~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You thought of that out of nowhere?” Buffy gave him a skeptical look after hearing the reasoning behind his ploy.
“Yea, I’m a genius, aren’t I?” he grinned, looking down at her with a goal in mind.
Feeling his arms worm around her waist, she stepped back, out of his grasp. “And what about those lackies? I am not going to end up like Harmony.”
Stopping for a moment, his face darkened. “I already told them – if they so much as lay a greasy finger on you, I’ll cut off whatever limb they touch you with.”
The possession in his voice was obvious, and it made a small part of her almost…feel. But the other part of her became angered. He thought he owned her, and never hesitated in making that fact known - to her and to others. “And what happens if they do it anyway?” she asked with that cold expression back in her eyes.
Her change in mood surprised him. “They won’t,” he said with an assured tone.
“Say they do,” Buffy said, stepping towards him as she spoke. “Say a bunch of them corner me in the laundry room like they did to Harmony.”
Spike practically growled, not knowing what she was up to.
“They put their greasy hands all over me,” she continued with a steely expression, her own words not fazing her.
“I’d kill ‘em.”
“And then what?” At his look of uncertainty as to what she was looking for, she came to stand so her body was almost pressed against his and asked with an accusatory tone, “Would I be yesterday’s news, then? End up like Harmony – used up and cast aside?” It was something she tried not to think about, but she knew Harmony was now a broken girl, with nothing going for her – reduced to the men’s common whore.
“What the hell are you trying to get at?” he demanded.
“Don’t tell me this isn’t all about sex. This possessiveness and fake concern – it’s all about making me some kind of…thing that only you can touch,” she said with contempt. She shook her head at him in disdain, “It’s always about sex with you.”
“You’re off your rocker, if that’s what you think.” He turned away from her, grabbing the edges of the dresser in frustration.
She scoffed, not believing him. “What else could it be? Everything you do to me is about sex. That’s the only thing you think about. It’s the only thing you’re capable of.”
Whipping around, he glared at her. “Then why do I bother with all this?” He gestured to the room. “Wouldn’t I just string you up in some isolated room and have you brought to me for sex when I feel like fucking?”
She moved back as he neared with slow and menacing steps.
“Why bother giving a rat’s ass when you complain that you feel locked up? Have you even wondered why I keep you ‘locked up’? It’s for your own fucking protection!” he yelled, frustrated as he ran his hands through his hair. “Just look what happened yesterday!”
“If I hadn’t been drunk, I would’ve been able to take him,” she retorted, not willing to lose the argument.
“But the fact is, you were drunk, weren’t you?”
Her eyes darted to the side, knowing it was her mistake to have so naively taken that drink.
“Don’t you see? You still don’t know your way around this world, Buffy. And if you just stopped hating me for a minute, you might find out that it’s not always about sex.”
Her eyes shot to him at that. “Then what is it about?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she held his gaze.
He tried to find the words that described what it was, but the thing was, he didn’t know himself. It had long stopped being just about the sex, although he still wanted her every time he looked at her. But when he thought of her, it wasn’t the only thing there.
She shook her head, and relayed hatefully, “Like I said. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, as long as you’re the only one who fucks me.”
“It matters. You’re mine,” he couldn’t keep the possessiveness away from his tone.
“I’ll never really be yours,” she looked up at him with an unwavering gaze, the truth in her voice.
Spike stood there, staring down at her and seeing the truth behind her statement. And all he could do was claim her lips, if nothing else.
It was everything he couldn’t say, his lips searing to hers as one hand held her by the cheek, bringing her closer.
Feeling his needy kiss, she didn’t protest. It was one thing she hated about him: he was able to make her forget everything else. Before she knew it, she was lost in the passion.
~
“You think this is for real?” Gunn asked Cordelia as he dragged a half-unconscious Amy with her to Spike’s room.
“I’ll buy it when I see it,” Cordelia muttered.
Buffy broke apart from the heated kiss, hearing a loud knock.
“Hell, that’s probably someone with Amy,” he sighed, frustrated that they were interrupted.
She tensed in his arms, beginning to pull away, but Spike stopped her.
“It’ll only be a couple of days, luv,” he comforted. Seeing her look of unease, he said with determination, “Nothing will happen to you.”
She cast her eyes away, remaining silent.
“Not that this is a stretch, but you’re going to have to act like you hate me,” he smoothed his hand over her hair before turning to the door. “Come in.”
His entire demeanor changed as Gunn and Cordelia came in with Amy. Throwing Buffy roughly against the bed, he said in a cold tone, “Get your clothes and get out.” Turning to Cordelia, he gave her a knowing look, “You know which room.”
“Where do you want her?” Gunn asked, looking down at Amy’s wounded and unconscious body with a sketchy expression. “Probably some place where the blood is easy to get out,” he muttered to himself.
“Just hand her here, and the rest of you get out,” he ordered, catching Amy in his arms.
Cordelia eyed him for a moment, not knowing what he was up to or if he was really serious. “Come on, Buffy. Let’s go.” She dropped the chains she brought with her onto the ground.
Shaking her head at him with a look of contempt, Buffy hastily grabbed some of her clothes out of a drawer and stormed out.
He kept his expression even, until Gunn and Cordelia left too. As soon as the door closed, he dropped Amy to the floor, his composure gone.
‘I can do this,’ he told himself, running his hands through his hair.
~
Walking out of Spike’s room and into the hallway with Cordelia, Buffy bumped right into Harmony.
“Well, well,” Harmony’s tone was resentful. “If it isn’t the skank.”
Stepping back and taking in the other blonde’s appearance, Buffy saw the bruises that marred her arms, and her overall beaten-down appearance. Harmony was no longer the cheery, ditzy bimbo; she had been dragged down by the cruelty and abuse from the men.
“Don’t you have some place to be that’s away from here, Harmony?” Cordelia crossed her arms.
“How does it feel, Buffy? I knew he wouldn’t keep you long,” she snorted.
Buffy clenched her fists around her clothes, suppressing her irritation. “I’ll let that go since I know you have reason to be a total bitch.”
“If anyone’s the bitch, it’s you. I wish your skanky ass had never come here. You’ve ruined my life.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re the reason Spike doesn’t want me anymore, you slut,” she responded pathetically.
“Will you shut it already, Harmony? If you hadn’t spent so much time playing dress up at our expense, you might’ve learned how to defend yourself against those idiots. You were asking for it,” Cordelia finished coldly, crossing her arms.
“Like you were asking for it from Angelus,” Harmony retorted.
Before anyone could blink, Cordelia brought her hand back and slapped the blonde fiercely across the face, causing her to cry out and clutch her cheek, tears threatening to spill.
Cordelia’s eyes gleamed challengingly, “You had a year. What do you think this is? The Hilton Hotel?”
Harmony scurried away, tears running down her face.
Seeing Buffy’s look, Cordelia misinterpreted it, thinking she was worried about her fate now that she was being thrown out. “Here. Take this,” she looked down both sides of the hall before slipping something into Buffy’s pocket.
“What is it?”
“Pepper spray,” Cordelia smirked. Her expression dropped to a serious one, “You have to promise me that you will never say I gave it to you. If they knew I was helping the likes of you, I’d be socially dead in here.”
“Well I wouldn’t want to ruin that,” Buffy answered sarcastically, but with humor in her eyes.
They continued down the hall silently, and Buffy questioned why Cordelia would help her and not Harmony. More importantly, she doubted if mere pepper spray could save her.
~
He saw her stir, groaning as her eyes began to open.
“Time to wake up,” Spike threw some water on her face.
Amy pulled at the chains around her hands, but they only clanked against the bar of the tub, where it was looped through. “I never pegged you as the torture type, Spike.”
“It’s a new day for everything.”
“In the tub?” she lifted her brow at him, questioning his torture location.
“If you haven’t noticed, you’re an open fountain over there,” he replied, gesturing to her blood.
“So what are you going to do now? Torture me to death until I give you what you want to know? I’m not afraid of death.”
“Oh, I know you’re not,” he smiled cruelly. “But you’re going to do exactly what I say anyway.”
She laughed, almost hysterically. “Oh, that’s rich. Why would I do that?”
He dropped a clear bag of white powder on the ground, and her eyes widened. “Do you know what happens to crackheads once they go into withdrawal?” Seeing her bite her lip in anticipation, he leaned back, pleased. She would go along with it, because he had what she wanted.
~
Buffy tossed and turned in her sleep, the vivid images of people’s faces haunting her dreams.
Scott. Angelus. Spike. Amy. Darla. Amy. Spike.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
Somewhere, Amy began to scream, the tortured sounds taunting her subconscious.
“Look, it’s for the best,” an image of herself said as she stood and held a gun over a tied-up Amy.
As if the pain had magically gone away, Amy looked up and smiled wickedly, “So you gave in to the evil, huh?” She began to laugh, and the blood dribbled down the sides of her mouth.
“It’s not what you think,” Buffy replied solemnly.
Amy wouldn’t stop laughing, her face beginning to contort into a hideous grin.
A loud shot fired, and blood splattered on the wall.
She shot up and gasped at the loud explosion, her eyes quickly darting around the room.
Remembering she was in her new room, she relaxed. Much to her surprise, she didn’t go back to her temp room, but rather a different one. It was the same set-up, but bigger. Plush carpets, silk bedding, dark furniture, and a small bathroom off to the side. Only difference was, this one had a door that opened from both sides, and most importantly, it had a lock.
Hearing the loud pounding continue, she jumped up. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, she saw it was 2am. She began to panic, automatically assuming it was one of the men coming to rape her. ‘The door is locked, the door is locked,’ she reminded herself, trying to calm down.
Her eyes widened, seeing the lock about to turn. Jumping up, she went to the drawer where she had left the pepper spray. ‘I can do this. I’m not helpless,’ she told herself, hoping it was only one of them. One guy she could take.
Buffy held her breath, fingers poised over the spray button, bottle down to her side.
The door lock snapped open, and seeing a glass ashtray on the dresser out of the corner of her eye, she grabbed it with her other hand.
As the door opened, she brought up the ashtray and slammed it down.
He reflexively grabbed her arm, but as a result, she let go of the ashtray and it dropped on his head. “Bloody hell!” Spike clutched his head as the ashtray dropped to the ground.
Her eyes widened when she realized who it was. Quickly, she threw the pepper spray behind her back into the drawer and closed it. “I thought you were one of the lackies!” she exclaimed, feeling the need to defend herself.
“Right. Like the bright yellow hair doesn’t give you a hint,” he snapped back, testing his head for a bump.
“You don’t just go around and, and unlock people’s locked doors,” she burst out.
“You wouldn’t open the damn door when I knocked!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know who it was!” her chest heaved and she leaned back against the dresser, trying to calm her breathing.
Seeing her expression, he softened slightly. Grabbing his key and closing the door behind him, he worked his way over to her. “Sorry, luv,” he said genuinely. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yea, sure,” she muttered. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“You didn’t think I was going to stay in there with her the whole night, did you?” he leaned in.
She put her hand up to his lips. “How exactly do you plan to pull this off? Won’t she just tell Angelus it’s all a trick?”
“I’ve got it covered.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Pray tell.”
He sighed. “Amy’s a junkie. Sooner or later, she’ll do anything, just for a hit.”
“Wait, you mean…she does drugs?” she wanted to clarify.
“Yea, she’s a pothead, druggie, crack whore.”
She raised her brow, “Need a few more descriptions for that little mix?”
“Nah. There are better things we could be doing,” he smirked at her in the way she hated.
She stopped him again with a glare. “It was bad enough before, but if it’s possible, I feel even more like a whore.”
“Will you stop calling yourself that?”
“It’s what it is, isn’t it? You come in here late at night for sex. Isn’t this that stick-me-in-a-hole thing you were talking about earlier?”
“I didn’t come here for sex,” he defended. Seeing her glare of disbelief, he added, “Ok, originally.”
She crossed her arms.
“If you must know, I can’t bloody well sleep,” he exhaled, running his hand through his hair. Realizing what it sounded like, he added quickly, “with that chit in there yelling the whole night.”
“There are a whole bunch of other free rooms,” she pointed out in irritation.
He grinned, recognizing her irritated expression. “The rest of them don’t have you in it,” he said in a low voice as he backed her into the dresser. Slipping the strap of her nightgown off her smooth shoulder, he leaned down to kiss her skin.
Buffy closed her eyes, hating the way he made her feel. Wanted. And she would never admit it. It was wrong. Very wrong.
~
Three years ago…
“Stay close, luv, and watch your bag,” he warned cautiously, his hand tightening around Dru’s waist, bringing her closer as they walked home together on the dark streets of L.A.
“You worry too much, William,” she snuggled in closer, placing her head on his shoulder. She began to hum a tune in her carefree manner.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “I wouldn’t have to if we had a bloody car.”
Drusilla stopped her humming to smile at him, “Soon, we will.”
“What are you talking about?” he paused, confused at her words.
“It’ll be better for us, William,” she soothed, running her hand down his face.
His face relaxed, realizing it was just her child-like optimism. Smiling at her affectionately, he pulled her against him and kissed her on the lips. When he heard the sounds of footsteps, he tensed and looked up.
Stepping out of the shadows of the alleyway came several men. “Well, well, well – what do we have here?” a bulky man with brown hair asked with a devious smile.
Instinctively, William moved in front of Drusilla to shield her as he tried not to show his worry. There were three men in total, and they looked like they were searching for trouble. “What do you want?” he tried to sound composed, though his fear was increasing, especially at the thought that they might get their hands on Dru.
“It’ll be alright, pet,” he assured in a whisper, feeling her hand on his shoulder. Looking back at the men and taking a step back with Dru, he asked, “You want money? You can have it – just leave us alone.”
The three of them laughed at that, and stepped closer menacingly. “Have you asked your precious girl where she gets her money these days?” the main guy asked.
“What the hell are you talking about?” William clenched his fist, not liking what he was hearing. He glanced at Drusilla. “Dru, do you know this man?”
Drusilla didn’t speak, merely looked at him with an eerie expression.
“Dru?” his voice was laced with insecurity. When she offered nothing, he turned back to the stranger with a glare. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
“Angelus. The man who’s been fucking your girl and paying your bills, you worthless sap.”
Before William could react, they rushed forward and Drusilla jumped back. All three of them began to beat him with their bare fists, kicking him in the gut as he fell to the ground. He groaned, suffocating from the ambush as they continued to beat him relentlessly. He began to spit out blood, and before he faded into unconsciousness, he thought he saw Drusilla’s white-clad form walk towards him.
Groaning from the pain, he stilled his movements as his eyes fluttered open. As the fog in his mind cleared, he realized he was strung up, his wrists shackled in chains. He opened his eyes completely, to see the same man standing before him with a cocky smirk.
“Where is she?” William managed to croak, Drusilla his first concern. “If you hurt her…,” his voice was low and shaky at the same time.
“You’ll what?” he challenged. “Kill me?”
Struggling against the chains in anger and desperation, “What do you want from me? And tell me where she is, you fucking bastard!” Behind this man, he saw a figure move.
Slowly walking into the room was Drusilla.
“Dru-,” he began in utter relief at the sight of her seemingly unharmed image. He halted in his words when he noticed the way she was dressed – clad in tight leather, and looking anything but the innocent girl he knew and loved. Looking back and forth between the two, he felt a panic lace through his body. “Dru?” he asked shakily, realizing Angelus had been telling the truth.
“William,” she replied simply as she walked to stand beside Angelus, placing a hand on his shoulder purposely.
He felt like someone had just stabbed him through the heart. His mind was in utter confusion but he knew something was deeply wrong, and he wondered just how long he had been unconscious. “What are you doing, Dru? Get away from him,” he struggled in his chains, and then glared at Angelus, “Where the hell are we, and what do you want with us?”
Both of them just smiled at him calculatingly. “Well, I actually didn’t want you at all, but Drusilla convinced me you might be useful,” Angelus replied, stepping closer to Spike’s strung-up form. “She can be quite convincing, if you know what I mean,” Angelus leered.
Spike looked at them with confused and frustrated eyes, a pleading look towards Drusilla, asking for what it all meant. “What is he talking about, Dru?”
The cold, indifferent look washed away from her face, and he was suddenly seeing his Drusilla again. With that look of adoration, she walked over to him, one hand reaching behind her back. Touching his cheek, she soothed, “Everything will be better now.” Giving him one last kiss, she stabbed him.
He tossed in his sleep, feeling the pain as if it were real as day.
Her black hair fell forward as she leaned down to bite his lower lip, and she jerked up roughly, eliciting a grunt from Angelus. He flipped her over so he was on top and started pumping into her furiously, cocky grin on his face. Drusilla smiled in satisfaction, unfazed by his violent movements.
But suddenly Drusilla was no longer under Angelus.
It was Buffy.
Golden hair, splayed out on the pillow. Her face contorted in pain and pleasure.
Angelus turned to look at a chained-up Spike, giving him a taunting look before coming to his own release. The last thing Spike heard was her scream.
~
She was jolted awake at the feeling of being pushed. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around in confusion when she realized Spike was thrashing around, apparently having a dream. Watching him for a moment with a frown, Buffy saw the sweat that had collected on his face.
“No, Dru,” he said in a pained voice as his head thrashed back and forth.
His arm lashed out towards her, and she quickly reacted, grabbing him before he hit her. She straddled him and tried to shake him awake by the shoulders, “Spike!”
At her increasing force, he began to wake up, movements stilling as he opened his eyes in confusion and panic. Breathing heavily as he felt the sweat surround his body, he lifted his head slightly and looked up at Buffy, who had a curious and hesitant expression.
“You were dreaming.”
Letting his head hit the pillow, he exhaled with his eyes closed, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “Yea.”
She got off him, sitting back down on her side of the bed. She wanted to ask what it was about, but she thought it might sound like she cared too much. “You were thrashing. You almost hit me,” she stated for him, waiting to see if he would explain, or not.
When he said nothing as he ran his hands over his face, she added, “You said Dru.” The only thing she had heard him say about Drusilla before was when he tried to trade for her in that fight the first day.
He tensed. Looking up at her finally, “Did I? Don’t remember that.”
She scoffed and pulled at the covers, deciding it wasn’t worth the conversation to know. “I should’ve figured you’d have some sort of weird-twisted fantasy about that freak show.”
“Are you daft? I’m in a fucking cold sweat here,” he said incredulously. “And it was ‘No, Dru’, for your information.”
“Huh?”
“I said ‘No’ first.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Thought you didn’t remember?”
“It suddenly came back to me,” he lied.
“Right.” After a second of silence, she sat up more. “So the Big-Bad Spike has nightmares about Drusilla? What about her? Are her nails too scary or something?”
He got up, turning away from her. “I don’t feel like talking about Dru.”
The way he said that made her look at him suspiciously. “Why?” she asked, crossing her arms. She just noticed that he always called her Dru - not Drusilla, but Dru.
“I just don’t, ok?” his tone was a little louder than he would’ve wanted.
Pursing her lips at his harsh attitude, she got up herself and walked towards the bathroom, “Maybe you should leave then.”
Sighing in frustration, he grabbed her by the arm. “Come on, let’s just…go back to sleep.”
“I don’t feel like it,” she replied calmly. “In fact, you should just stay in your room with Amy indefinitely.”
“You don’t mean that,” his voice low, stepping into her space.
“Oh, I do.”
He tried a different tactic, a more familiar one. “That’s not the message you were giving me earlier,” he trailed his hand lightly down her arm.
“Temporary insanity,” she wormed out of his grip and picked up his shirt, throwing it at him.
“Is that your new thing? Run hot and cold in the turn of a second?” he asked, annoyed.
“You’re the one that ran cold!” Hearing the turn of their conversation, she yelled in frustration.
“Just go.”
“No.”
“Fine, I’ll go,” she decided, reaching to open a drawer to pull out clothes.
“Like hell you are,” he growled, shutting the drawer roughly.
She glared at him, the hate fully back in her eyes.
Closing his eyes, he realized where it was heading. Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath. He looked down at her fuming form, and he gave in.
“If I tell you, will you stop being a bitch?”
She pursed her lips at him in anger, but didn’t say anything to protest.
“Dru betrayed me.”
“She was part of your gang?” Buffy lifted an eyebrow.
"No." He struggled with his words, not knowing how much he wanted her to know. Finally, he decided on, "She's the reason I'm here."
She opened her mouth to ask, but he stopped her.
"Don't."
Buffy frowned, anger forgotten, watching him pull on his shirt.
"It doesn't matter now," he said as he started to leave.
And she couldn't help thinking of the same words he used earlier, 'It matters.'
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A/N: If you’ve noticed, the last few chapters have been not-as-dark angst between our couple. Enjoy it for a couple more chapters ;) Also, I researched it, and I’m sorry, but Amy’s character doesn’t really have any defining characteristics that I can capture on paper – for me, anyway. Reviews are always appreciated :)
Oh, I also have to thank not only the nice comments from last chapter, but also the people who have been referring the story to others! :D
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