the room. “Prisoners, you know the drill!” Cursing the bastard and his inopportune entrance, Spike assumed the customary position. He tried to capture Buffy’s gaze, which remained hidden under closed eyes.



“Buffy, are you—“



Jack and three guards entering ended his words mid-sentence. Without a sound, she turned from the wall, her arms outstretched in submission. With a taunting smirk, Jack stood to the side, while the guards ushered her out. The definitive closing of the door, hit Spike deeply as he turned to look towards the empty side of her room. Instantly, his worried pacing began.



Lead through the halls, Buffy tried to clear her mind, which still was hazy with her dreams, more so her vision. ”Spike is going to feed off of me, willingly?” before her mind could venture further, she entered into the main room.



Her stomach roiled from the overwhelming stench. Stifling her gag reflex, Buffy quickly focused on her task at hand. Alluding confidence she did not fully feel, she passed the area where they held the demons. She heard several murmurs, some in English and others in foreign demon tongues. Although she didn’t listen, she knew their words were unkind and flat out crass, regardless she remained composed. Guided up the ramp, she stood on the threshold of the arena while the commentator announced her opponent.



“Our next contest features one of the more popular fighters we’ve had the pleasure of presenting. From the medieval lands of Pylea, Landokmar of the Deathwok Clan!”



Boisterous cheers filled the arena and continued as his hate-filled gaze skimmed over the crowd. Once they slowed to a dull roar, the announcer’s deep voice continued.



“Back by popular demand, the only female to grace the arena, but don’t let her petite stature and Siren features fool you. She’s here for one reason and one reason only, to slay demons. The one, the only—The Slayer!”



Swallowing back the bile that rose to the top of her throat, Buffy stepped out into the bright lights and deafening roar of the crowd. Once she adjusted to the sensory assault, her steely gaze assessed her opponent.



Standing over six feet tall, the green-skinned demon was clad in medieval period garb, black leather doublet and breeches, which he’d tucked into his knee-high boots. Protruding from the middle of his forehead, were large ridges nestled between two small, red horns. Unfettered brown hair flowed down past his shoulders. A long mustache and goatee of the same color, framed a menacing scowl, as his piercing blood red eyes fixed on her.



Despite Buffy’s defiant gaze holding firm with his, inner turmoil swirled within her mind as she remembered her last opponent and his horrible and unneeded death. She recalled Wally’s sweet awkward smile, his several attempts in initially befriend her regardless of their situation and the true reason for them being in the ring together. The trip down memory lane instantly cut short by her current opponent’s deep, repulsive voice ringing out.



“Filthy cows, all of you! Through many cows’ lies and deceit, a fierce warrior of the Deathwok Clan has to sully his hands with your blood. No matter, I will win this insignificant match and soon return to my lands telling all of my strength and gallantry in the land of the cows.”



Buffy’s eyes widened first in disbelief, then instantly replaced by pure fury for the demon that stood before her. A gratifying smirk spread across her lips as her inner slayer took hold.



“Mooo…” Following her taunt, in a flurry of motions, Buffy was upon him. Delivering a roundhouse kick to his abdomen, a loud whoosh of his expelled breath and hunched over form incited her to attack again. Three skillful, solid punches connected with his exposed face. Ignoring the loud satisfying crunch of his nose breaking, Buffy lowered herself and attempted to sweep his legs out from under him.



Recovering quickly from the several blows, Landokmar jumped, avoiding her. On his descent, he deftly kicked Buffy, knocking her backwards. Sliding across the floor, Buffy launched herself off the floor and now stood before him. With slow strides, she circled him assessing her next move.



With an inhuman growl, he rushed towards her. Sidestepping him, she delivered a spin kick, connecting with hard with his lower back. Instantly, he fell to his knees, with both hands clutching the struck area. His breaths became shallow and shaky pants. Buffy took this opportunity to deliver another blow to the same area. On contact, his body stiffened before he crumbled forward.



The crescendo of the crowd’s cheers reached an all time high, as Buffy stood over her fallen adversary. Buffy remained poised in the ready, to finish the battle if need be, until the commentator’s voice rang through the thunderous arena. Finally relaxing, Buffy knew that his presence was to signal the end of the fight and confirmed what she already knew, his death.



“Match in four minutes and fifty-eight seconds for our newest member of the McNamara’s prize fighters, The Slayer!”



With steady steps, Buffy headed towards the exit. Once she stepped into the main room, Jack met her with slow applause and sarcastic words.



“Pretty impressive little girl, completely underestimated you. The fact you figured out those filthy demons hearts were in their asses is a major feat. Oh, well. Now I know I really have to step up your opponents. Can’t make it too easy on you, can we?”



With Jack’s silent nod, three guards urged Buffy forward with their presence behind her. They led her through the halls and back to her room, where she knew that her painstaking task of waiting for Spike’s return lay ahead of her.

Buffy sat on the edge of her bed, eyes fixed on the door. Since her return, she immediately stripped from her leathers, redressed in Spike’s battered tee, which he had gratefully thrown to her side, and had been holding a silent vigil awaiting his return. Before her mind could rehash all the unexpected thoughts and feelings for him, the door opened. With a slight shove from the guards, he entered. Buffy expelled a sigh of relief she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. With his trademark smirk, his gaze met hers.

“Hey Slayer, seems like we were both victorious tonight, bully for us.” Plopping down on his bed, her eyes traveled over his body. Noting several long thin whip marks marring his pale skin, she spoke.

“Spike, you look literally whipped, who was your opponent tonight, Indiana Jones?”

“Don’t think a fancy fedora would have fit the bulbous head of the nasty bugger I fought. It was some-sort of squid demon, was all head and arms. Didn’t know if I should’ve dipped him in wasabi or killed him. Come to think of it, I’ve got a bit of him in my pocket, care for a bite?” Following his words, Spike leaned back to slide his hand into his front pocket.

“Eww…gross Spike!”

“What? You’re from California. Sushi is mainstream cuisine!”

“That may be, but I doubt they use raw demon, or any demons, for that matter, in the rolls.” Buffy’s face blanched slightly before she continued. “Thanks Spike, now I will never be able to eat sushi again, for fear it might be packed with demon-y non-goodness.”

“Hey that could be a sushi place’s new slogan. Now introducing demon…the other, other white meat,” Spike scoffed while he removed his boots.

Hearing his, Buffy’s mind flashed to Wally. The thump of his boots hitting the floor, reminded her of the sickening sound of his head hitting the wall. His life-less body sliding—

“Slayer, you ok?” Blinking quickly, Buffy left her memories, her eyes refocusing on Spike.

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” The humor that twinkled in his eyes disappeared, replaced by concern, as his voice held the same quality.

“Slayer…Buffy, if you need to talk, I know I’m a poor substitute for your mum and the Scoobies, but I’ll listen.”

A grateful smile ghosted her lips. “Thanks Spike. I…I really appreciate that.”
Following her words, a comfortable silence surrounded them. Buffy began mindlessly plucking at the hem of Spike’s tee, while he shook out his sheet and began to make his bed. Watching him engage in such a domestic activity, such a human activity, made her mind ponder how truly evil demons are.

”Maybe being a demon doesn’t automatically equal evil. They have lives and personalities that could go much deeper than their choices in food, or whether they have fur or scales. Maybe they could even—“

“Quarter for your thoughts?” Spike’s deep timber broke through Buffy’s inner dialogue.

“I thought it was a penny?”

“Well, as hard as you appeared to be concentrating, thought I needed to up the ante.”

“Just thinking—“

“Oh-oh, a dangerous thing that. A Slayer with her own thoughts, that’s what the council gave you Watchers for.”

“Very funny bleached boy, you’re lucky I don’t possess a cattle prod, ‘cause I would have it set on permanent zap mode for you. Not like I would do any damage to your higher-level thought process. Anyway, I was thinking about demons.”

“Now Slayer, why are you trying to make me jealous? I’m the only demon you should be thinking about.” Buffy was instantly drawn to Spike’s protruding lower lip, which followed his pouty-sounding words. Before her mind could drag her back to the earlier shower scene, she spoke.

“All these demons used in these matches, where are these guys getting them from?”

“Resourceful bastards they are. Well, I guess if you’ve got a big-time law firm, and the government supplying you, your stock would be—“

“—limitless. But, I don’t think they’re getting all their demons from the Initiative, half of them, I’ve never seen or heard of before.”

“The Hellmouth doesn’t attract all beasties, Slayer. Some are peaceful, staying far away from the death and destruction. Just think of good ol’ Sunnydale as Vegas for demons. You wouldn’t catch a devout churchgoer stepping in the city of sin, would’ya? In addition, I think this operation only chooses the best of the best and with the posh treatment we’re receiving and not thrown in with the populace. I figure we’re their prized fighters.” Buffy’s face scrunched with disgust from his words since they echoed the commentator’s early ones.

“Yeah, well I don’t feel very prize-y.”
Following a casual shoulder shrug, Spike commented. “Regardless, you’re still a fighter and one of the best. Well, besides yours truly. Speaking of which, we both need a bit of kip, got wounds that need healin’, night Slayer.”

With a slight nod, he slid under his sheet and turned towards the wall. Following his lead, Buffy slid under hers. “Goodnight, Spike.” Once situated, Buffy clapped her hands to trigger the lights to shut off. As the silence and darkness wrapped around them, many hours passed before sleep came.

The following morning started the same as the others. The guards waking them, nasty daily rations, Spike begrudgingly turning so Buffy could dress without an audience. The pair sat on their beds, mindlessly staring into space, before Spike’s words broke the silence.

“Slayer, you wanna play a game?”



**** ****



Giles’ Apartment



Despondently Willow hung up the phone. With a forlorn shake of her head, her eyes began to mist with tears.

“Giles, two days, she’s been gone. Two days and nothing, locator spells aren’t working, Angel won’t call back, and nobody knows anything! It’s like she just, just disappeared! On top of that, I had to lie to Mrs. Summers, again! Next time…next time—“

“Willow, I assure you, there will not be a next time. We will find Buffy.”

“Giles, you're talking to the eternal optimist, but I can’t help but feeling—“

Xander and Anya’s hurried entrance into Giles’ apartment broke Willow from continuing. Slightly out of breath, Xander addressed them.

“Well, we went to Willie’s and after a little persuasion—“

“Yes, money is a great persuader,” Anya added with certainty.

Slightly deflated, Xander’s gaze moved to his girlfriend. “Thanks An, I was trying to go for ‘I’m a bad ass’, ya know, The Enforcer look, but bringing up the money that we had to bribe him with, well kinda killed the mood.”

Wearily, Giles extracted his glasses, pinching the exposed bridge of his nose tightly. With a slow sigh, he released the bridge and griped.

“Xander please, your presentation or how you gathered information is not important, it’s the information itself in regard to finding Buffy is what is imperative—“

“Sorry, well Willie said that he hasn’t heard of anything going down. There have been a few mumblings about the ‘Slayer slacking on her duties’, otherwise nada.”

“So that means Buffy is still alive and hopefully unharmed. There is no way a slayer would be…without the whole Hellmouth knowing. They may be demons, but they do talk. Quite the gossipers from what Buffy told me.” Willow’s voice held promise with a hint of relief as she addressed the others.

“That may be, but regardless of the lack of information circulating throughout the demon community, the fact remains, Buffy is still missing,” Giles firmly stated as he headed towards the phone. Lifting the receiver, he slowly punched into the keypad memorized numbers. Everyone silently waited as he spoke.

“Um, hell, Cordelia, yes this Giles—no we haven’t found Buffy yet, this is the precise purpose for my call—I understand Angel is quite busy, but I do believe that this is of the utmost importance—Yes, I do understand so isn’t food and your salary—Cordelia, is Angel there?“ Giles' eyes slammed shut, while frustration etched his features. When he finally spoke, this frustration bled into his tone. “Don’t you understand you foolish girl that this is a life or—“

“—death situation, yeah I get it Giles, and I know that Angel understands that too. I will give him the message, as soon as he gets back—He’s on a case right now—Well, Buffy is not the only one who’s gone missing—Fine, I’ll tell him—No, I have your number—ok, bye Giles.”

Flustered, Cordelia noisily dropped the receiver onto its base. Sensing Wesley’s focused, poignant stare, she turned to face him.

“Don’t say it,” Cordelia snapped, eyeing him with warning.

“Obviously this is serious Cordelia, if Giles has been calling non-stop for two days.”

“I said not to say it!”

“Regardless of what you think, or your feelings about Buffy, this is an—“

“Fine, fine it’s an emergency! But I’m warning you now, when he turns into Mr. Broody pants and we lose the McNamara account because he rushed off the Sunnydale to find Buffy…who by the way, has pulled off a Little Miss Runaway before, I don’t want to hear you complain when there’s no more tea and crumpets for you!”

With a dramatic huff, Cordelia grabbed her coat and stormed out of the office, leaving Wesley to wait alone for Angel’s return. Only an hour earlier, Angel had headed to a bar called Shots in Silver Lake, to follow up on a lead in the McNamara case.


Giles’ Apartment


Giles slammed the receiver down, causing the table to shake and the others to startle. While muttering about an ‘incompetent, foolish girl’ and ‘I should have dusted him long ago’, he began to pace angrily. The others stared in amazement from the usual behavior of the typically calm Watcher. Willow attempted to calm the livid man, with soft soothing words.

“Giles, Angel does care for her. Remember Thanksgiving? I bet its Cordelia that’s being difficult, not Angel—“

His pacing stopped immediately, as his fury-filled gaze fell on her. “Willow, I don’t bloody care about Thanksgiving or Cordelia! This is the present, and right now, we need Angel’s vampire skills of tracking and his ties with the demon community more than ever! That foolish girl, she may cost Buffy her…” Witnessing renewed tears welling in Willow’s emerald eyes halted his words. With a deep sigh, he stepped forward. Giles’ tender words mirrored the touch of his hand on Willow’s upper arm.

“I’m sorry Willow, sorry to all of you. This is a trying time for everyone and my lashing out is counterproductive and highly insensitive.” Anya’s incessant murmuring to Xander broke his concerned fixed gaze with Willow. With interest, he looked towards her, questioning the ex-demon.

“Anya, is there more that you two heard at or from Willie?”

Sensing his hesitation, Anya urged Xander with a sharp poignant look. “Xander, tell them the rest.” Willow and Giles’ inquiring gaze trained on him, awaiting his words.

“An, I don’t think that’s important. This is about Buffy, not the bleached menace.”

“Xander, every bit of information is important, “Willow implored.

“Fine, fine…Willie said that he hasn’t seen Spike around since the ‘slayer started to shirk her duties.’ And when we went by his crypt, he wasn’t there. We also found a shopping bag filled with butcher’s blood and cigarettes along the way.”
Their eyes widened with the implication of Spike having anything to do with Buffy’s disappearance. Tension from this new fact startled the room into silence. Until Willow’s voice filled with confusion and uncertainty rang out.

“Giles, how could Spike have anything to do with Buffy missing? Sure, he’s a vamp, a master vamp at that, but with the chip, he can’t bite. Can’t even hit or grab a human without big-time pain.”

“Willow, regardless of the chip, Spike is a master vampire. He’s very resourceful and cunning and may have found a way around his infliction. If Spike is involved, I fear right now as we speak, he may be doing something absolutely evil—“



**** ****


“Do you have any eights?”

“Go fish!” Buffy giggled while she threw Spike another card from the pile. The two roomies sat across from one another, only the red line separating them. Buffy had the pick up pile on her side, since she didn’t trust Spike not to cheat.

“Slayer, do we really have to play this soddin’ kid’s game?”

“Yes, yes we do. This game is Buffy-approved. Not like the game you suggested.” Her face scrunched slightly from his previous idea.

“What, strip poker is a bloody brilliant game. Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t seen your naughty bits before.” Spike’s tongue alluringly curled against his front teeth, in a very suggestive manner.

Buffy’s eyes were immediately drawn to his mouth, while her mind raced with flashes of him in the shower, streams of cascading water flowing over his sculpted chest, following a delicious path downwards. His hand of his impressive—

“Do you have any kings?”

“Huh? Hey, it’s my turn you cheater! Do you have any kings?”

Grumbling Spike tossed over his king, while Buffy did a little happy dance as she paired them and placed the match at her side.

“Anyhow, being all perv and spying on me in the shower doesn’t equal me willingly showing you my…my naughty bits.” Unable to meet his gaze she felt bore into her, Buffy continued to busy herself with her cards.

“And when you were spying on me while I was showering, what does that equal?”

Buffy’s now enlarged eyes moved from her hand to him. His blue eyes seemed to have a life of their own as they flickered with forbidden pleasure and wanton desire. Buffy slowly licked her suddenly dry lips. Their gazes remained fixed. Endless moments passed until an outside voice broke their stare.

“Ten minutes little girl,” Jack’s menacing tone rang through the silent room.

Buffy’s eyes fell away first, while she began to collect the cards. Silently, Spike threw his cards over the line, stood and walked towards the wall. Turning to face the surface, Buffy hid the cards under her pillow and began to disrobe. Attempting to dispel the awkwardness of him speaking the truth, she quickly changed the subject.

“So, I never did ask you, how did you get the cards?”

“Nicked them from the guard I attacked, well, before I got zapped. Was looking for some fags, but found those instead,” Spike explained casually.

He was grateful not to be facing her. The truth of why he’d attacked the guard clearly written on his face. He’d attacked the guard for her honor, searching for things to take from the guard was an afterthought. Before he broke down and told her the truth, her sweet voice filled his ears again.

“All Oliver Twist like?”

“No luv, if you remember Oliver got caught. S’more like the Artful Dodger.”

“Well, I’m glad that you used your skills to get us something to do in here—“

Spike became instantly lost in his thoughts following her words. Endless images of her bare spread before him. He visualized himself utilizing his skills upon her heated body. His teasing hands and mouth met each inch of her glorious, golden skin. Devouring, tasting, exploring as her pleasure-filled moans and mewls rang in his ears. Only the incessant biting from the metal embedded into his erection pulled him from his thoughts.

Hearing her door sliding open urged Spike to shake away lingering thoughts and turn. The customary three guards and Jack stood by Buffy’s side. Clad in her battle leather and a slight smirk, Buffy glanced towards Spike.

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work, I go! Don’t miss me too much.”

“Ta Slayer. Have a good time and remember, don’t die. You’re still my ticket out of here and all.”

“Will do,” Buffy countered with casualness. Following a small wave, she headed out of the room, the four men in tow. Jack eyed Spike with disdain briefly then followed.

Despite the lightheartedness and joking manner between them, the same disturbing feeling of discomfort and unease plagued him. Once the door slid shut, Spike’s lengthy strides ate away the small space ahead of him as he waited for her return.

Buffy’s weary aching body protested with each step down the short corridor towards her room. Despite his harsh grip, she was strangely grateful for the guard’s hand holding her steady.

Her third match was a difficult one. Unlike her first two battles, prior to entering the ring they gave her two daggers. Those were beneficial, until Buffy realized what using daggers meant. In order to bring down her opponent she needed to get close,really close. When she entered the arena, her face paled when she saw who or more specifically what, she had to get close to, Mr. Reptilian.

This victory didn’t come easy. With the combination of Mr. Reptilian’s tail, claws, and razor sharp teeth, she was now worse for wear. In addition to the array of deadly weapons that he possessed, he spat on her. He launched a steady stream of foul clear liquid from his mouth, landing on her chest with a sickening splash. Luckily, it missed her face.

The guard’s grip remained firmed until he led her inside. Releasing her, he quickly turned. When the door slid closed, Buffy was reminded once again her position here, a slave, their Prized Fighter.

“Hey honey, you’re home,” Spike snickered from his cot. Splayed out on the small bed, his head rested upon folded arms. He appeared completely relaxed. This in actuality was a charade. If Buffy had seen him prior to her arrival, she would have witnessed his anxious strides filling the small space, while uneasiness etched his features.

“Yeah, tough day at the office.” Buffy winced, while she moved slowly over to her own cot.

“Which baddie did you slay today? Hey, I’m a poet and didn’t even know it.” Spike jested briefly before he inwardly added, “Neither did anyone else, William the Bloody my arse!”

“Well, you’re more like Dr. Seuss, and it was Mr. Reptilian. Yeah, snakey was harder than I thought. It didn’t help when they only gave me two daggers to fight with. So I had to get close…real close.” Buffy shuddered while she replayed parts of the fight within her mind. The way its flesh sounded when she tore into it, the pungent smell, and the piercing scream as it died.

“So Slayer, aren’t you grateful that I am able to welcome you home? After you left, Mr. Ponytail informed me that the beastie I was supposed to tussle with has a permanent case of dustiness. So I’m up later tonight. The way I see it—”After several steps, Buffy’s gait became slightly unsteady. Spike hushed when the sound of her heart fluttering instantly caught his attention.

“Slayer, what’s going on with you?”

“That fight just took a little more out of me than others, I’ll be fine when—“ Buffy’s words were cut off mid-sentence as her body swayed. She fell forward hard upon her hands and knees. Her head dropped between her arms. Spike lifted himself from his bed and hurried over to the red line that existed between their two halves of the room.

“Slayer, you don’t look too good. What happened during…” Spike’s words ended abruptly, when he caught a heavy stench that wafted from her.

“Slayer, did that demon get any of its vile fluids on you? Maybe blood or—” It took several moments for Buffy to wrap her mind around his words before she responded.

“Yeah, it…it…spat on…me…nasty…” as Buffy sputtered out her response, Spike’s sensitive hearing noticed she labored for breath, and her heartbeat fluttered once more.

“You’ve been poisoned! Get yourself over to the shower now! You have to wash it away!” Spike commanded, while he stood just mere inches from the invisible barrier.

“P…poi…soned? No…just tired…sleep now,” Buffy murmured while arms gave out, slumping to the floor. Instantly, he could see heavy dark shadows under her eyes and a light blue ring surrounding her parted lips as her breath continued to labor.

“Slayer, get your pert arse up! You can’t die now! You’re my ticket out! My twenty-first win…my third slayer! Get up!” Spike ran over to his cot and retrieved his boot. With accuracy, he tossed the boot and hit her in the ass.

“St..op mom…it’s Sat..ur…day!” Buffy muttered between increasingly heavy wheezes. Spike did the same with his second boot. The next strike broke her from her rest.

“Wa!” Heavy lids fluttered open, her hazy gaze attempted to focus on Spike. His demon flashed forward, his forceful order echoed through the room.

“Get to the shower…NOW!” Once his words penetrated her mind, Buffy slowly nodded her head, pulling herself from the floor. Unsteadily she began to crawl towards the shower.

Spike hurried over to the shower and stepped under the showerhead turning it on. Carefully, he moved the faucet towards her. After a few moments, she reached the lip of the stall and collapsed. The water pelted the floor in front of her face, but didn’t touch her.

Frustrated, Spike growled at the fallen woman, “A little more, you bint!” Spike noticed that she was no longer conscious. Her head rested upon the raised metal, her breathing was quick shallow, her heartbeat continued to waver.

“Buffy! Slayer!” Despite his booming voice, she remained motionless. She was slipping further under the waves of poison coursing through her veins.

“Bollocks!” Spike snapped, while he stepped further under the deluge of water. Before his mind could talk him out of it, he reached past into her side of the room. ”Nothing, not even a tingle.” this thought flashed momentarily before he firmly pushed it aside. Immediately, he grabbed her extended arm. With a brusque yank, he drew her under the water with him. Seating her against the wall, Spike crouched before her. His gaze did a quick assessment of her damages. Instantly noticing her chest where the leather of her battle gear appeared eaten away, exposing her reddened blistered skin underneath..

“This must be where the poison hit her,” Spike muttered. Without another thought, he desperately tore at the leather to expose her flesh to the water. He pulled her limp form further into the stream, frantically rubbing the area in an attempt to wash away the poison. Regardless of his brisk movements across her now exposed injured breasts, Buffy remained listless.

“Come on…come on!”

Spike could smell the poison looping through her veins. Soon, it would pass through her heart again, one of those times, stopping it. His mind reeled with ideas until he came upon the most logical, removing the poison from her veins. Hesitating slightly, his gaze fixed upon her face. The circles under eyes had darkened to a deep purplish hue and the faint line of blue around her lips had seeped downward and encompassed her mouth entirely. Her skin now held a deathly pallor. She was dying.

“Damn it Slayer, you are supposed to die a warrior’s death, not like this. Inside a bleedin’ shower, unconscious! Gotta do this. Right, here I go. Before I do, I would like to state for the record, I had no other choice. You’d better remember this Slayer, when you wake. Ok, here I go…” Spike tilted her head back slightly, exposing her throat. Regardless of his steady diet of human blood, this vision before him made his mouth water. Leaning forward, her unique scent overwhelmed his senses. Under the stench of poison, lay purely Buffy, the heady combination of vanilla, pure woman, and raw power.

Despite how this scene had played out within his mind continuously for years, the Slayer’s throat his chalice, him tearing into her flesh, relishing in her pain, and the ultimate death that he alone bestowed upon her had now melted away. This desire replaced by nothing more than the need to save and care for this tiny woman within his arms.

His golden gaze fixed on her wavering pulse under her pallid skin. Tenderly, his fangs pierced the column of her throat. Buffy didn’t stir from the intrusion. Once her blood hit his palate, Spike moaned deeply in sheer pleasure against her flesh. Fortunately, for him, the poison didn’t affect him as it did her. He relished in the knowledge that he could devour each drop of her sweet ambrosia.

Even with her blood tainted with poison, Spike was in his own personal heaven. Buffy’s petite body rested within the cage of his strong arms, his fangs within her throat, her heady blood feeding every cell within his body. Buffy mewled softly, causing Spike’s cock to lengthen and harden further within his heavily soaked denims. Following two steady draws, Spike noticed the poison dissipating. With three more, it was completely gone.

Still fangs deep, Spike suddenly became conflicted. While his demon relished her borrowed blood vibrating within his stagnant veins and her lithe body against his urging him to continue, another minuscule part of his brain that had remained dormant for over a hundred years. His conscience stirred, stopping him. The voice inside his head telling him he did this to save her from the poison. Since the poison was gone now, he needed to release her.

His demon scoffed, while his inner Jiminy Cricket pressed on. Spike took two additional draws and gently extracted his fangs. He lavished the mark with several licks to capture any stray droplets and to seal the bite. His golden gaze studied the woman that remained limp in his arms. Spike noticed her heartbeat had returned to the normal fierce tattoo that lulled him to sleep these past few nights. Her breathing was slow, but was no longer shallow. Her full lips had regained their rosy hue, even though the tinge of blue still framed her mouth. While Spike continued to study her, Buffy’s heavy lids fluttered. Upon her stirring, Spike shifted into his human guise. A small whimper escaped her lips, while her hazy gaze attempted to focus on Spike’s face.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Spike whispered, a soft smile tugged on his lips.

After several slow blinks, she responded, “Spike?” Her voice was raspy and heavy as it left her lips.

“Yeah, your prince charming is here,” Spike, answered with a slight mirth in his tone.

“What happened?”

“Snake demon poisoned you.” His voice was soft and soothing, while it mingled with the spray of the continuous water that fell upon them.

“Poison?”

“Yeah kitten, nasty poison.” Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on his, while his words penetrated the fog surrounding her mind. Feeling water landing on the top of her head and shoulders, cascading over her tender bare chest, Buffy’s head lolled forward to watch the stream of water flow, before she questioned him.

“Why are we in the shower?”

“Needed to get rid of the poison.” His answer was instant and brief, without supplying by what means besides the water, he used to get rid of it.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Is…ittt…all…gggone?” Buffy began to stutter, as she started to shiver from the now cold water. Spike’s mind whirled while he felt the raw power of her blood resonated throughout his being, making it difficult to remain focused.

“Yeah, all gone, let’s get you out of here. Shaking like a leaf you are.”

Spike cautiously pulled their drenched bodies from the floor of the shower. He held onto her tightly, until he felt that she would be able to move of her own accord. Swaying slightly, but maintaining her ground, Buffy placed her hand tenderly on his cheek. Unwavering, clear and sparkling greens held bright blues that swirled with pure affection and admiration. With a faint smile, she spoke.

“Spike, I lo—“ Before the rest of her words could break free of her throat, the vile substance they call rations, rose to the top. Slapping her hand across her mouth, Buffy quickly slipped from his arms. With shaky legs, she hurried towards the toilet. Lowering herself roughly to the floor, her stomach emptied into the metal bowl. After several heaves, she sat down, taking in slow deep breaths to calm herself.

Buffy gradually dragged herself from the floor and headed towards her bed. Regardless of being completely soaked, she plopped herself down. Spike stepped out from the shower, automatically shutting off the water, walking over to his bed, stripping his sheet from the mattress. In vain, he attempted to dry himself off, before sitting down with a squish. Buffy’s curious gaze fell upon him.

After several moments she spoke, “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“So, how were you able to pass that red line?” Buffy’s brow furrowed while she studied the line briefly, before returning to Spike.

“The only thing I can guess is the steady stream of water blocked the transmission of signals that would normally trigger our dusty-ness.” Buffy’s eyes widened from his intelligent and reasonable explanation. Noticing this, Spike continued. “…or we just that bloody lucky.” Spike shrugged nonchalantly.

“So, you risked yourself, for me?”

“It looks like.” His casual tone altered, now held a low, shy quality. His gaze lowered and focused on a suddenly interesting spot on the floor.

“Why?” Her soft voice wrapping around such a loaded question, caused Spike’s attention to move from the floor, to her focused gaze.

“Like I said while you were out, you deserve to die in a fierce battle, not from snake spit inside a shower. Not proper.”

“Right, death by demon, in the midst of battle. Of course, you have yourself in mind for that?” A hint of humor surrounded her words and caused her eyes to twinkle with mirth.

“Of course, evil,” Spike responded offhandedly, followed by his classic smirk.

“Of course. Well, anyway, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Spike…” He cut off her words before she could continue.

“Buffy, I did what I needed to do to save my own hide. Don’t look into more than that. Well, gotta take a nap, my fight to the death and all.”

Before Buffy could retort, without saying another word, Spike lay on his side, back to her. She studied him, while deafening silence filled the room. He was fidgeting, obviously wanting to do or say something, but was using un-Spike like restraint. She knew his words prior to him turning from her were false. The way he looked at her, the way his arms held her compassionately spoke louder than any of his words. Buffy sensed that something was off. Normally, Spike would have been rehashing this good deed repeatedly, looking for praise and acknowledgment from her. On the contrary, he was quiet and not looking for any type of recognition. Completely un-Spike-like.

Slowly pulling her drenched and now ruined leathers from her exhausted body, she noticed that one area remained pain free. Actually, it felt almost…pleasant. Her fingers lifted and ran over the left side of her throat. There, directly over her jugular were twin puncture wounds. The moment her fingertips brushed over them a wave of desire resonated throughout her body, settling deep within her core. Her eyelids fluttered, stroking them once more. While the tingling still vibrated throughout her body, one thought filled her mind. Far more had happened, besides him ‘washing’ away the demon’s poison, and the tender raised marks on her throat told her all she needed to know. Gradually sliding into Spike’s worn tee shirt, a knowing smile graced her lips as her mind finally acknowledged what her heart already knew.

Buffy battled as long as her body would allow. She fought valiantly. Regardless, she succumbed; sleep ultimately won. The heavy veil of darkness enveloped her and dragged her into a blissful unconsciousness that her weary body craved and required. For endless moments before sleep claimed her, her senses stretched across the dark, silent room toward her knight in tarnished armor, Spike. The mere thought that Spike had done something for her that didn’t revolve around annoying her to no end or almost killing her and her friends was simply…bizarre. For the past hour, the simple yet compelling phrase, “Spike saved me” was on permanent replay within her mind. She just couldn’t wrap her mind around this indisputable fact.

Any dime store therapist could have deciphered her fixation with this sole point as merely a stalling tactic on Buffy’s part. If her mind remained latched onto this one fact, she would never have to move forward. Never address the mammoth metaphorical elephant that resided within her mind. Regardless of her heart knowing the truth, her mind continued to dispute the inevitable. Buffy could no longer deny the fact that she was falling for Spike. Not the falling of a snowflake fluttering on a soft winter wind, but the falling of a person plummeting from endless heights into a fathomless crevasse filled with turbulent emotions. All these plaguing thoughts and feelings aided in her battle with sleep, until the persistent warrior, Hypnos, was victorious.

Spike remained motionless on his unmade bed, until the steady tattoo of Buffy’s heartbeat and the slow rise and fall of her chest announced that sleep had finally claimed her. It was bloody near impossible for Spike to remain still while she was awake. Surprisingly, even to himself, he held firm, despite how his demon demanded that he go to her, cradle her in his arms, and protect her from the outside world. Not that she needed protection. Nonetheless, he felt the draw. With her blood resonating through his body, her essence on his tongue, coating his throat and gut, his demon claimed her as his. Nothing or no-one would stand in his way to make this so. Sod the demon world, her friends, and his bloody poufter of a grandsire. Sod them all. Within this entire world, there was only one force that would hold him back from making her his, and she lay asleep a mere twenty feet away.

Regardless of her appreciation for his saving her, which was a feat in itself, he couldn’t misconstrue her feelings toward him. Gratitude doesn’t equate to desire. Even her peeping at him in the shower, couldn’t be mistaken for anything more than what it was, a hot-blooded female appreciating a handsome bloke like himself and his tight, lithe body. With a slight snicker and his trademark smirk, Spike pulled himself from the bed and continued his vigil over Buffy, upright. His silent pacing remained on his side of the red line, despite his mind and demon screaming for him to pass through the newly discovered watery entry.

His steps remained soundless as his mind rumbled with thoughts. ”Bloody stubborn bint doesn’t know what’s good for her. She’s always fighting, never taking a rest, even when her body demanded it. Well, how can she rest with all those around her being so needy? They needed her strength, her mind, and all that made her the slayer. They never just needed her, never just Buffy. That will all change when we get out of this hellhole. I’ll take care of her since nobody else, not even her bloody “friends” or the soulful poufter, will. Only the best for my girl, from now on.”

Spike’s eyes slammed shut at his words. He was a bloody fool. He knew the bitter truth. Buffy despised him. She hated everything that made him who he was. This irrefutable fact sat sourly in his gut. Even so, Spike hoped that these days that they had spent together and all that had transpired since their imprisonment would have put cannon sized holes in the rubbish the bleedin’ counsel of wankers had taught her. Their golden rule: humans good, demons bad. Utter shite! In addition to this little gem of erroneous “truth,” they had instilled in her the idea that this world only consisted in terms of black and white without its countless shades of gray. Unknown to her, the truth existed within this world of gray. Simply being a demon shouldn’t earn one a death sentence. On the same token, people don’t automatically deserve to exist just because they’re people.

While Spike continued his internal conversation, elaborate dreams filled Buffy’s mind. She dreamt that she was running through the night, only the cool air surrounding her sprinting form. It felt glorious the way the wind teased her unfettered tendrils of hair, danced along her exposed flesh, and filled her lungs with a purity that she hadn’t breathed since her captivity. As she ran, familiarity with her surroundings ran deep, yet she felt that there was something missing. Her movements stilled as she looked around her. Her gaze darted into the darkness until something in the distance caught her eye, a moving shadow that remained just out of reach. Sprinting forward once more, she called out. Regardless of her calls not a sound escaped her throat.

Each stride revealed recognizable scenery -- her home away from home, a cemetery. However, this wasn’t just any cemetery, but Restfield. Deftly weaving in and out of the gravestones, her movements halted once she reached a crypt. Initially, this wasn’t her intended destination, but it felt right for her to be here. Despite not knowing what she sought, what she was missing, the feelings within her declared that it lay beyond this granite barrier before her. Buffy forcefully pushed opened the door and passed over the threshold. Suddenly, another familiar scene met her eyes, her kitchen. She spun around quickly, unsure how she arrived there.

Buffy’s confused gaze took in all that surrounded her. She was standing in the middle of her kitchen, the same homey room that played a part in heart to heart talks with her mother and some strategic slayer planning sessions. Its warmth and inviting feel enfolded her, making her feel safe, loved. A small grin teased her lips as the scent of hot chocolate with melted marshmallows filled the air. Before she approached the steamy mugs of liquid happiness, strong yet loving arms gathered her into their embrace. Instantly, her mother’s unique essence surrounded her, causing her to throw her arms tightly around her waist in response. Soft tears of joy fell, as her mother continued to place chaste kisses upon her brow, all the while murmuring loving and soothing words.

“Oh Buffy, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Mom, it was horrible. They locked me away and forced me to fight in some modern day gladiator thingy. The only reason I survived was—“ Buffy searched her mind for whom had saved her, yet it wouldn’t come. Their name remained just out of reach. Joyce continued holding Buffy, only pulling back slightly to look upon her distressed daughter.

“What saved you, Buffy?”

“It wasn’t what mom, it was who. It was—“ Buffy’s words remained unfinished, the scenery changing once more. The kitchen walls transformed into walls lined with books, with a large plush couch in the center of the room. Instantly, recognition grabbed hold of her, as she was standing in Giles’ living room, surrounded by Giles, Willow and Xander.

Her friends instantly encircled Buffy, as her confusion remained unvoiced. Willow and Xander sandwiched her between them, as Giles wrapped them all within the cage of his arms. Newly formed tears swelled in her eyes from the love that flowed from them. Endless moments passed, Buffy basked in their declarations of love, how much they missed her, and how grateful they were for her safe return. Slowly, each pulled from the group embrace and took a position in the room. Giles stood at his desk, while Xander and Willow sat on either end of the couch. Their movements eventually encouraged hers. With tentative steps, Buffy rounded the couch, and headed for the space between them.

An empty chair placed in the middle of the room drew Buffy’s gaze. It wasn’t the chair itself that earned her attention, but the loosened ropes wound around its legs, which piqued her interest. Her brow furrowed from the same feeling that had been plaguing her before, that something was amiss. As the gang chatted noisily around her, Buffy remained silent until these feelings forced her to speak.

“Something’s not right. There's someone missing, but my mind’s all fuzzy, and I just can’t figure out whom.”

In response to Buffy’s words that hung heavily in the air, each person’s confused gaze darted around the room. Willow’s eyes followed Buffy’s line of sight. With a warm smile, she spoke, “Oh, don’t worry Buffy, it’s just Angel. You know how he’s one for the theatrics, all mysterious and brooding. He’s here; you just can’t see him right now, but don’t worry, you will soon.”

Xander began to mutter his thoughts about Angel under his breath, until Willow’s poignant look stilled his grumbling. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Xander moved his gaze from Willow back to Buffy, who responded with uncertainty. “Angel? I don’t—well maybe, yeah, maybe that’s who’s missing.”

With dual nods of agreement, Xander proceeded to pat the empty space beside him, urging her to sit. Still uneasy, Buffy turned to sit, until she noticed in her peripheral vision, the small hallway off to her right. Something inside urged her to head there.

Despite the numerous protests from behind her, Buffy followed the hallway and continued forward until she reached a door. Pushing slightly, the door swung open, revealing the bathroom. Hesitantly, she approached the old-fashioned claw-footed tub situated in the middle of the room. Instantly, her gaze lowered to the heavy chains lying upon the bottom. Strangely, feelings deep within compelled her to lean forward and tentatively brush her fingers over the iron links.

Flashes of who was missing, whom she sought, bombarded Buffy’s senses. His deep tone, which had been once unsettling and grating, now soothed her. His strong arms that once caused pain and destruction, now only bestowed comfort. His once taunting, hate-filled gaze now only radiated caring and concern. The total enigma that defied all labels, that baffled and enraged all that knew him, the sole person who accepted her more in these past days, then everyone else, including herself, since her calling -- Spike.

With this instant realization, Buffy’s distressed voice reverberated throughout the room. “Spike, where are you?” Running towards the living room, she frantically searched for him. Standing before her friends, her questions rushed forward.

“Where’s Spike? Everything said that he was here, but he’s not. Where is he?” Three pairs of inquisitive eyes fell on her, yet no one responded. Buffy’s gaze darted from one person to another numerous times before irritation took over. With slow, belligerent words, she questioned them once more.

“I said, where…is…Spike!”

Spike’s steady pace continued, awaiting the guards to take him to his fight. Despite how still he held his body until Buffy succumbed to sleep, his demon continued to roar and claw at his mind. From the instant he tasted the heady ambrosia of her blood, his demon demanded satisfaction. Only two things would placate it: either fists and fangs or cock and fangs. Knowing and disappointed that it couldn’t be the latter, Spike continued to wait for his turn in the ring.

Spike stopped mid-stride as an unidentifiable feeling washed over him, causing his mind to spin, his vision to blur as his consciousness waned and his legs threatened to buckle from under him. Staggering backwards, the edge of the bed brought him down in a graceless heap. ”Was I wrong about the poison? Bloody fantastic -- death by snake spit! At least she’s safe, that’s all that matters,” were his last thoughts before unconsciousness overtook him.

Spike felt as if he were floating weightless in the darkness that surrounded him. All was calm until he heard a recognizable voice crying out from the fathomless dark. “Spike, where are you?”

“Buffy?” Spike’s eyes widened, as he called out. Immediately, he gathered all his strength, pushing forward. Regardless of his uncertainty of where he was and the heavy obscurity enveloping and encumbering his limbs, only one fact remained clear: Buffy needed him, and that was all that mattered.

Buffy huffed in exasperation at her tight-lipped friends. “Fine, nobody wants to answer me. I’ll just go and find him by myself!” Her irritation and determination to locate Spike fueled each step towards the door. Buffy reached for the knob. However, before she could turn it to release the latch, a familiar voice stilled her.

“Buffy?” Angel’s melancholy voice rang out, as he emerged from the shadows. Releasing the handle, she turned toward him. He appeared before her, as he had many times previously: dark brown eyes imploring and troubled, nervously toying with his own hands, his shoulders slumped in an attempt to appear smaller and less menacing.

“Angel? What are you doing here?” Buffy’s tone held a mixture of confusion and slight irritation. This caused Angel to contritely lower his head. Typically, this behavior would bring out her compassion. However, now it only triggered further irritation bordering on frustration.

“Look Angel, I have to find Spike. I don’t have time for this…this…whatever this is!” Buffy’s voice rose as her exasperation mounted.

“That’s why I’m here -- to protect you.”

“Protect me, from what, Spike… myself?” Buffy snapped, her eyes ablaze. Angel’s despondent stare remained fixed on her. Tired of waiting for a response, Buffy disdainfully shook her head as she eyed those around her.

“Every night I fight the forces of evil, never knowing when my time will be up. Hell, I’ve already died once, and had an umpteenth number of close calls. Still you all feel that I can’t handle the one thing that I should on my own, my life. You give your opinions, which at times are forced upon me, so they become my opinions. There have also been countless times that decisions have been made for me—“ Buffy’s gaze darted towards Angel, held steady, then returned to the others. “Well, no more. If I’m strong enough to fight for my life and the side of good, then I’m strong enough to make my own decisions.” In response to her words, Giles removed his glasses and began frantically cleaning them. Buffy instantly recognized Giles’ classic “I’m concerned” move. She knew a lecture was next. Prior to his words coming forward, she held up her hand and continued. “If you love me, like you all say that you do, you won’t interfere with my choices or judge me for them. You’ll remain by my side no matter what.”

The moment the remainder of her words echoed in her own ears, the weight that had been burdening her since the day she arrived in Sunnydale lifted. All those years of feeling confined by others’ thoughts and views vanished. Turning from her friends and Angel, Buffy opened the door and instantly froze before the person who stood on the other side, Spike. Without a word, she launched herself into his embrace. Her eyes blissfully closed as his unique essence surrounded her. Since the moment she began this dream, except for the short time with her mother, she finally felt accepted and cherished for who she truly was.

Neither acknowledged the entire world outside of their embrace melt away. All that mattered was the two of them. Buffy relished how his strong arms encircled her, while the soft strokes of his hands and his murmured words simultaneously excited and soothed her. Spike, unsure how he actually arrived within her dreams and more importantly on the receiving end of Buffy’s embrace, instantly pushed past the confusion and savored the moment.

After endless blissful moments, despite how he loathed doing it, Spike pulled slightly from her arms, just enough to gaze down upon her. Sparkling green eyes filled with content met his, causing a smile to tug at the corners of Spike’s full lips.

“Not that I’m complaining at all, luv, for having an arm full of you, but what’s this all about?”

“Just my mind and those that live in these four crazy, squishy walls tried their damnedest to keep me from finding you. But as always, you came. You’re here.”

“You should know by now, I’m a bloke who’s hard to get rid of. Especially now, that you’re welcoming me with open arms, it will be damn near impossible.” Spike’s teasing but truthful tone made Buffy’s heart swell and expand.

With a soft sigh, she rested her head on his chest. Feeling his body against hers, finally confirmed all that she had been dissecting, denying and disbelieving since the first moments, he wormed his way into her mind. Spike became more than a vamp or an evil she must destroy. He became someone that she could rely on. Someone that she could trust to open up to, and maybe eventually, trust with her fragile heart that had been stomped on many times over. Despite the two occasions, once in her dream and the other after he saved her life, she wasn’t truly ready to admit to the ‘L’ word, maybe in time, but not now.

It was strange, not only two years prior she had loathed him, threatened and tried to kill him time and time again. Or did she, did she really try to kill him? If she really thought back, she never truly tried her hardest. Now being truthful to herself, during their fights she enjoyed the rush of fighting someone that was her equal, someone who could trade punches, as well as words. Buffy’s thoughts then moved from their fights to more recent events, specifically Willow’s my will be done spell. The way he held her, kissed her, looked at her with total and complete awe. Then Willow ended the wayward spell. Buffy fondly remembered how comically their eyes widen, and how much, almost theatrically so, they spat and rubbed their lips until they were nearly raw. These memories caused Buffy to smile, then erupt in a fit of giggles.

Spike pulled back once more and eyed her with a combination of curiosity and his own mirth at hearing her infectious tinkle of laughter. As his scarred brow raised, Spike questioned, “What’s so funny luv, don’t particularly like when my arms around my girl, and she’s laughing.”

The instant his words left his lips, Spike flinched, while inwardly berating himself. ”Bloody mouth always saying the wrong thing, brilliant move, soddin’ pillock.”

“Your girl?” Buffy’s inquiring stare held Spike’s gaze firmly. Her question hung in the air for several moments before he began to sputter a response.

“I…what I meant…well what I mean…I…bloody hell…” Enjoying how he squirmed and stammered, Buffy decided that she had tormented him enough.

“Your girl? I like the sound of that.” Spike startled mid-sputter, his eyes widening. He incredulously repeated her words, unsure if he had heard her correctly or if her response was just his mind creating an auditory hallucination.

“You like the sound of that?”

“I do,” Buffy responded with certainty.

“So what does that exactly mean, luv?” Spike hesitantly questioned.

“I don’t exactly know, but what I do know is that I don’t want to dust you anymore, and that your mere presence doesn’t invoke my gag reflex.”

“Oh, you're too kind,” Spike responded dryly, with a hint of a jest.

“Hey, that’s progress!”

“That it is, and I can clearly say that I don’t want to drain you dry anymore.”

“That’s a bonus, especially since I was recently full of snake poison and unconscious, with only you in sight.”

“Oi, like I said before, even though you weren’t all with it, I only did it to clear the poison -- nothing more.”

“Mm-hmm, that’s what all the vamps say,” Buffy teased, as she suppressed the smile that began to appear.

“No, no other vamps, only me, and if I have any say in the matter, that’s the way it will stay.” Buffy witnessed a flash of possessiveness radiating from his electric blues. Normally this would have angerd her, except now it filled her with longing and desire for the man before her.

Slowly leaning upwards, Buffy sought his lips. Witnessing her approach, Spike reciprocated, meeting her halfway. Their first kisses were tentative and soft, velvety lips lightly brushed, as they sampled and caressed. Pulses of electricity flowed from this smallest contact. Needing to taste the sweet cavern of her mouth, Spike’s deft tongue teased the seam of her lips. Buffy responded as her lips parted, granting him entrance. Desire instantly swept through them like a raging, torrid fire. His once idle hands sought her, as one hand laid upon the base of her spine, hovering above the swell of her backside. The other threaded through her golden tresses, seeking then cradling her head as his mouth devoured hers. To brace herself from his dizzying touch, Buffy clutched his shoulders, digging her fingernails deep into his flesh.

The mere contact of her lips and hands was not enough. Spike’s hand that was on her lower back, tensed as he clutched her closer, gathering her body to his. When her soft mounds, clad only in his worn tee shirt, pressed against his bare chest, dual moans reverberated throughout the once quiet darkness. Their eager lips continued a brutal, sweet assault on one another, as he swallowed mewls resounding from her throat. Endless moments passed as each explored, tasted and demanded more.

Boldly, Spike’s lips left hers, as he placed soft kisses on her sensitive jaw line. Savoring his pleasurable ministrations, Buffy tilted her head to the side, granting him access to the column of her throat. In pure awe, Spike gazed at the woman in his arms who had just given him her ultimate sign of trust, his golden goddess, his tiny warrior, his Buffy. Gradually Spike’s mouth descended her almost pristine stretch of flesh; only his twin puncture marks remained. Reaching them, his blunt teeth nipped and suckled, causing her back to arch, gasps of pleasure flowed.

Without warning, Spike pulled back from her throat, his demon bursting forward. His golden gaze darted into the darkness, as a loud growl sounded while he searched for the threat his demon sensed. Pulling out of her sexual stupor, Buffy’s eyes flickered open and eventually focused on him.

“Spike?”

As he tenderly cradled her face with his hands, Spike’s body began to flicker, first appearing almost ghost-like then disappearing completely, leaving only the echo of his voice behind. “Wake up, luv.”

The sterile metal walls of Buffy’s room came into view once her eyes flashed open. Sitting up immediately, her gaze searched for Spike. His back was toward her as he crouched before the deadly red line. It appeared as if he was trying to protect her from the three guards who stood on his side of the room. His menacing growl, confirmed her thoughts. Hearing the hum of electricity and witnessing the guard’s movements for the tazer located on their belts, Buffy immediately pulled herself from the linens, and approached his lowered form. Her plea remained a mere whisper that only his vampire hearing could detect.

“Spike, I’m fine. It’s ok, please -- they’re going to hurt you. I couldn’t stand it if they hurt you again.”

Spike remained poised in his feral crouch until several stressful moments ticked by. She saw his shoulders relax, his growl ceasing. He stood before them, raising his arms in submission, taking two tentative steps forward. Two guards rushed forward, roughly grasping his arms, and forced him towards the door.

Spike’s heated gaze sought and connected with Buffy’s, before they forced him out. “This is not over, not by a long shot.”

Watching him leave, their gazes expressed all that they couldn’t say. They both knew it would be deadly to disclose any involvement between the formerly bitter rivals. Slowly, her tongue traced her swollen lips as she savored his lingering taste. Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the closed door as she silently vowed, “Not over, not by a long shot, Spike. Not by a long shot.”

Despite the slice of hell waiting, and the threat of his possible dusty-ness that lay at the end of the hallway, Spike was in his own personal heaven. With only one thought consuming his mind—Buffy. She had bestowed upon him the greatest gift, her trust. True, she had given him many other precious gifts that he treasured: her sweet lips, her laughter, her desire, but all paled in comparison. She trusted him. She no longer viewed him as an impure, vile demon or something that was below her, but as an equal.

He had become someone, no longer a thing. With this title of someone she bestowed upon him, came a myriad of exquisite gifts she rarely gave. He had become someone she would trust not to mock or exploit her vulnerabilities. He had become someone she would allow to share her passion. He had become someone she would allow to see the real Buffy— not just the slayer, the woman, the friend---the whole person. Spike shivered with anticipation from these thoughts.

Only one other time in his life, human or demon was he ever granted the powerful gift of trust. Due to her unconditional love for him, she allowed him to take her life without questioning, completely trusting. Despite the demon that resided within when he bestowed upon her his eternal kiss, only love filled his actions. He had taken her life with thoughts of sparing her a painful death and in turn, sharing eternity with her.

Instead, he gave her torment that the demon masked as freedom. Freedom from the constraints of ailments and from a society declaring everyone a sinner and only hell awaited them. Well now it truly did, for them both. He had delivered her to Satan himself, never thinking through, that with this newfound freedom came a price, her soul.

He realized the ultimate price, she paid the instant her once loved-filled blue eyes became scornful, as depraved and degrading words tumbled from her sneering lips and enveloped him. These words scarred him worse than any whip, fist, or fang had ever done. Even though he had righted this wrong, almost immediately, the guilt of that mistake still resonated in his heart and mind, even over a hundred years later. Inwardly shaking away these guilt-laden and melancholy thoughts, Spike directed his mind to the one ray of sunshine in the perpetual dark that is his unlife, Buffy.

Prior to entering into the main room, Spike drew forward his master vampire persona. He had a bout to win, and his inner William would not be effective here. Spike slipped his demon into the forefront. Instantly, commingling scents surrounded him: fear, sulfur, human blood, and death. With Spike’s interest now piqued, he breathed deeply. There was no mistaking these scents. Quickly, he dissected each in his mind. The first and latter, fear and death were nothing new. It was the other two sulfur and more specifically human blood, were the ones that perplexed him. With both still heavy in the air, Spike knew whatever happened was quite recent.

“Maybe that’s why my match was held?” Spike considered silently, inhaling once more. A large feral smile arose once he realized who the owner of the split blood was their wonderful and thoughtful host, Jack.

The guards urged Spike passed the holding area. With a sideward glance, he noted that overall nothing had changed, except for a large dark spot marring the concrete floor. “Couldn’t happen to a better bloke, shot in cold blood by a superior being and dying among what he hated the most. See you in hell, mate,” Spike inwardly scoffed.

As he continued past, he heard a constant stream of whispers among the demons. “’Stupid vampire’” and “’Who does he think he is?’” were among the most popular, which mingled with many others. In response, Spike brazenly sneered, continuing forward.

Escorted to the doorway, Spike hovered on the edge of the bright lights. Following his introduction, with his typical cock and swagger, he strolled into the ring. A thunderous applause completely engulfed him upon entrance. His last two opponents had really given him a run for his money. Regardless, he was victorious, and these sadistic bastards relished in it.

“Now who are really the inhuman ones?” Spike’s question hung heavy in the air. His only answer was their deafening applause. Within a few moments, the announcement of Spike’s challenger came on the heels of the crowd’s cheers diminishing.

Soon two guards entered, their tasers at the ready, leading Spike’s opponent into the arena. Held by four additional guards, two on each side, were heavy chains wrapped around his opponent’s massive biceps. With a silent count, the four guards dropped the chains, which unwound from his bulky arms, and then the six instantly fled the arena.

Assessing him quickly, Spike believed what stood before him was a werewolf that was in mid transformation. Long, coarse hair hung in patches on his drenched, nude body. His eyes were yellow and predatorily trained on Spike. Long talons and fangs finished off the lethal showcase. Spike noticed that around his neck was a crudely fashioned collar, with four metal spikes pointing directly at his vulnerable throat. It appeared that if he continued to change into a full werewolf, the spikes would puncture his windpipe, killing him.

The collar insured that he remain in the perpetual state of transformation, Spike inwardly cringed at this thought. He couldn’t imagine lingering in that state, between man and beast. Once an inhuman roar sounded from his serrated maw, Spike immediately pushed aside any other thoughts besides putting down this creature, so he could return to where he truly belonged, by Buffy’s side.


**** ****


Tearing…Burning…Searing…Pain. Dragged from the ring, Spike was only able to fight off unconsciousness by embracing what most push away…pain. Even though the pain barely kept him anchored of this side of consciousness, while his mind wavered, it offered small glimpses to the incidents that had transpired, before he became victorious.

They seemed to trade blows for a seemingly endless amount of time. Fists and fangs shredded flesh, ripped muscles, and scored bone. Every path laid by his opponent’s razor sharp talons left in its wake a burning. Not the burning that accompanied newly formed wounds and blossoming pain, but a burning that lingered and continued to fester deeper and deeper, gnawing at flesh and bone, until all became ash.

Escaping his grasp briefly, Spike eyed the sodden beast before him. Realization came fast and swift. Holy water saturated his opponent. That was what caused the bloody welts that ran down Spike’s chest, scoring his back and arms to remain open. Regardless of the potent slayer’s blood that filled his veins and his vampire healing that tried to staunch the flow and heal the wounds, Buffy’s precious gift ran in crimson rivers down his once pristine flesh, pooling at his feet. Following this brief reprieve, a flurry of his opponent’s movements bestowed more unrelenting pain and caused the noose of defeat to loop and tighten around Spike’s throat.

The beast’s massive claws held tightly onto him. One hand fisted Spike’s red-tinged hair, while his other was burrowing into his chest, toward his heart. Pushing past the pain, Spike felt a strange calmness over take him as the vision of Buffy filled his mind. She spoke not a word, but her eyes held volumes, filled with compassion and concern. She urged him to fight, to come back to her. Feeding off this, Spike harnessed the strength he gained from her presence, and used the heels of his hands to push on both set of metal spikes aside his opponent’s throat. They pierced the tender flesh, causing the beast to roar and release his punishing grip.

Unsure and uncaring how it came to being there, Spike scrambled toward the silver-coated sword that lay of the floor of the ring. Standing on shaky legs, with a graceful arch, Spike swung the sword, and severed his opponent’s head in one fluid motion. Paying no attention to the thud of the dead, dismembered body or the deafening roar of the crowd, Spike stumbled toward the door, with only the thoughts of getting back to Buffy propelling him. Barely passing over the threshold, he crumbled to the concrete floor, in an ungraceful heap.



**** ****

Sitting alone with only his consuming thoughts, Angel tried to digest all that had transpired in the last day or two. Sorting through each one, he cleared away all the thoughts that cluttered his mind until he reached the ones that were pertinent. Pushing aside residual cynicism and doubt that he had held onto, he began to ponder the recent incidents that had come to light. After several moments, he affirmed he had made the right decision to decline the slightly tempting offer given by the Head Mistress of Satan’s firm, forego his freedom and return to fight. Angel decided that forming a plan was the next step to justify his decision.

While a plan was developing slowly in his mind, an overwhelming, recognizable scent pulled Angel instantly from his thoughts. Golden demon eyes replaced his deep browns, as he rose from the floor and headed toward the invisible barrier. Angel held firm on his demon that snarled and clawed within, demanding release. His low menacing growl filled the air, as the guards dragged a heavily battered figure past him.

“Spike.”


**** ****


Finally hearing the sound that she longed for, the opening of the door, Buffy stilled her aimless pacing. Turning quickly, her eyes widened instantly and began to tear from the horrific sight presented. Hanging from the guards’ arms was Spike’s ravaged body. His body wore the tale of the battle he fought, from the drying blood that streaked his once silky platinum hair, to his flesh that hung in tattered ribbons from his chest and arms. He was a shell of his former self, no longer a fierce warrior, but a beaten fighter.

Buffy’s held her cry that strangled to escape her throat, fearing that they would know. Once they heard her wails, the guards would know that she cared for him, and then tell the others. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t give them any more leverage than they already had.

This concern instantly disappeared once the guards dumped his body unceremoniously on the floor, and left the room. She ran to the edge of the line, as her held tears flowed. She called out to him. He didn’t stir, didn’t acknowledge her cries. Thinking quickly, she ran to the shower, ready to enter, and create the watery barrier that would allow her to pass over to his side. Once there, she would bring him back to her, no matter what cost.

Buffy’s foot hovered on the threshold of the shower, before the familiar sliding of the door echoed through the room once more. Quickly stepping back, she watched two guards enter, carrying a seemingly unconscious woman behind them. They held her roughly under her arms, as her legs dragged behind her. The woman’s eyes remained closed, her head hung backwards, exposing her throat, and the freshly seeping wound found there.

Two more guards’ wrestled Spike’s limp form from the floor, slapping him several times. In response, his eyes began to flutter and attempted to focus. Aligning their bodies, one guard guided Spike’s face to the woman’s bloody neck.

Staring in disbelief, Buffy’s throat became stiff with a silent scream. She wanted to stop them, save Spike from what she knew would come next. Before she could move, before she could speak, the unmistakable sound of bones shifting rang in Buffy’s ears. The murmurs of disgust from the witnessing guards, confirmed her worse fear, Spike was feeding.

Twelve Hours Prior



Giles wearily pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose, firmly pinching the area where the glasses once sat, his eyes sliding closed from sheer exhaustion. Three days since Buffy had gone missing— three days that felt like a lifetime. With a deep cleansing breath, he returned his glasses to their rightful place. Focusing on the old tomes spread before him, he resumed leafing through the weathered pages, murmuring, “There has to be another locator spell we haven’t used.”



After several futile moments of concentration, his gaze flickered to his left, resting on the dozens of books lining the wall. Nestled discreetly among those that held vital information regarding demons, vampires and the like, existed one he had considered using— one simply labeled Dark Majicks. Countless times in these past days, he found his mind drifting to this book and the immeasurable power contained within.



He hadn’t laid eyes on its battered pages in over twenty years, not since his Ripper days, when he and the others practiced the darker aspects of the art. One night, drunk on lager and power, he had come across a specific spell that transcended all dimensions of space and time with which one would be able to locate anyone dead or alive. At the time, he only scoffed and continued eagerly scanning the book for another, more powerful spell. That was the night they summoned Eyghon.



With each passing day, Giles slowly resigned himself to the fact this spell might be their last and only hope in finding Buffy, regardless of the consequences and sacrifices. Unexpectedly, Giles’ door suddenly opened, instantly breaking him from these thoughts.



“Giles! Giles, where are you?" Willow’s urgent, excited voice drove him to his feet, approaching her quickly.



“Willow, what is it? Did you locate Buffy?” Giles’ hope-filled eyes fixed on her while he clutched her upper arms to still her moving body.



“No, I haven’t. I’m sorry, Giles,” Willow responded sadly. Noticing this quick change in her demeanor, Giles attempted to dispel her sorrow and disappointment with sincere words of encouragement.



“Don’t be, Willow, we will find her. Now, what is this information that has you so elated?” Instantly, Willow’s eyes sparkled with excitement as her words rushed out.



“The Dean of U.C. Sunnydale announced the suspension of classes until further notice because of the numerous students being hospitalized with some unknown illness and the death of a professor.”



“That is a tragedy, but what does—“



“The professor was Maggie Walsh, and the students that are ill are all with—“



“The Initiative,” Giles captivated voice matched the expression etching his features.



“Yup, and there’s more. I did a little cyber snooping, well a lot of cyber snooping, and found out that the CDC currently has them quarantined. And before you ask, no, I couldn’t get into their system. Despite my whizzy-ness with the computer, they’re completely un-hackable. But have no fear. I was still able to find out something else very interesting. Before their isolation, they were all treated at Sunnydale Hospital, and yes, the hospital’s computers are hackable. After pulling up and looking at some of their records, I noticed something. They all have the same symptoms: fatigue, sweats, fainting, erratic heartbeats, and behavior. Before the doctor contacted the CDC he believed that they were possibly suffering withdrawal from some sort of drug, but despite all the testing done, he couldn’t figure out what it was or give them any drugs to help with the detox.”



“Willow that’s fascinating information but what—“



“Geez, Giles, for someone that can sit and stare at tiny words in dusty, old books for days on end, you’re being awfully impatient. I was getting to the good part. The Dean implied that this mystery illness was what caused Professor Walsh’s death. But, when I looked at the coroner’s report, the police found her body in the woods not too far from campus, and she died from a single stab wound to the chest.”



“A stake?”



“No, there wasn’t any wood in the wound, plus it went straight through her body and was only several centimeters in diameter. No matter how skillful Buffy is with whittling her own stakes, even she couldn’t have been able to make one that long and thin. The coroner stated that he believed that it was a spear-like object, similar to a harpoon or a javelin, but having sharp edges down the entire length, not just at the tip.”



“Willow, I believe there will be much more brought to light before the inner-workings of the Initiative are completely unraveled. It appears that Professor Walsh was not only attempting to control demons, but humans as well. All those young men were guinea pigs in her twisted experiments. Well, whatever the circumstances are, one fact remains clear, Professor Walsh was meddling with forces of which she had no comprehension or understanding. It may have been a demon she was experimenting on that delivered her death blow.”



Willow shuddered, as her face scrunched with disgust before responding. “Only in Sunnydale would you get this creepy slant on the old adage, “You reap what you sow.” Oh, and on that creepy note, there’s one more thing; two soldiers were missing from the list of people brought to Sunnydale Hospital—Forrest and Riley.” Giles blanched slightly from Willow’s final disclosure.



“Willow, we must know of their whereabouts as soon as possible. Since the Initiative has mostly been dismantled and with the death of Professor Walsh, they have no leader, no direction or chain of command to follow, I fear they are even more dangerous than before. If my understanding is correct, they were the Initiative’s Alpha and Beta, and one can assume they would be experiencing the worst of the withdrawal symptoms and the most difficult devastation from Maggie’s death. Revenge may be their only guidance now.” Despite the fear that coursed through him, Giles’ tone was firm and concise.



“This is really bad, isn’t it, Giles?”



“Yes, Willow, it really is,” Giles confirmed solemnly, walking toward the phone.









**** ****







LA, Angel Investigations





Cordelia eyed Wesley’s incessant pacing with irritation, as she left another message for Darin McNamara. In frustration from his tenth passing in less than five minutes, she slammed the receiver down and snapped.



“Will you please stop your pacing? You’re going to wear a hole in the linoleum, and we don’t have any money to repair it!”



Her disrespectful tone instantly stopped his movements, but his uncharacteristic hardened gaze fixed on her, caused Cordelia to hold up her hands in mock surrender.



“Sor—ry, inopportune time for sarcasm. Anyway, I’ve called Kate. No help there, and that was the thousandth call to Darin McNamara, that again went straight to voice mail. This totally doesn’t add up. You would think he would be sleeping with the phone under his pillow so he wouldn’t miss a call from us about his brother. Something fishy is going on.”



“That is the most logical and intelligent thing you’ve said since, well, since I’ve met you, especially, in the last few days,” Wesley tersely responded. Indignation instantly infused Cordelia’s features. Her mouth was agape as a fish out of water as she sputtered, attempting to respond. Once she recovered from her initial shock, Wesley noticed her glare narrowing and a deep intake of breath in preparation for an obvious hostile response, but his annoyed glower remained firm, stilling her words instantly. Ultimately, only an unladylike snort became her response.



“I believe that there is more to Mr. McNamara’s case than he originally disclosed. Our best bet is to retrace Angel’s steps. If I’m correct, his first stop was Jack’s bookie’s establishment, a bar called Shots in Silver Lake. So, I will—“ Wesley’s words stopped briefly as Cordelia started collecting several small weapons, placing them in her satchel. Eyeing her determined movements, all of his recent bravado melted away. With a heavy resigned sigh, he amended. “—we will be heading to Silver Lake.”



“All set, let’s go,” Cordelia announced throwing Wesley a set of keys. Catching them mid-air, he proceeded to grab a small axe from the top drawer of the filing cabinet. While engrossed in conversation about Angel’s whereabouts, Wesley opened the door for Cordelia and then exited behind her, neither hearing the ringing of the telephone with the increasingly worried Giles on the other end.





**** ****





Sunnydale









“Riley, how much farther?” Forrest’s weary voice, sounded from behind his slow moving comrade.



“Don’t know, but it isn’t much. Don’t you sense it? All I can hear, all I can feel is this steady pulse urging me forward, it’s like some-sort of internal homing beacon.”



After several yards, the two fatigued soldiers came to a point where the tunnel veered off to the right or continued straight forward. Riley closed his eyes and focused on where these new-found instincts drew him. Within moments, he staggered to the right, Forrest following closely behind, and increasing his pace, when he saw a dim light off in the distance.



Passing over the threshold of a spacious cavern the distinctive sounds of equipment, both medical and computerized, instantly caught their interest. Forrest and Riley stared in amazement, unsure what it all meant as they began exploring tentatively.



Riley cautiously approached the numerous monitors lining the cavern wall. On the screens were images of various sections of Lowell House and the Initiative’s underground facility. Most screens remained unoccupied, except those trained on the holding cells where there were demons in different stages of death and decomposition. Traveling further into the cave, Riley noticed gurneys, monitors for vital signs, and more sophisticated medical equipment.



”Is this part of 314? Is this what Maggie was hiding?”Riley briefly pondered, before he noticed and approached several gurneys to his left that held numerous demons in different stages of dismemberment. Despite the steady sounds of their heartbeats and respiration, Riley saw the monitors that showed brain function: they consisted of only silent, flat lines. Riley’s stomach lurched and roiled as yesterday’s MRE threatened to reappear. Once the heavy stench from the demons assaulted him, the contents of his stomach spewed across the stone floor.



Staggering away from the gurneys, Riley swallowed back the bile that rose once more as he turned to address Forrest. Instantly, his words stilled in his burning throat as he witnessed the next incident unfold before his wide eyes. Forrest met Riley’s gaze questioningly, opening his mouth to speak, just as a brutal force from behind bowed his body forward, causing his eyes to expand with shock and then drop to the foreign object now protruding from his chest. Slowly, he lifted his head, his wavering gaze meeting with Riley’s before death claimed him. Riley’s gaze lifted from Forrest’s lifeless eyes, to the deliverer of his deathblow as it violently ripped away the object from Forrest’s chest and casually stepped over his fallen form entering into the cavern.



“I’ve been waiting for you.” The creature’s robotic voice and commanding presence filled the room as he advanced toward Riley.



“And now I’m here.” Riley’s voice was strangely calm despite the fear that consumed him.



“Your thoughts are troubled -- in turmoil. I understand, brother. We have a lot to discuss.”



“I agree. For starters, who or what are you, and how did you get me here?”



“Adam, mother called me Adam. Naming me after the first man seems truly fitting, since mother believed herself to be a god. As to how you came to me, that was also mother; she implanted the behavior modifier that is tied directly into your central nervous system through your thoracic nerve. I activated it, bringing you to me. This is Phase 1 of your preparations. I lay dormant until the time came. Once mother taught me everything she could, I disposed of her. Mother could not forget her old life and embrace her destiny fully. She still wanted to remain human despite all their imperfections and shortcomings, jealousy being one of them. She and she alone was the one that made dealings with the wolf, ram, and hart. Her feelings for you overrode the initial plan to transform the Slayer into the ultimate disciple. It was at that point I knew that she was a liability and ultimately, expendable. Join me brother, and together we will eradicate all those not worthy and start a new future.”



Adam’s words incited the desire Riley had for absolute power, that he had been suppressing, to swell forward and engulf him completely. A feral grin twisted Riley’s mouth into a sneer. “Where do we begin, brother?”

Spike pushed through the muddled haze of his mind, attempting to form a coherent thought, despite the incessant chants of his demon—”More…more…more!” echoing throughout. In a brief moment of clarity, he understood what it craved--more blood. The thick coppery tang coated his tongue and throat. It filled his gut with the life-giving nourishment his damaged body needed and his demon hungered for.

Repressing his demon’s demands, Spike assessed what was happening. He was feeding, that he knew, but how and from whom? He could tell the slender neck under his fangs belonged to a woman who was either unconscious or restrained, since while he fed, she had remained motionless. With another tentative draw, Spike knew instantly she was unconscious due to her lack of reaction from the invasion of his fangs.

Spike forced his mind to reach beyond the simple act of feeding, past the chanting and demands from the primitive demon that lived within, into the outside world. His heightened senses were instantly bombarded, before he slowly sorted through them, and then focused on the sounds of the six heartbeats surrounding him. The one faltering under his mouth, four others, close yet somewhat set back, beating in steady tempos, and the last standing slightly off in the distance, drawing his undivided attention immediately, as the intense hammering pace incited his demon with what it relished almost as much as blood -- fear.

With heavy lids, Spike opened his eyes and fought to focus his gaze. Beyond the pale flesh within his jaws, past the dark flowing hair spilling over motionless shoulders, even further than the guards standing in awe from witnessing a vampire feeding, was the body housing the heartbeat roaring in his ears, the one resonating fear—Buffy.

His golden gaze fixed upon her wide, tear-filled eyes before hers darkened with disgust and loathing. After several gut-wrenching moments of her silent condemnation, his eyes slammed closed, unable to endure the piercing hate emanating from her gaze.

Following one more sip, Spike carefully extracted his fangs, and with quick laps of his tongue closed the twin puncture wounds. Ignoring the guards’ comments of “It’s done,” and “Let’s get the fuck out of here, before the leech decides to munch on us,” Spike stirred with slow defeated movements, pulling himself from the woman and the floor and crawled under the covers seeking refuge from the only place available. Turning his back figuratively, mentally, and emotionally on the outside world, Spike gratefully welcomed the sweet darkness of unconsciousness pulling him under once his head hit the pillow.

With an unwavering gaze, Buffy watched Spike’s retreat as the guards dragged the lifeless body of the woman out of the room. Buffy remained motionless until the sound of the door’s closing broke her from her daze, and she realized what had just happened: Spike fed and killed a woman right in front of her, and she was unable to stop him.

After all that had happened since she awoke in this manmade hell, Buffy had finally reached her breaking point. Unable to remain standing a moment longer, with shaky legs she stepped backward, until the back of her thighs met with the bed, causing her to fall into a graceless heap. Once there, she could no longer hold back her tears, as an emotional tidal wave of overwhelming sadness and defeat flooded her, causing gut-wrenching sobs to escape from her throat.

These tears were for what she couldn’t change: her imprisonment, fighting demons, her calling. They continued for all whom she loved and feared she would never see again: her mom, Giles, Willow, and Xander. Each tear falling felt as if a piece of her strength and spirit was breaking away. Finally, the tears were for what she had just found and lost—Spike.

Prior to witnessing him feeding, Buffy’s mind was clear, and she believed she finally understood Spike’s true nature. He wasn’t merely a demon with a history of over a hundred blood-soaked years of unspeakable evil, death, and destruction, but a man, who was fiercely devoted, felt deeply and compassionately, and was loyal, almost to a fault. Despite being soulless, he held onto his humanity. Before the chip, he had never shown these attributes to anyone other than his sire, until now, when she had witnessed them first hand.

Buffy had finally accepted her feelings as true and real, despite how fiercely she fought them and how foreign and, honestly, quite scary they were. She’d never been lucky in her choices of men. How was it the one man, who was technically not a man but a vamp, was what she wanted and needed all along?

In one moment, it was all gone. His feeding shattered all she had accepted and believed, and now confusion replaced clarity once again. The only thing that was truly clear at this moment was in her world, nothing was as it seemed.

Buffy continued to watch Spike for endless moments, before another more predictable feeling she hadn’t felt for some time, surfaced and replaced all others—anger. Anger roiled in her for the way in which she’d been treated as a pawn in a sick game and how the bastards who kept her here made her feel weak and no longer in control. On the heels of this anger, another feeling came— betrayal. Betrayal by people who called themselves human, including Riley and all those affiliated with the Initiative, who had a hand in her kidnapping, imprisonment, and forcing her to fight for her very existence. It was strange, despite how all these betrayals had led her to where she was now. None seemed to bother her more than Spike’s. His feeding off a human stung deeper than anything else that had happened. With a newfound determination, Buffy rose from her bed, forcefully wiping away her remaining tears. She began to pace steadily. Her enraged words rang loud and clear.

“No more tears! No longer am I going to sit back and allow them to treat me this way. You only get treated as you allow people to treat you, right? Well, I’m the Slayer, damn it! I will be given respect! Either willingly or by force, and with these jackasses, they’ve chosen force! I’ll show them what a Slayer truly is! Now, all I need is a plan.”

Endless hours passed as Buffy paced continually, her mind racing with a dozen escape plans and scenarios all ending with, “Shit, that won’t work,” before quickly moving on to another. Soon, sheer exhaustion set in. She sat down heavily on her bed claiming she was only going to “rest her eyes for a minute,” which turned into hours of deep, dreamless sleep. She awoke to the sound of the guards entering and leaving her meager daily rations. Gradually sitting up, she wiped the sleep from her eyes before her gaze darted around the room, all the while attempting to avoid the gigantic Spike-shaped elephant in the room. It was no use.

Inwardly cursing her betraying eyes, her gaze moved from the metal walls to Spike’s sleeping form. He resembled a fallen archangel fresh from battle. The crimson-stained sheet hugged his slender hips clinging to his blood-soaked denims. His formally flawless skin was marred with angry raised welts and deep gouges, created by his opponent’s vicious attacks. The once white pillow gently cradled his battered face, his long inky lashes brushing against bruised and swollen cheeks.

Anger long forgotten, Buffy’s heart swelled with the knowledge of how truly beautiful this man was. She remembered how he had saved her countless times, in so many ways. How he looked at her as if she was the epitome of perfection, yet at the same time he never had unrealistic expectations of her and accepted her for who she truly was, faults and all. Her gaze studied and appreciated him for some time until he appeared to be having a nightmare. He stirred and emitted a low growl in his sleep, causing his demon to emerge: prominent ridges rising on his brow, fangs exposed and pressing against in bottom lip. In an instant, he was no longer an archangel, but the demon he truly was.

The memory of the night before rushed forward, replacing Buffy’s pleasant thoughts with the loathing and disdain she held for the demon dwelling inside him and the soul he lacked. Once more, Buffy acknowledged the only truth that mattered—Spike fed from and killed a human being.

Buffy’s gaze tore away from the now demon lying upon the bed as she stood and resumed her pacing, while continuing her plans for escape. Hours later, Buffy heard him stir from his prolonged sleep. Her pacing ceased. Turning, she faced the demon that had replaced and corrupted the man for whom she had feelings.

The darkness of sleep started to melt away as Spike’s eyes slowly opened. Within moments, the pain from his earlier battle slammed into his body, rendering him briefly immobile and even though he didn’t need to breathe, breathless. Quickly, he did a mental assessment of his wounds. Considering all he had gone through, and despite several deep puncture wounds and a few once broken, now mending ribs, he was surprisingly feeling far better than the excruciating moments during and following his time in the ring. Swallowing past the lump residing in his throat, he immediately remembered why he was healing so well. He had fed— from a human.

Without turning, Spike instantly sensed Buffy staring at him. He knew he had to face what had happened, but hoped she would see the truth and harsh reality of the situation— sometimes survival takes sacrifice.

Gradually sitting, Spike moved his battered body with painstaking slowness, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Shaking away his demon, with an imploring gaze he looked upon the woman whose gift of trust and possibly her heart had saved him from a dusty demise. When he finally spoke, he placed all of his feelings and hopes into one word, her name.

“Buffy?” Spike held his proverbial breath while he silently wished and even prayed she would understand.

“You disgust me.” Buffy’s voice was eerily calm, and her tone was bitter and full of hate. All the hope he held onto tightly, disappeared. Instinctually, Spike’s mind pulled forward one of many defense mechanisms he had honed in a hundred plus years, the facade of arrogant bravado.

“Well, don’t be shy about how you feel, Slayer.”

“How could you?”

“How could I what, feed? Unless you’ve been hit on the head one too many times or have completely forgotten, I…am…a…bloody…vampire!”

“No, I didn’t forget.”

“Then you know it’s what we do. How we survive.”

“There are other ways, Spike," Buffy spat as her features filled with revulsion and barely contained fury.

“Oh, really? Didn’t see some man with a trolley offering bagged blood. Or maybe there was, but with me being completely out of my gourd, I must ‘ave missed him!”

“You could’ve chosen not to feed.”

Following a loud snort, Spike’s jaw clenched briefly, before his seething words followed. “Didn’t have a bleedin' choice, Slayer--beaten to a bloody pulp! How the hell are we…” Buffy’s brow lifted upon the word “we.” Despite his cock and swagger routine, this simple gesture cut Spike deeply. He quickly suppressed the pain flashing across his features as he amended his earlier word. “I, how am I gonna get out of this soddin’ hell hole the shape I was in? I could barely stand, never mind fight another seventeen demons!” Spike inwardly added, ”Not counting my last battle, our twenty-first. Where I will surely lose in order for you to escape. I’m such a bleedin’ ponce.”

Either completely missing Spike’s miscount or simply not caring, Buffy responded angrily, “You know what, Spike, that’s total bullshit! You got off feeding from her! Don’t deny it!” Their intense gazes locked for several moments, until Spike’s eyes lowered, and with irritation, he began to shake his head disparagingly.

“What?” Buffy snapped defensively.

“I’m such a bloody fool.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know.” Ignoring her comment, Spike continued.

“I thought after everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve shared, after all of this…” Spike gestured with the sweep of his arm, motioning between them. “You would’ve opened your mind or at the very least your eyes. Erase all the bullshite your Watcher filled your head with about demons and the like. Actually see we’re not so different from you. No matter human, vamp, or what have you, each is striving for one thing…to live or un-live in a vamp’s case. This may differ from creature to creature, but it holds true for all of us. That includes…you.”

“But I don’t kill.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Since your calling, that’s all you've ever done. Your hands are covered with the blood and dust of hundreds of slaughtered demons! Even now, in here, you're killing of another creature allows you to live!"

Hearing his words, Buffy assumed her typical stance of superiority and defensiveness: she folded her arms and rested them rigidly across her chest. Her mouth formed a thin hard line, and her hate-filled glare intensified. With an icy tone, she responded,
“I do what I have to do.”

“And so do all of us,” Spike retorted tersely.

“It’s not the same.”

“Never is in your eyes, Slayer. It never is.” Ending their conversation abruptly, Spike slipped back under his sheet and turned to face the wall. After several moments of tense silence, he spoke once more,

“And by the way, not that it matters to the likes of you, I didn’t drain her. Sure, she’s several pints down, but she’s still alive.”

Hearing his statement, her anger began to recede instantly. Her once steely gaze softened, and then widened with disbelief as numerous questions and their answers echoed in her mind. ”Is she really still alive or is this just another lie? But why would he lie? The way I’ve treated him, he would think he had nothing to lose, ergo him giving the brutal truth. Plus, how farfetched is it that she’s alive? I mean, he fed from me— the Slayer, his mortal enemy, the one with the best blood in town, and I’m still here.”

Buffy’s mind reeled from this unavoidable truth. Spike had shown once again his true nature, solidifying her previous beliefs, by only feeding and not killing. With this insight, which unfortunately was now hindsight, Buffy inwardly admitted, ”I’m such a judgmental bitch. When it comes to Spike, I always jump to conclusions, never finding out what truly happened before I go and assume the worst.” Pushing past her internal Buffy-bashing, she focused on what she needed to do— making things right with him. Closing her eyes briefly, she inhaled slowly to calm herself, while her mind stammered, attempting to form words to express something she rarely gave, an apology.

Before she could form the needed words, the recognizable swoosh of the door opening echoed through the once silent room. In a flurry of motions, the guards yanked Spike from his bed and dragged him to the door. Not once did Spike look toward her as she watched them leading him away. Instantly, as the door closed, a new surge of tears began to flow caused by two unfamiliar feelings when it came to how she treated Spike—guilt and remorse.

While exiting their room, Spike felt Buffy’s intense gaze and smelled her impending tears. Still his pride wouldn’t let him look, not until it was too late. He was already through the heavy metal door. She was concealed by its partial closure before his stubbornness finally released his eyes from their forward gaze.

As he was being led away down the barren hallway the deep gnawing within called forth thoughts of Buffy. Never before had one person stirred such intense, contradictory emotions within him: love, hate, bliss, misery, faith and doubt. This one tiny woman turned his entire world upside down and thrust his heart and mind into unknown territories with a single gaze, one word, just a smile. Regardless of this and the hundreds of other reasons why having feelings for Buffy was wrong, he never wanted to go back to who he was before meeting her.

Even though his heart hadn't beaten in over 100 years, he felt when he was with Buffy this dormant piece of him had now awakened. Once the bitter truth was spoken that she still saw him as a vile disgusting demon, despite what they had been through in these past few days, his heart went from almost beating to breaking in a matter of moments. It was as if their time together didn’t mean a thing.

”Well, not for long. She’ll know what’s in my mind and heart…all of it. In the end, if she chooses to keep her head in the sand and deny what we’ve shared, then when I get out of this bloody ‘ell hole, ‘m packin’ up the DeSoto and gettin’ out of Dodge for good,” Spike silently vowed, before he began to mentally prepare for the “’kill or be killed—take your bloody pick’” portion of the evening.

Entering into the main room, a distinct and unsettling scent assailed him. Instantly, his demon flashed forward. A primal warning growl rumbled from deep within his chest, and with a steady steely gaze, he scanned the area. Mere moments passed before he spied who caused this violent, innate reaction—Angel.

Standing within the demon’s holding area behind the red line stood Angel, with his demon firmly in place echoing Spike’s growled warning. Without delay, the guards hearing both the vamps’ reactions to one another, pulled their tasers from their holsters and had them at the ready.

“Now, now, save it for the ring, leeches.” Darin McNamara’s arrogant voice rose in an attempt to stifle the growling vamps further, as he walked forward through the parted guards toward them. Dual golden stares moved from one another to the portly middle-aged man as he continued to speak,

“Seems the higher-ups are calling this match a battle for the ages, which may I add is quite lucrative for me, especially since I don’t have to split the profits anymore. They told me this fight was between a childe and its grandsire, whatever the hell that means, in a no holds-barred battle to the death—“ As he spoke, Darin’s voice rose into an excitable, boisterous level, sounding like a ringmaster at the circus.

Spike’s scarred brow lifted, silently questioning both Darin’s excitability and his reference to a “’battle to the death’”. Noticing the blond vamp’s reaction, Darin amended his words. “Right, how ridiculous of me. You two are already dead. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter the nature of your life now, only who wins and will face—“

Unable to listen to this man’s incessant prattling a moment longer and more so not wanting Angel to know about Buffy being there, Spike snarled his interruption.

“Your finances mean sod all to me! All I’m interested in is feelin’ this soddin’ poofter’s dust fall through my greedy little digits! Enough talk, let me earn my fourth win!”

Hearing Spike’s brash words caused Angel’s body to instinctually lurch forward to attack. Remembering what he had witnessed when another demon passed over the line, Angel stopped just short of the deadly line separating him and his infuriating grandchilde, before his hardened gaze rose, meeting Spike’s.

“You’re the only one who’s going to fit in a dustpan—boy!” Angel seethed through clenched teeth, his chest heaving with unneeded breath.

Before Spike could retort, Darin signaled with a nod to the guards for them to escort the blond vampire to the ring. Despite two of the guards placing their hands on Spike’s biceps to lead him away, his body remained rigid, until the recognizable humming of several tasers held by the other guards buzzed in his ears. Spike knew this sound was the only warning he’d received before a taser or two zapped him into submission. Reluctantly, he allowed them to lead him away.

Spike stood on the threshold of the arena as the announcer’s voice echoed off the enclosure. Instantly, the crowds’ cheers and applause welcomed him as he swaggered into the arena.

“He’s a highly skilled fighter with a taste for blood and torture. For those that are keeping track this is his fourth appearance. Let’s welcome– William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers–Spike!”

Ignoring the deafening crowd and the briefly blinding lights surrounding him, Spike, once arriving in the center, turned, with determination set in his features, and waited for his grandsire to enter. Several moments passed before the announcer heralded Angel’s entrance.

“Spike’s challenger makes his ring debut tonight. He’s a master vampire, with over 200 hundred years of death and destruction. Let’s welcome – Angel!”

Following his introduction Angel stalked into the arena, and once his vision cleared from the bright lights, his focus fixed on Spike that remained motionless in the center of the ring awaiting his approach. Angel continued forward until he was several feet away from Spike. Instinctually, both vamps’ bodies assumed and maintained mirrored postures, resembling tightly coiled snakes preparing to strike. Each pair of golden eyes glared at the other with disdain and contempt, during their silent standoff. They held their positions until Angel, noticing the newly healed wounds on his wayward grandchilde’s body, commented.

“I see your mouth got you in a bit of trouble your body couldn’t cash, boy,” Angel spat, before he began to move with measured side steps. Matching his movements, Spike followed as each vamp circled one another engaging in a primitive deadly dance. Their predatory gazes flickered over one another as they looked for weaknesses and opportunities to dominate the other.

Bristling after hearing the word “boy”, Spike’s eyes narrowed and with a clenched jaw, he snarled his response. “Not your boy, Peaches, haven’t been in quite some time.” Motioning to his chest, Spike scoffed and continued, his voice scathing. “And these, mere flesh wounds. Got me fresh human blood on tap, far better than that rat swill you’ve been slurping on.”

Angel’s immediate response to Spike’s admission and ability to continually feed on humans was a deep animalistic rumble escaping his throat. Ignoring him and his threatening growls, Spike’s mocking words persisted. “Add to that my posh digs and not having to shack up with every other Tom, Harry, and yours truly the Dick of the threesome, and voila…star treatment for the most revered and valuable demon here!”

Spike’s words struck deep and incited Angel’s suppressed side, Angelus, to rise to the surface. Even with his soul remaining intact, Angel brought forth Angelus’ personality of blatant arrogance and superiority that he had used— along with his fist, fangs, and cock— on the younger vamp during the first two decades while he was a fledgling. Attempting to unnerve his over confident grandchilde, Angel/Angelus’ heavily laced Irish brogue filled the air.

“As always, delusions of grandeur, Willy, thinkin’ yer more than what yer truly are. Even after 120 years, yer still the same ol’ sod Drusilla brought home. No matta whatcha do, nothin’ will change what yer were and still are… pathetic.”

Angel/Angelus’ harsh words instantly drew forth Spike’s deep-rooted self-doubt that had never truly disappeared, regardless of his hundred-plus years of making a name for himself. Despite all this time, Angel/Angelus’ words were still able to unlock his inner William: a weak willed, soft spoken, easily preyed upon Victorian gentleman, whom loved and cared for his ailing mum. He was a pathetic man, who remained a bachelor late into his twenties, with no prospects of marriage, despite how much he craved love.

Spike’s mind flashed to the hours before his death, or more specifically to his true birth. During that evening’s festivities, as with many gatherings before, he was among those whom he hated yet needed to endure due to his station in life. With his words as his only companion, he finished a poem for a woman whom he loved. With his heart on his sleeve, he proclaimed his feelings for her, and in return she responded with ridicule and demeaning words, and finally a callous declaration—“You’re beneath me”. Shamed and broken, he fled into the night with tears staining his cheeks and his pitiful poem clutched in his sweaty palm. He fled from her words, his insecurities and mediocrity into the arms of his savior. With one glorious gift, he became a creature of the night that no longer lived by society’s rules, beliefs, or limitations.

As a Phoenix rising from the ashes of his past life, William transformed into Spike, a being that was no longer weak but strong, both in mind and body.

“Never again. Never will I be beneath another,” Spike growled menacingly, his eyes flashing with renewed rage as he released a thunderous roar that instantly silenced the arena. Without further warning, Spike launched himself at his grandsire.


**** ****


An Hour Before


Standing on the outskirts of the crowd that had appeared to double in attendance from last night, Cordelia and Wesley observed those dressed in thousand dollar outfits waiting with clear anticipation to enter a place to witness death first hand.

Wesley eyed the crowd with disgust amazed how money seemed to dismiss, within their own minds, the wrongness of their actions. It was almost as if the money they possessed gave them forgiveness or absolution somehow. Cordelia, on the other hand, felt a small pang of jealousy seeing those around her. She once was one of them, known as Queen C, until the day daddy lost everything. Lost within their thoughts, they remained silent until Wesley spoke,

“I believe due to the increased patronage and security, it will be far more difficult to enter. How do you suppose we manage this?”

With a confidence left over from her previous life, Cordelia instructed, “I know how to handle people like these, just follow my lead.”

Entering into the crowd, Cordelia spotted and headed toward a couple exiting their car. Despite a few issues: Wesley forgetting his fake badge and his over dramatization while he claimed there was “something going down with the man,” Cordelia was able to trick Ken and Barbie into believing she and Wesley were undercover detectives investigating an illegal sporting event. With well-placed words and an air of superiority—her specialty—Cordelia convinced Ken to give her their tickets. Following Ken’s silently mouthed “thank you,” the couple entered into their Barbie dream car and left.

Once inside Cordelia and Wesley stood on the balcony gazing down on the fighters below. Engaged in the throes of battle were two battered demons. There was blood and another thick black substance that was most likely another form of demon blood, coating the opponents’ fists and the ground below their feet.

Placing his hand into his trouser pocket, Wesley’s fingers brushed against the “key” that would release Angel from the mystical restraint encircling his wrist. Once he and Cordelia returned to Angel’s Investigations last night following their first visit to The Ring, they immediately began working on creating a key from a bracelet, similar to one Angel currently wore, that Cordelia had stolen. Following hours of failed attempts, he and Cordelia had finally managed to create the object Wesley now touched while his gaze searched for a way to reach Angel in the holding cells below.

Noticing a stairwell on the opposite side of the room, Wesley quickly devised a plan. Once he finished explaining this simple plan to Cordelia, following her smile and a nod in agreement, they headed toward then down the staircase leading into the basement.

Approaching one of the guards, Cordelia attempted to distract him as she pretended to be a helpless, mindless woman who couldn’t find her way through the clearly marked hallways to the restrooms, while Wesley headed down the hallway toward the holding cells.

After several moments, Wesley located and approached the holding area. Looking through the barred window, he noticed numerous demons standing around a metal grate looking outward. Possibly sensing Wesley’s approach, one demon pulled away from the group. Walking toward him and then stopping part way stood a green with yellow-patched smooth skin demon that resembled a frog— if frogs were extremely intimidating and muscular that is. Wesley hoped this was his chance in finding and helping Angel as he addressed the demon standing before him.

“Excuse me. Psst. Come here. Yes, you.” Hearing Wesley’s words, the demon walked a few steps closer. “I need to see Angel. Tall fellow – prominent brow…”

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Mr. Demon Frog responded brashly.

Blanching from his statement, Wesley gulped then asked, “Dead?”

“In about 20 seconds he will be. He’s fighting a bleached vamp that already has three wins. And who the hell are you?”

Relief quickly replaced dread as Wesley began to explain the reason for him being there. “Uh, I’m a friend. Perhaps we can help each other. I have a key.”

“A key?” Mr. Demon Frog asked, his black eyes appearing to flash with interest.

Wesley pulled the key from his pocket and held it up near the bars to show him. With a touch of pride, Wesley began to explain the small metal stick with horsehair mounted to the end.

”It is quite simple really, placing this end to the cuff will cause the mystical mechanism inside to disengage and it will open. Help me save Angel and I’ll get you out. All of you. If we band together—“

Mr. Demon Frog’s tongue suddenly shot out from his mouth, quickly snatching the key from Wesley’s hand. Wesley didn’t realize what had happened until the demon held the key in his palm, and with what could be construed as a smug smile filling his full amphibian mouth, inspected it.

“What are you – give that back! – Hey!” Wesley shouted ineffectively.

Ignoring his words, the demon brought the small piece of metal, horsehair side down, to his band. With a slight click, the band opened then fell from his wrist. Hearing the chanting from the arena increasing in volume, the demon headed over to where his fellow demons stood. Wesley, knowing he wasn’t going to get the key back, and needing to see what was happening to Angel in the arena, ran from the holding area and headed toward the stairs. Meeting up with Cordelia in the hallway, Wesley informed her of what had taken place as they headed toward the arena.

Once they reached the balcony, they quickly excused themselves through the crowd to be able to see down into the ring. Staring in disbelief they witnessed the opponents battling below. Cordelia, breaking from her stupor first, spoke,

“Spike? What the hell is he doing here? No wonder why this place is packed. Two Master vamps battling to the death, well, to the dusty-ness. That sleaze Darin must be making a fortune off of this one fight! He so better pay us for the fake case he sent us on and—“ Noticing Wesley eyeing her incredulously, Cordelia quickly amended her words. “Um, yeah, so how are we going to get Angel out of there?”

Spike’s animalistic roar drew everyone’s gaze, including Angel’s, who was momentarily stunned as he charged forward. Once Spike was within striking distance, he threw a brutal left hook, landing squarely on Angel’s jaw. The force caused Angel’s head to whip violently to the right, sprays of blood escaping from his split lip. On the heels of Spike’s first punch, he threw and landed an uppercut to Angel’s chin, causing him to stagger backwards.

Snarling, Spike stalked forward following Angel, who had quickly recovered from the first two blows he received. Retaliating, Angel threw a solid punch, connecting with Spike’s face that caused him to stumble to the left, and the skin over his sculptured cheekbone split and bled.

While Spike was briefly unsteady on his feet, Angel skillfully swept Spike’s legs from under him, causing him to land heavily on the ground with a thud. Angel stalked toward Spike’s sprawled form with a murderous rage storming in his golden eyes.

Before Angel could attack once more, Spike sprang to his feet and quickly grabbed Angel by the front of his shirt. Using leverage and Angel’s forward momentum against him, Spike fell backward, and with his feet planted firmly against Angel’s chest, launched him over his body, throwing Angel to the other side of the ring. He landed in a graceless heap against the wall. Instantly, Spike righted himself and stormed toward his fallen grandsire. After several moments, he righted himself and charged Spike.

In an endless flurry of fists and fangs, each master vampire traded brutal blows, neither weakening the other nor getting the upper hand. This held true until Spike swung his fist, intending to strike Angel’s face. The moment before it landed, Angel ducked and grabbed Spike’s arm, twisting it behind his back.

In a blatant display of dominance, Angel roared and sank his fangs deep within Spike’s throat. Angel pulled two steady draws from his grandchild’s neck, before suddenly wrenching his fangs from his throat and shoving Spike away violently.

From the ground, Spike watched Angel running his tongue hungrily over his lips and fangs, attempting to catch any drops of blood that remained. Several tense, silent moments passed between them before Angel’s seething, yet baffled words filled the air.

“Buffy…how…when…?”

Spike raised his hand to his ravaged throat, gathering some blood onto his fingers. Placing them into his mouth, he slowly sucked on the bloodied digits. After Spike thoroughly cleaned his fingers, he lowered his hand and began mirroring Angel’s earlier actions. Spike’s lips raised in a knowing and boastful smile, after he’d cleared away every stray droplet.

“Sweet isn’t she, and she was all mine for the taking. And oh, how she moaned when I buried my fangs in her throat. Her hot little body wound tighter than a snare drum. She was just itchin’ to have another long white part of me penetrating her.”

Despite Spike’s blood only holding the slightest hint of the sweet ambrosia that was Buffy’s blood, Angel knew her taste anywhere. To confirm the thoughts screaming in his mind, Angel’s nostrils flared. Inhaling deeply, Angel attempted to pick up the scent that he must have missed before, of Buffy and Spike being together.

“Ah…imitating a bloodhound are we? If you want a stronger scent, take a whiff of these.” Spike raised his hand toward Angel, wiggling his fingers in the air. After a few waves, he brought them back and placed them under his own nose. Following a deep inhalation, Spike’s taunting words continued. “Bloody delicious she was. Actually, if you want the strongest scent of her, you would have to smell…” Spike’s gaze left Angel’s temporarily while his eyes motioned toward below his waist. “Guess you’ll have to take my word on it, since we’re here to fight, not for a strip show. Not that I or these bleedin’ gawkers would mind, but I don’t have the time to show off all your inadequacies—“

With an infuriated roar Angel stormed forward, resembling a charging bull. Before Angel reached him, Spike skillfully sidestepped his advance. With anger blinding him, Angel was unable to stop before crashing into the side of the ring, the sickening crunch of his bones announcing his impact.

Spike didn't allow a moment to pass for Angel to recover, before he immediately grabbed one of Angel’s legs by the ankle and dragged him to the center of the arena. Along the way, Spike had noticed and picked up a stake that lay on the floor and tucked it into the waist of his jeans.

Once they reached the center, Spike flipped his grandsire over and instantly straddled Angel’s chest. Spike, using his powerful legs, trapped Angel’s arms down by his sides, immobilizing him. Spike proceeded to land several successions of punches to Angel’s face. While Angel was trying to recover, Spike pulled the stake from the waist of his jeans and pressed it against his grandsire’s chest, directly over his unbeating heart.

The arena’s commingling sounds of cheering and yelling changed instantly into a single chant—“Kill…Kill…Kill!”

With a snarl, Spike pressed the tip of the wood further into Angel’s chest. The skin underneath gave from the force Spike placed on the weapon and welled with blood. Even though Angel could feel the stake pressing closer to his unbeating heart, he snarled hate-filled words to his grandchilde.

“Go ‘head, boy! Like father like son, I’ve always said. I killed my da when I had finally grown a pair, and now yer killin’ yers.”

Hearing Angel’s words, Spike twisted the stake pressed into Angel’s chest, growling his response,

“I’m nothin’ like you! You were a monster long before that whore drained you, Liam. With you, it was always been about the torture and playin’ those bloody mind-games. The only difference now, is with that shiny soul stuffed in you, you feel remorse for all the pain you caused. But the kicker is, you still get off on it all the same!”

“That may be, but you’ve always been and will always be second best, Willy, feasting on my leftovers. Even once ya dust me, I’ll still be everywhere. I'll never go away!”

Spike pondered Angel’s words for a moment, and with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, he taunted,

“That may be true, but memories fade. Especially when dear ol’ Spike can replace them with much better ones! Goodbye, Liam, see you in hell!”

Spike raised the stake above his head, but before he could plunge it into Angel’s chest, the double doors that separated the holding area and the arena burst open, giving way to numerous demons spilling into the ring. The demons, sans bracelets, began to brutally kill all the guards standing in their way. Once they killed the guards, several demons scaled the wall and launched themselves at the crowd. The arena filled with the deafening screams of those attacked and those fleeing from the now unrestrained demons.

Angel, using Spike’s brief distraction from their unexpected interruption, wrenched his arms free and grabbed Spike’s wrists before he could continue lowering the stake downward.

Above the arena, Cordelia witnessed the struggle between Angel and Spike below, while Wesley warded off several demons with a gun he brandished.

“Wesley, we need to get down there and help Angel! I don’t think he’s going to be able to fight off Spike much longer!”

Looking briefly into the ring, Wesley grabbed Cordelia’s hand and pulled her through the crowd of fleeing humans and attacking demons. Safely, they made their way to the stairwell. Once they descended the stairs and reached the hallway leading toward the demon holding area, they came across Mr. Frog Demon.

“Hey, the key actually worked. I’m impressed human. Here ya go, we don’t need it anymore.” Following his words, he tossed the key to Wesley, who snatched it from the air. Following the brief exchange, Wesley and Cordelia headed toward the holding area, while Mr. Frog Demon headed up the stairs from where they just come.

The pair cautiously entered into the holding area, Wesley leading, with his gun at the ready. The area was empty as they continued toward the opened doors. Slowly walking through them but remaining on the threshold, they noticed Angel and Spike still struggling with one another in the center.

Scanning the area for any remaining demons, they noticed on the balcony two demons bringing forward a struggling Darin McNamara. Once they reached the banister, the demons easily grabbed Darin by the arms and roughly tossed him into the ring. When Darin landed on the ground, two more demons picked him up and dragged him toward another waiting demon.

Darin started begging and pleading with the demons, offering them money and untold wealth. Despite Darin’s appeals, the demons ignored him and placed a discarded metal bracelet around his wrist. Following several sadistic chuckles from the demons surrounding him, a massive blue-skinned demon forcefully grabbed Darin and easily hoisted him over his head, launching him toward the red line surrounding the ring. Once Darin passed over the line, his agonizing scream echoing through the ring was all that remained.

Without a single word, each demon left the arena, leaving the still struggling master vampires and two wide-eyed humans standing against the wall behind. Wesley trained his gun on Spike, and before he could say a word, Spike growled,

“Bloody wankers! You think I don’t know you two are back there? With your bleedin’ hearts banging around in your chests, and let’s not even mention your smell. I knew you were here before Peaches and I even started this fight!”

Even though Wesley’s hand slightly shook, his commanding words rang out.

“Spike, get off Angel immediately, or I’ll shoot you without further hesitation!”

Spike responded to Wesley’s threat with a deep baritone snicker. He then spoke, his mocking words directed toward his still struggling grandsire.

“Doesn’t your little brood bunch know that bullets don’t kill vampires or are they that bloody stupid?”

Before Angel could respond, Cordelia snapped, “Course I know that, blood breath! That’s why I have this crossbow pointed at you!”

“Oooh…busty Barbie, you’re getting pretty gutsy there. I’m getting a sense of déjà vu, aren’t you? I seem to recall another time when your brood squad was demanding things, despite my having the upper hand. ‘Cept last time, there was a Mick, not a washed up Watcher. Anyways, just to let you know, sweetheart, I’ve been only toying with your fearless leader here—“ To punctuate his words, Spike pushed the stake closer to Angel’s chest, with barely any effort. “—and I could dust him and snap Percy’s neck before you can even get the arrow to leave the bow. Even though I should know better, I’m feeling strangely reasonable at this moment. I suggest a compromise: you find a way to release me from Liz Taylor’s accessory and I’ll let Peaches go, so he can brood another day.”

Cordelia swallowed back her tears from Spike’s reference to Doyle, as Angel snarled his response, “No deal Spike! Any way this plays out, you’ll never leave this building, except in a dustpan!”

Even with Angel’s threat still hanging in the air, Spike pushed the stake further down toward his chest. Now it was only mere inches away. Cordelia, noticing this, screamed toward the battling vamps.

“Angel, don’t you dare let your pride get you dusted! Fine, fine, Spike, we’ll get that bracelet off of you. Don’t do anything rash!”

“Gah…Cordelia! Don’t you dare!” Angel growled, as the tip of the stake pressed into the previously made gaping wound in his chest.

“Shut up, Angel! We’re getting you out of here! We made a key!”

“See, Peaches, they made a key!” Spike mocked, attempting to imitate Cordelia by using a high-pitched falsetto voice, as he grinned down at his grandsire. Angel, still attempting to dislodge the stake pressed into his chest to no avail, noticed Spike’s eyes flashing with victory before he growled directions at Cordelia.

“Thought you’d see it my way. Your back to the wall, Barbie, and any sudden moves, I’m dusting Mr. tall, dark, and forehead. Then, I’ll make the two of you my celebratory dinner!”

Cordelia took the key from Wesley, before she cautiously approached Spike following his instructions exactly. Noticing Cordelia in his peripheral vision, Spike continued his instructions.

“Now, come forward slowly. Use that trusty key to unlock this blasted thing, then back away. Once you do, I’ll stop trying to shish kabob Peaches. Deal?”

“How do I know you won’t still stake him after I release you?” Cordelia asked, attempting to sound confident, but failing miserably as her voice trembled.

“You don’t, but my word is the only thing that is keeping him solid, yeah? Now, if you please.”

Cordelia looked toward Wesley, who nodded regretfully for her to listen to Spike. Following his directions once more to the letter, Cordelia approached them. Even though Spike’s gaze remained trained on Angel, she knew he was watching her, sensing her every move. Following several tentative steps, she now stood beside them. With Spike’s eyes remaining down, he nodded to Cordelia to proceed and release him. Cautiously, Cordelia reached down, placing the key to his bracelet.

Instantly, the mechanism released, and the bracelet fell to the floor. Wearing a triumphant grin, Spike eyed Cordelia silently, instructing her to back up. Without a word, she did. Once she reached the wall, Spike easily pulled his wrists out of Angel’s grasp and effortlessly rolled to the side, away from him.

Gracefully getting to his feet, Spike looked briefly toward Cordelia and Wesley, who remained motionless, before he jumped up toward the balcony. Quickly, he cleared the banister. Once over it, Spike tossed the stake over his shoulder, and with a sneer and a British two-fingered salute, he ran from the arena.

When Cordelia couldn’t hear the blond vamp anymore, she rushed forward to Angel, who remained lying on the ground. Dropping to her knees, her eyes and hands ran over Angel’s body. Quickly, she assessed his wounds, noticing a myriad of bruises and cuts littering his skin. Once her gaze reached his still vamped face, Cordelia tried to look into his eyes, which to her concern, remained closed. Fearing that even the lightest touch would be painful, Cordelia whispered his name.

“Angel?”

Following several beats of no response, Angel opened his eyes as his demon slid away. Slowly turning his head toward her, Angel said but one word.

“Buffy.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened, before she looked toward the approaching Wesley.

“Wesley, he’s really bad off, he thinks I’m Buffy. We don’t even have the same coloring, and let’s face it, I have far more in the boob department and—“

Rolling his eyes, Angel tried to sit up, wincing during his attempt.

“No, Cordelia, I know you’re not Buffy. I have to find her. I have to—“ Angel tried to lift his body from the floor. After a few failed attempts, Angel fell back, his upper body landing none too gently on the floor behind him.

“Angel!” Cordelia’s panicked tone quickened Wesley’s pace. In an instant he was kneeling, flanking Angel on the opposite side from Cordelia. Each looked for an uninjured area of Angel’s body as they helped their friend from the floor. After a few moments, they assisted Angel into a seated position. Cringing, Angel looked at Wesley.

“Wesley, we need to find Buffy.”

“Angel, we will, but first we need to get you out of here. You haven’t eaten in days, and after some substance and needed rest, we will find her.” As he spoke, Wesley tried to keep his gaze trained on Angel and ignoring Cordelia, whose eyes widened from the notion of “finding Buffy.”

“No, Wesley, you don’t understand. We need to find her now!” Despite how damaged his body was, Angel quickly pulled up from his position on the floor and hobbled toward the open doors.

Wesley and Cordelia looked at one another briefly, before following him. Even with his injuries, he remained several feet ahead of them as he crossed through the previous demon holding area, and through another doorway located on the other side of the room.

Stopping briefly, when the hallway split off into two directions, Angel raised his nose in the air. After single, deep inhalation, he headed off to the right. When Cordelia and Wesley reached him, he was pounding both fists on a metal door, causing his injured hands to again bleed, leaving bloody patterns on the metal in his wake.

“Angel! What are you doing? Please, stop!” Cordelia screamed while Angel continued hammering away at the door. Despite the strength behind each blow, his blood left the only marks of his efforts.

Angel ignored Cordelia’s shrill pleas, while Wesley looked around before locating for the object of his search. Rifling through a dead guard’s pockets, Wesley located and pulled out a key-card and cautiously approached the Angel’s right side, who continued his unrelenting blows.

Angel stopped his pounding once the soft click of the keypad changing from red to green announced the door’s unlocking as it slowly slid open. Once it opened enough for him to pass, Angel rushed into the room. Instantly, he noticed Buffy standing in the middle of the room, unchecked tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.



***** *****

Prior to Angel arriving

From the moment Spike left, Buffy endlessly paced. The guilt and resentment toward herself for her treatment of Spike echoed in her mind and fueled her initial fast-paced movements. Endless time seemed to pass before her set jaw relaxed and her quick gait started to slow. Soon the passion flowing through her from these emotions lessened and was replaced by more crippling, heart-wrenching emotions of remorse and fear.

Long before the door slid open, Buffy had collapsed on her bed while overpowering sobs wracked her tiny frame. Hearing the door, Buffy rushed to the line awaiting the man who’d brought forth this flood of emotions.


**** ****

Present time


“Spike?”

Despite the tears still falling, Buffy’s voice was light and hopeful. In an instant, her face changed from eager to crestfallen as her eyes rested on the dark-haired, bloodied, and bruised vampire that stood on Spike’s side of the room.

“Angel? What are you doing here? What happened to you? Where’s Spike?” Buffy’s questions came fast and furious, and it took several moments for Angel to comprehend all of them. Despite how adamant her voice sounded, Angel didn’t answer her questions, but asked a few instead.

“Buffy, how long have you been here? Were you trapped in this room with Spike all this time?”

Knowing that Angel wouldn’t answer her questions, unless she answered his first, Buffy inhaled deeply then spoke,

“I don’t know exactly, a week, two. I don’t know. And yeah, I was in here with Spike.”

The growls sounding from Angel’s throat caused Buffy to look downward and tug on Spike’s tee shirt that barely covered her upper thighs. Following several uncomfortable moments, Buffy shook her head pushing past the guilt that came following Angel’s possessive growl, and looked up at her ex.

“Angel, where is Spike?” Regardless of the tears staining her cheeks, her disheveled appearance and her barely-there clothing, Buffy’s voice took on an authoritative tone that demanded attention.

While Buffy’s word hung in the air, Cordelia and Wesley entered the room. Their eyes raced between the two warriors, even though all the while Buffy and Angel’s gazes remained fixed on one another.

Angel began to hobble forward, attempting to comfort his battered love. Before he reached the line separating the room, Cordelia called out to stop him.

“Angel, don’t! You’ll turn into instant dust if you pass that line with your bracelet still on. Hold on a minute.”

Angel’s eyes remained locked with Buffy’s, as he raised his banded arm to Cordelia, who unlocked the bracelet quickly. Before the bracelet hit the floor, Angel was standing before Buffy, his hands in fists by his sides as Spike’s overpowering scent wafted off Buffy’s form.

“Buffy, you don’t have to worry anymore. It's all over.”

“Spike?” Buffy held her breath, hoping what she feared wasn’t true.

“Spike’s gone, Buffy. He won’t bother you anymore.”

The moment Angel’s words penetrated through her silent prayers, Buffy crumbled. Her mind screamed in pain, as the legs that barely held her upright, buckled. Angel quickly caught her before she fell to the floor. Scooping her up in his arms, Angel continued to ignore Spike’s scent that intermingled with hers.

Feeling utterly defeated and hopeless, Buffy slowly laid her head on Angel’s chest, while her tears resumed falling.

Angel looked down at Buffy and suppressed another growl that rose in his throat when he noticed how much thinner she was, the dozens of bruises in different stages of healing scattered over her arms and legs, and especially, the dual fang marks on her neck, which without confirmation he knew were Spike’s. Even though Angel wanted to offer her words to soothe and comfort her from all the unspeakable things this place and Spike had done to her, he chose to keep silent.

Cordelia cautiously approached the pair and gently picked up Buffy’s limp arm to release her from her bracelet. Once done, Cordelia placed Buffy’s arm back on her lap and stepped back to let Angel pass with the distant, injured Slayer.

Silently, the group exited the room. Angel gently carried Buffy through the hallways, Wesley and Cordelia following closely behind. After ten minutes of walking, they finally reached the exit. Trying not to harm her any further, Angel pulled Buffy closer as they stepped out into the night.

The chilly night air encased the group, causing Buffy to shiver in Angel’s arms. Despite these tiny movements and her shallow breathing, Buffy remained virtually motionless. Only her continued tears, saturating Angel's ripped and bloodied shirt, showed she was conscious.

Without a word, Wesley nodded to Angel and Cordelia before he left to bring Angel’s car around.

With unease etching her features, Cordelia looked at the battered woman with guilt and questions she wanted to ask, but didn’t. Did her brushing off all of Giles’ phone calls cause Buffy to remain in that awful place longer? If they hadn’t found Angel when they had, were those sickos planning to pit him against her?

As Cordelia’s mind continued to race, Wesley arrived with the car. He had put up the top on the convertible, so Buffy would be protected from the cool night air. Cordelia pushed back the front seat, allowing Angel room as he skillfully, still holding Buffy in his arms, slid into the back seat. Once everyone was situated, Wesley slowly pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward Angel Investigations.

With everyone preoccupied with getting Angel and Buffy back to safety, no one noticed a pair of golden eyes glistening in the distance, intently watching the scene playing out before him.

Spike’s golden eyes attempted to focus under heavy lids as he began to awaken. It was nightfall, and the demon stirring inside told him so. Once the haze of sleep disappeared, the evening’s smells and sounds flooded his senses.

After fleeing the ring several days ago, Spike located a safe place to recover. Within the dark, dank recesses of an abandoned warehouse, located in one of the shadier parts of LA, his body had time to heal almost completely. Prior to entering into this self-made refuge, Spike gorged himself on blood until he’d temporarily sated the gluttonous demon inside him. The process of feeding until satisfied took longer than usual, since he had only fed, not killed.

”Gone soft I ‘ave. ’M finally free from this bleedin’ chip, and I don’t even feed properly! Before you know it, I’ll be setting up comfy accommodations for the Happy Meals on Legs, offering biscuits and juice to them after they’ve donated blood! ‘M such a piss poor excuse for a master vamp!” Spike said, with a growl under his breath, placing his hand over his rumbling stomach.

Throwing off the tattered excuse for a blanket, Spike stood and began to move his body, slowly working on loosening his stiffened joints and muscles. He rolled his neck and limbs, occasionally alternating directions, until they no longer popped or cracked under his ministrations. With a final stretch, Spike savored how fluidly his body moved. The pain that had resonated there, since he first awakened in that man-made hell, was now almost gone.

The combination of human blood and continuous sleep mended broken bones, healed deep wounds, and he gained weight he’d lost since the Initiative shoved the chip into his brain.

For the first time in months, he felt almost like his old self. Well, a much filthier, non-leather-coat-wearing-self, but the old Spike all the same.

“No, I’ll never be the same. I’ve tasted pure sunshine, raw power, and strength all wrapped up in a tiny, beautiful Buffy-shaped package. I’ll never want anyone else—even if she won’t have me,” Spike murmured, collecting mismatched boots and a shabby tee shirt lying on the floor by his makeshift bed. Prior to entering into hibernation, he had found these items discarded in an alley, along with the blanket he had used for the last several days. Spike slightly cringed while pulling on the worn, filthy articles, yearning for his own clothes, especially his beloved leather duster.

With determination fueling his strides, Spike traveled quickly through the dingy hallways of the building and climbed several flights of stairs until he reached the upper level. Shaking away his demon, he stepped out into the night.

After exiting the alleyway, littered with forgotten objects and people, Spike turned the corner and headed down the street, the jarring sights and sounds of LA surrounding him. As he moved among the living, his path remained clear. He was determined to get back a piece of himself that someone had stolen.

Continuing down the busy, filthy streets, Spike briefly noticed on the street corner closest to him, a scantily clad, petite blonde arguing with a man, most likely her pimp. Spike could hear his harsh and crass demands for his cut from the johns she’d serviced that evening.

Despite the throngs of people passing by, none acknowledged the heated interaction between them: the yelling, cursing, and how roughly the man held onto her arm as he dragged her away from the street into the shadow of a building. Spike was no different, until the man raised his hand and brutally struck the woman’s cheek. The force of the blow caused her to slam against the brick building behind her.

Without a moment of hesitation, Spike grabbed the man advancing toward the fallen woman by his arm and roughly twisted it behind his back. Instantly, Spike’s demon came to the forefront when the pimp’s throbbing jugular hovered just mere inches away from his mouth, and the intoxicating scent of his fear filled the air. With golden eyes remaining fixed on the pimp’s throat, Spike gave a menacing a threat through descended fangs.

“That’s no way to treat a lady—“Before the pimp could contradict, that she wasn’t a lady, Spike twisted his arm further, triggering the pimp to cry out in pain. ”Don’t say what I know you’re thinkin’. Listen carefully, you wanker— you’re not the only Big Bad that goes bump in the night. The way you’re shaking like a bloody leaf and the fact you’re about to piss yourself, you know this to be true, yeah? So tough guy, how much do you really know? I’ll give you a hint. I’ll take vampires for two hundred, Alex.”

Witnessing the incident before her, an actual demon causing pain to her own personal demon, caused the woman’s eyes to widen with disbelief, before the shock passed quickly from her features. She used this as an opportunity to flee. Without a word, she ran off.

The pimp watched briefly as his whore fled before nodding his head quickly, acknowledging that he knew what the creature holding him was. With this silent response, Spike continued. “I wager that woman brings in plenty of dosh for you, so I’d advise you treat her right. If I find out you lay another hand on her, I’ll be back to drain you dry. Got me?” The pimp trembled, whispering, “Yes.” before Spike released his arm.

Slowly blowing out a shaky breath, the pimp massaged his injured arm before turning around. Scanning the sidewalk, he noticed he was alone. Neither his whore nor the demon was anywhere in sight. Looking both ways once more, the pimp tried to chalk up what had just happened to a vivid hallucination, brought on from the shit he’d smoked earlier. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the two blatant things confirming what just happened to be real: the throbbing pain radiating from his shoulder down to his fingertips and his jacket pocket that once held roughly two thousand dollars was now empty.

With a smirk held firmly in place, Spike fingered the wad of cash in the pocket of his tattered jeans. “First things first—clean kit, then a shower.” Just then, his stomach growled in protest again. “Damn, should’ve fed from that slimy bastard--need some blood too.”

Passing a vintage clothing store along the strip, Spike glanced in the window. With a resigned sigh, he shook his head, once he conceded what he had to do. He had to spend his money—on clothes. Normally, he would wait until the bloke behind the counter was alone, nick what he needed and tear into his neck for an added bonus. But he didn’t have the time or the will to do so. The latter part made his demon howl and scratch inside his mind at the mere thought of going soft. Shaking his head once more, Spike tamped down both this thoughts and his demon before walking inside.

When Spike walked in, he spotted a twenty-something year old sporting green hair and more piercings than he could count sitting behind the counter reading a Crimson comic. He completely ignored Spike and continued to ignore several equally punkish looking people milling about. With a loud scoff, Spike eyed the posers, knowing full well that the little boys and girls had no clue what punk was all about.

Looking quickly through the racks, Spike found some suitable clothes: black leather pants and a blood red button down shirt. Unable to find decent boots to replace his Docs, Spike approached the counter, clothes in hand.

Maybe his luck was changing after all. There, before him, was a pair of Docs that belonged to the gangly punk leaning back in his chair, with his legs stretched out, resting his feet on the glass counter top. Spike approached him, his gaze focused solely on his boots.

“How much for your Docs?”

The punk’s heavy kohl lined, brown eyes flickered from the comic to Spike. Raising a multi-pierced brow, he brashly eyed the filthy man in front of him.

“More than you have, mothafucker! So fuck off!”

Normally, Spike would have launched across the counter, grabbing him by his scrawny neck before violently snapping it. Instead, Spike growled while his eyes briefly flashed gold. Witnessing this, the punk scrambled from his chair, his feet falling off the counter with a thud. After several moments of jerky, uncoordinated movements, he finally found his footing. Spike inwardly chuckled, witnessing this once fouled mouth punk transform from a rebel wannabe to a frightened little boy right before his eyes.

“Um…actually they’re free, so is the handful of clothes you have there. You're our…our hundredth…yeah…hundredth customer tonight! Congrats!” He said, sputtering his words, and the punk quickly pulled off his boots and with trembling hands gave them to Spike.

Spike gave a nod and a muttered “Ta, mate.” grabbing the offered boots and sauntered out of the store. Now with a change of clothes tucked under his arm, his next stop was a shower.

A block down from the store, Spike found a shady rent-by-the-hour establishment. Entering, Spike approached the filthy counter surrounded by a rusty metal cage. Inside, was an equally filthy, overweight man with a greasy comb-over, chewing on the butt of a long extinguished cigar. Without looking away from the small black and white TV, in the middle of a re-run of Hawaii 5-0, the man gave a price.

Spike peeled off a few twenties from his money roll and slid it through the small opening. The man turned slightly, eyes still fixed on the TV, he pulled off a single key from several hanging on the wall, then slid it through the opening. Without a word, Spike removed the key and ascended the stairs toward his room.

The dimly lit hallway reeked of sex and death, in different forms, as he made his way to room #23. Placing the key in the lock, following several attempts, he opened the door and stepped inside.

A twin bed, dresser, and a sink were the only items in the sparsely furnished room. Wearily, Spike sat down on the creaky mattress briefly before he decided a shower was in order. Heading to the only bathroom on the floor, Spike entered into the room and locked the door behind him.

Pushing aside the moldy shower curtain, Spike eyed the black-ringed tub. With a twist of the hot faucet, the sound of the heated water splashing on the bottom of the stained porcelain echoed in the small room. Soon, the steam from the scalding water rose and accompanied the sound.

While the water ran, Spike quickly began to peel off his filthy, damaged clothes and dropped them in a pile on the grimy linoleum floor.

Stepping under the spray, Spike sighed as the scalding water hit him. Streams of dirty, bloody water ran down his newly healed body as he tried to remember the last time he bathed. Instantly, the last time slammed into his mind, along with all the other memories that accompanied the one recollection. The last time he was in a shower was in his room. No more specifically, their room, his and Buffy’s.

Spike’s jaw clenched as the memories of Buffy flowed forward: how stunningly fierce and beautiful she looked in her battle gear, her playful smile and teasing words while they played cards, her wearing his tee shirt, and her exquisite, soulful eyes searching his while they shared a tender embrace during her dream.

Then more memories, ones he wanted to forget, came forth: the hate and disgust set in her features and surrounding her words after he fed and how her tiny body clutched his grandsire when he carried her from their room.

Spike thought back to what transpired days before, once he was freed from his bracelet and ran from the arena.

***** *****

Days before

Pure adrenaline and the deep desire to find Buffy fueled Spike’s movements as he made his way through the maze-like hallways of the building. Only moments before, he had departed the arena, leaving the broodettes and his thrashed grandsire behind. Now he was trying to locate another way to get into the lower level of the building, or more specifically to the room where Buffy was.

Twisting and turning down corridors, when Spike came across any area that smelled of his grandsire, he immediately avoided them completely, knowing Angel would be close behind his lingering scent. Using only intuition as his guide, Spike made his way through the hallways and down a set of stairs. The feeling growing within his gut convinced him he was getting closer, spurring him to quicken his pace.

Spike continued his steady stride, determined to reach Buffy quickly, even though he didn’t know how he was going to get the door open, or when he did, how he would remove Buffy’s bracelet. However, these thoughts didn’t deter his pace. All that mattered now was getting to her.

Turning another corner, Spike heard a distinctive sound that halted his movements momentarily—flesh meeting metal. Cautiously heading toward the sound, Spike stopped once he reached the corner. Slowly, he peered around the bend, and what he saw made his demon roar with fury. Angel savagely pounding on a door—their door.

While Peaches continued his onslaught, busty Barbie screamed for him to stop as Percy picked a dead guard’s pockets, quickly finding a key card. With one swipe, the door opened. First Angel, then the broody bunch, went rushing in.

Several tense moments passed while Spike waited. He knew he couldn’t go any closer, knowing Angel would sense him, and even though he had the upper hand earlier, now with his two side kicks within striking distance, having this advantage again was next to nil.

Despite his heightened sense of hearing, the combination of distance and thick metal walls surrounding them only allowed Spike to hear their murmurs, but not make out their words. Then the silence came. Soon, Angel emerged from the room with Buffy cradled in his arms. Spike noticed instantly her head was upon his chest and tears of gratitude streamed down her face.

While the group moved in the opposite direction, Spike backtracked, rage now fueling his steps. Quickly, he arrived outside. The cool night air danced along his exposed and injured flesh. Moving silently to the end of the building, Spike watched as Angel drew Buffy closer to his bulky form as her tears continued to fall.

Seeing how she sought comfort from Angel caused Spike to make a painful realization. Buffy never truly was his. As always, he was just a substitute for Angel, first with Drusilla and now with Buffy. Spike hated it, but he had to admit to himself that he was only a bookmark. His sole purpose to hold Angel’s place while he was gone and be a stand in until he came back to claim what was rightfully his.

Spike intently watched as Angel carefully entered the car with Buffy still firmly in his grasp. Spike’s intent gaze remained fixed on the car as it passed him and drove away. Defeated, Spike turned and headed into the night.



Across Town

An endless amount of time had passed since she first became encased within this soft, warm place. Despite knowing she should feel safe. Buffy’s legs remained curled into her chest, arms wrapped around them attempting to guard her from the outside world.

She didn’t know how long she had been there, nor did she know exactly where therewas. All she knew was that she wanted to remain in the reality that existed behind her closed eyes.

In this reality, hope still existed. Hope, the gut wrenching words ringing in her ears and stilling tearing into her heart --- “Spike’s gone” was never uttered. In this reality, she would wake feeling her vampire’s mesmerizing blue eyes drinking her in and his soothing baritone voice greeting her with a “morning, luv.”

With each breath, the overwhelming, familiar scents of old books and cologne surrounded her. Despite how these smells should be comforting, they weren’t. They were all wrong. They weren’t the truly comforting scents of leather, cigarettes, and whiskey she craved.

Knowing she could no longer avoid the world, Buffy finally opened her eyes. Wearily, she took in her surroundings. Instantly, she knew where she was: Angel’s apartment. Even though she had never been there before, everything from the décor to the smell screamed of her ex.

Feeling suddenly confined, Buffy flailed her arms and legs trying to push away the heavy, oppressing confinement of the duvet wrapped around her. Once released, Buffy gasped, the cool air rushing into her lungs.

Seeking the only comfort she knew that remained, Buffy reached down to the worn, cotton tee still covering her body. Bringing the fabric to her nose, she inhaled deeply. The small comfort she sought filled her lungs, causing her eyes to well with hot tears before they began streaming down her cheeks.

Despite the desire to remain where she was, nose embedded in Spike’s essence, her body more specifically her stomach, screamed for attention. Reluctantly pulling herself from Angel’s bed, Buffy began to explore.

The refrigerator located in the small kitchen was empty, except for several packets of blood. Still hunting for food, Buffy opened each of his cabinets finding them all bare.

Realizing there was no food in his apartment, Buffy approached the stairs, still in food-searching mode. Standing at the bottom, Buffy stilled her movement when she heard murmurs of several voices above. Cautiously, trying not to make a sound, Buffy ascended the stairs. Before she was half way up, the murmurs transformed into words.

“Angel, you have to call Giles. I bet everyone is worrying about her, and it’s not right, since we have her here, not to tell them.” Cordelia’s voice was firm and determined. As she spoke, she ignored Wesley’s incredulous glare.

“Cordelia, she needs to rest. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t think right at this moment everyone crowding her is what she needs. In the morning, after she has had some rest, we can discuss it then.” Angel’s voice was weary, but equally determined as Cordelia’s.

“Angel, I think we should call them now, not wait till morning,” Cordelia continued to press.

“Cordelia, my answer is final. We will discuss this tomorrow when—”

Angel’s words ended instantly when he noticed Buffy standing in the doorway, her red-rimmed eyes fixed on him. Slowly pulling himself from his seat on his desktop, he started to walk toward her. Angel longed to have Buffy back in his arms, offering her comfort and support while he helped her return to his bed.

“Buffy? You shouldn’t be out of bed. Let me help you—“

Before Angel could finish, Buffy held up her hand to stop his advancement, and with an authoritative tone spoke,

“No Angel, I don’t want to go back downstairs, and I don’t want to wait until morning. I want to call home, right now.”


**** ****

Present Day


The relentless pounding on the door broke Spike from his thoughts. Blinking quickly to clear his mind, Spike was taken back how easily he’d lost track of time. With no clock to glance at or window to look out of, the only way he gathered that a considerable amount of time had passed were the icy droplets striking his skin, replacing the once scalding heat of the water. With a sharp twist of the faucet, Spike ended the flow, bringing instant silence to the room.

Stepping from the tub, Spike mimicked a dog, shaking his entire body causing water to spray onto the walls and surfaces of the dingy room. While running his hands through his soaked locks, he displaced more water causing it to trickle down his back and onto the floor.

Once more, someone on the other side of the door demanded entrance. Without covering up his nakedness, Spike slid his demon to the forefront while he opened the door. In the hallway stood a burly man, who was at least 6’ 3” and weighed approximately 350 lbs, with his fist at the ready to knock again. Under his breath, he murmured curses about the “Fucking asshole who’s hoggin’ the fucking bathroom”.

Instantly, the man’s complaints lodged in his throat, his eyes bulging from the sight before him. With an unmanly squeak of “take as long as you want,” the man bolted from the doorway, rushed down the hallway, and entered into his room at the end of the hall without a single glance back toward Spike. With a brief chuckle, Spike closed the door and started to get dressed.

After he donned each article of clothing, including his newly acquired Docs that fit rather nicely, Spike headed down the stairs. Shoving the key under the small space in the wire, and following a sarcastic remark about the accommodations, Spike headed into the night.

Once exiting the building, Spike walked toward the curb and attempted to hail a taxi. Normally, he would have hot-wired a car and driven it until he drained the tank, but tonight he needed the services that a taxi driver could provide— the fastest route to where he needed to go.

Several taxis blew past him and his extended arm, refusing to stop in this section of LA or for the bleached, leather-clad man standing on the curb. After several minutes, the minimal patience Spike had was gone, and he decided that the direct approach was the only way to get one to stop. Stepping off the curb, Spike stood in the path of an on-coming taxi. The driver stomped on his brakes, once he realized the crazy man standing in the middle of the road was not going to move. With a screech of the tires, the taxi stopped only a few feet from Spike.

With a rise of his scarred brow and a casual saunter toward the now stopped taxi, Spike slid into the backseat, ignoring the muted swears uttered under the driver’s breath, he gave him his desired destination.

Following a completely silent, twenty-minute trip, the driver pulled in front of the address Spike had given. Before the driver could total the fare, Spike threw a wad of cash, equaling a hundred dollars, over the seat and quickly exited the taxi.

Shifting into his vamp visage and using his honed predatory skill of moving undetected, Spike quickly merged into the shadows before he rounded the building looking for a way in. Locating a small gap in the building’s exterior, Spike entered.

Raising his nose into the air, Spike breathed deeply trying to locate the one he sought. Instantly, her unforgettable scent washed over him. Knowing he needed to remain hidden until she showed herself, Spike located an alcove, not far from where he thought she would be going. He stepped into the small opening, letting the darkness envelope him and waited.

Fortunately, the test on his lack of patience didn’t last long, since the woman he sought emerged soon after he had settled into the small space. Hearing the quick tattoo of her steps, he knew even though she put on a brave front, she still feared what lingered in the dark.

Once she passed him, Spike sprung into action. With several quick, soundless steps he was behind her. With a flurry of lighting fast motions, Spike used one hand to draw her arms behind her back, immobilizing them by pinning them between her back and his chest. His other hand clasped over her mouth tightly, not allowing even a muffled scream to pass. Instantly confirming Spike’s crushing hold, the warm breath of her screams filled his palm, but not a sound was heard.

Spike gave a low, warning growl from deep within his throat, immediately silenced her screams and stilled her struggling.

“With being a lawyer and all, I figure you’re a smart bird, yeah? So I recommend you use some of those wits now. I’m going to try this in a way to let you live, but you only get one chance, pet, not twenty-one.”

Liliah shivered from the rumbled warning in her ear. She cursed her own stupidity for not having one of the guards walk her to her car as they did every other night.

She was in a rush to get home. Well, more specifically, to the man she paid for, waiting for her arrival to a four-star hotel room downtown. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get a man without paying him. On the contrary, she has had many offers for male companionship, but this meant a relationship of some sort, even if it were on a merely physical level. Being in a relationship, no matter how “no strings attached” one tries to be, there is always tons of bullshit that accompanied the sex. This was not what she wanted. All she wanted was to be ridden hard and put away wet, nothing more and surely nothing less.

Her demand for a man to satisfy her primal needs became even greater after she came into close, but not close enough, contact with a certain bleached vampire. Liliah wanted to ask the Senior Partners if they could give her this delectable specimen as a reward for all her hard work at the firm. But alas, she knew that was never going to happen, and she had to follow orders, ship off the hunky vamp to the McNamaras’ modern day Coliseum.

The instant Liliah felt powerful arms restraining her, she knew immediately by the speed and strength of the person that grabbed her, that it wasn’t a person at all, but a vampire. Once he spoke, she knew who specifically said vampire was, the same one that had been starring in her nightly erotic dreams--Spike.

Spike felt the woman he held tightly, shiver, and smelled the bloom of a new scent filling the air, the heady musk of her arousal.

“Mmm, lovely fragrance you're wearing, what do you call it—Bitch in Heat? Don’t get me wrong, ‘m quite flattered, pet, but not interested. That conibear you call a cunt would probably trap my cock permanently. Would ‘ave to leave it behind to break free. Don’t particularly fancy being a eunuch like my grandsire, thanks, but no thanks. I’m here for one reason and one reason only—“

The minimal movement of Liliah’s lips against Spike’s palm alerted him that she attempted to speak. Mildly interested in what she had to say, he gave a growled warning about behaving and not to scream before he slowly removed his hand. Liliah gasped for air several times, before licking her lips in preparation to speak.

“She’s not in LA anymore. The night of everyone’s great escape, Angel brought her to his place, but she left soon after.”

Spike’s brow furrowed with confusion briefly, before the realization of who she was referring to began dawn on him, Buffy. His temporarily repressed feelings of fury and frustration resurfaced. Tightening his grip on Liliah’s arms, Spike plunged his hand into her hair, yanking her head to the side, exposing her throat.

At the beginning, once Liliah realized it was Spike who held her, she trembled with a mixture of lust and desire. Now following his brutal actions, fear was the only reason causing her body to shake. The heavy scent of Liliah’s fear, which replaced the scent of her arousal, rolled off her in waves, filling Spike’s nostrils with its intoxicating perfume.

“You should be scared, you sadistic bitch. Death would be too good for the likes of you, but I don’t have the desire to torture you, plus that’s not really my bag. That’s yours and your pet project, Angel’s gig. Even though I originally came here for only one thing, I am feeling rather greedy. There’s something else I need, for you to answer this question. Do you know where she went after leaving my grandsire’s flat and who was she with?”

Boldly, and before she could censor her words, Liliah blurted out, “That’s two questions.”

A brief smirk filled Spike’s lips before he countered, “Very witty, pet, that it was. Like I said before, a greedy bloke here, and even though your snide remark was a marginally amusing distraction, it still doesn’t change what I want to know…now.” Stressing his angry words, Spike wrapped her hair tighter around his fist and yanked.

Tears formed in Liliah’s eyes from the instant, stinging pain. Trying to push past the throbbing resonating throughout her scalp, Liliah hoped her quick response would loosen his punishing grip.

“My men followed her back to Sunnydale, that’s where the Initiative captured her. And as for whom she was with, from their descriptions, it sounded like her Watcher, Rupert Giles and her mother, Joyce Summers.”

Spike felt the tension inside him slightly melt away from this knowledge. Even though the Watcher could be a right bastard, he mainly did have Buffy’s interest at heart and many times over, had placed his own life on the line for her. More importantly, Joyce came. She would ensure that Buffy, the woman, received all she needed to feel safe, loved, and cared for.

Liliah’s slight moan of discomfort pulled Spike from his thoughts of Buffy, bringing him back to the matter at hand. Releasing some of the pressure he held on her hair, Spike continued his demands.

“Well, that earned you a little reprieve. Now, let’s see if you’ll be three for three. I recall during our littl’ introductory meeting, I asked you where my leather was. Besides the fuck-me leers you gave me, I never did get a response. Now’s the time for it.”

Several moments of silence passed, causing Spike’s annoyance to renew. A low growl conveying his displeasure was all he needed to do before her words rushed out quickly, running together sounding like one big, long word.

“In my briefcase that I dropped when you grabbed me. It’s in there.”

Spike’s eyes moved from her throbbing jugular as he glanced to the left. There on the ground lay a black, leather briefcase lying next to her purse and keys.

“Now, we are going for a little walk, you and me.” With his words, Spike started to side-step to the left, dragging Liliah with him. Within ten paces, the briefcase lay at their feet.

“Last order of the evening--get on the ground. Face into the pavement and splay your arms out, palms down. This is your only warning, if you move a muscle, I will snap your neck faster than a scream can leave your throat; got me?”

Liliah nodded slowly. Spike kicked away her purse and keys before he released her arms, so she could lower herself to the ground. He retained the tight hold on her hair, until he would have had to crouch to follow her down, then he released his hold. Placing one heavy Doc between her shoulder blades, without a word he told her that he wasn’t going far.

Gracefully, with one foot on her back and the other on the ground, Spike leaned over and picked up her briefcase. Quickly releasing the zipper, Spike’s eyes sparkled when he saw his beloved leather inside. Grabbing his coat by the collar, he let the bag fall away. Admiring his second skin briefly, Spike slid his arm into the sleeve, then the other, relishing the welcoming weight and heady scent of the leather.

Without a further word, Spike removed his foot from her back. Liliah remained completely still on the ground, waiting for his next move or demand. After several beats, she heard his voice, but this time it was in the distance.

“Now listen good, bitch, if you ever come after me or mine again, I won’t be so kind. And for clarification, Angel is not included in that, go after him all you want. Ta.”

With his words still hanging thickly in the air, he exited the way he came and vanished into the night. Liliah remained in the same position, waiting some time before pulling herself from the ground.

By the time Liliah stood on shaky legs, Spike had already hot-wired a car and was pulling onto the freeway. While driving on that brightly lit stretch of road, his thoughts returned to the one person who meant the world to him—Buffy. When he heard Liliah say that Buffy had left Peaches’ Fortress of Broodatude almost as soon as she arrived, it gave him a small sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she did care that he was gone. There was only way to find out. With anticipation surging through his body, Spike’s smile grew tenfold when he passed the sign: Sunnydale 80 miles.