Soon after obliviously shattering Spike’s heart for the hundredth time in less than twenty-four hours, Buffy excused herself and went upstairs to her room. She wanted to avoid being in a situation to lose control, to hurt him again – but to Spike, it felt like yet another rejection.
He turned on the television, knowing that they still had a few hours to kill before the meeting, but not surprisingly, could not focus on anything that was on. All he could think about was the pain of his current situation.
Buffy had claimed him – but she did not want him. She had done it in a desperate last ditch effort not only to control him, but to keep him from controlling her – without any genuine feelings for him on her part whatsoever. In fact, she was utterly ashamed of her claim, wanting to keep it a secret from the people in her life that she actually cared about.
*It’s your own bloody fault,* he reminded himself with bitter self-directed anger. *If you hadn’t tried to claim her it wouldn’t have happened.*
It had not occurred to him until Buffy had reminded him, but he *had* been the first one to initiate a mating claim. The idea probably would never have occurred to her if he had not tried it first. Of course, at that point, realizing that her original dominance ritual had been messed up, she would have thought that the only way to counteract his claim was to issue one of her own.
And why the bleedin’ hell had he done that anyway? he wondered, bewildered. What had ever possessed him to try not only to dominate the girl, but to make her his eternal mate? Where had the intense desire to have her as his own -- *forever* -- come from?
He had the disturbing realization that it had someone been in him since well before the actual ritual.
Just after sunset, he heard Buffy coming down the stairs, and rose from the sofa, wary and apprehensive. After all, lately he had no idea whether she was going to be the normally annoying Slayer he had gotten used to over the past few years – or the frighteningly possessive version of her that he had gotten to know better than he wanted to over the past few hours.
Buffy’s expression was sober, thoughtful, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and met his eyes for a moment, before looking away. He noticed uneasily as her eyes fell on his throat, her smoldering gaze seeming to bore right into her mark, despite the fact that it was covered by his black turtleneck. But it was only an instant before she turned abruptly without a word and went into the kitchen.
She came back shrugging into a dark red leather jacket, asking softly, in a strangely subdued voice, “Ready?”
He nodded slowly, his hand rising unconsciously to cover the wound when he saw her looking intently at it again.
She looked away quickly at his reaction, heading toward the door. He followed her silently – there was really nothing to say. He looked up at her in surprise when her hand froze on the doorknob, to see her staring at him with a piercing gaze.
“Don’t say anything about – about the mating claim, or – or the biting, or…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away uncomfortably.
“Got it, love,” he replied flatly, moving impatiently toward the door again. “Dirty little secret. Check.”
“Hey,” she said, her voice an odd mixture of annoyance and compassion. “Don’t say that. It’s not like that, Spike, really – I just – just don’t…”
“Just don’t want them to know that for about ten seconds, you actually thought that you wanted me?” he shot back, immediately regretting the impetuous, resentful words, which revealed far more of his emotions than was wise at this point, he knew.
He looked quickly, uncertainly up to her eyes, wanting to gauge her reaction – only to see that his words had hardly registered with her. She was focused on the mark again, a slight frown creasing her brow, and an odd glimmer in her eyes that made him feel very uneasy.
“*What*?” he demanded, stepping back in alarm, his hand again rising to cover the mark defensively.
He saw it coming in her eyes, the instant before her expression darkened and she gripped his arm, yanking the protective hand away from the mark, turning him and pushing him against the door. “You can’t hide the fact that you’re mine!” she snarled menacingly, her free hand trailing lightly over the mark and up the side of his face in a possessive gesture.
He shuddered at the sensation, gasping in a single deep breath, struggling to maintain his focus, keep his thoughts together, under the power of her presence and her touch. “I – I thought – you wanted…” he tried, hardly able to put the words together through his desire and fear. “Please – I wasn’t – trying to…”
He felt Buffy’s grip on his arm slowly ease, and chanced a look up to her face. She looked startled, a bit confused, by her own behavior, as she backed up slightly, without completely releasing him.
“I – I’m sorry, Spike…I don’t know why I…I just…” She frowned, looking again at the covered but still vulnerable mark, and he tensed in anticipation. “I…” she tried again, her tone slow and uncertain, as if aware that what she was saying did not really make sense, “I – don’t think I like you wearing that…”
His eyes widened in surprise, a single eyebrow raising slightly in a wary question. “Why’s that, love?” he asked in a low, cautious voice, relieved when she released him, moving back a little further, looking thoughtfully away to consider his question.
“I – I think – I want to – to be able to…” She struggled to find words, frowning and shaking her head when she could not.
Her initial threatening words came back to him -- *You can’t hide it!*
“You don’t like it being – covered,” he supplied slowly, careful to keep his tone neutral, trying not to betray the strange combination of chilling apprehension, and blissful joy, at the implications of his words. “You – you want for – for it to be visible…known. That I’m yours.”
Her frown deepened, as she raised her eyes again to meet his, wide and confused. She nodded slowly. “Maybe – maybe that’s it – but – but I *don’t* want that,” she argued quietly, uncertainly. “I mean – I don’t think I do. I don’t want them to know what I did, but – but I think maybe – you’re right…”
He kept his eyes trained on hers, just quietly waiting for her to go on, not wanting to risk angering her, not moving or speaking again and watching her cautiously.
“I think a part of me,” she went on softly. “*does* want them to know. It’s like – I know that it’s better to keep this between us for now. The others won’t take it well, to say the least. And in my head, I know I couldn’t stand for Giles to know. And yet – I want everyone to know…”
She hesitated, shaking her head again with a weary sigh. “I don’t know. None of this makes sense.” She met his eyes again, this time with apology. “I’m sorry, Spike. I keep jumping all over you like this…”
He shrugged, attempting for unconcerned. “ ‘S all right, pet,” he said softly. “Getting used to it.”
He felt vindictively gratified when she flinched, then apprehensive again when her expression hardened.
But it was not anger, but determination, that set her jaw and strengthened her tone as she reached for the door and opened it. “Don’t,” she advised grimly. “Because it’s not gonna last.” As she led the way out the door and onto the sidewalk, he barely caught her last words, as her back was to him and the wind carried them partially away – but the desperation was clear in her voice as she finished.
“It *can’t*.”
“Buffy – Spike,” Giles greeted them with a tight, slightly uncomfortable smile as Buffy entered the Magic Box with a jangle of bells and headed directly for the table in the center of the room.
“Hey, guys,” she said with a lightness to her voice that Spike recognized as false – but which probably managed to deceive her often willingly blind friends. “What’s up?”
Willow smiled warmly, expectantly curious, at her best friend from her spot across from her at the table. Xander and Anya were sitting together near her, and Xander had been talking to her quietly – but the moment Buffy and Spike walked in, her attention was stolen away.
The anxious ex-demon glanced between the Slayer and the vampire several times, trying to gauge their behavior – not missing the nearly faded bruise that was still visible on Spike’s cheek from Buffy’s earlier blow following his second attempt to claim her. Anya had no idea of what had happened after she had left the house, but her expression darkened with worry when she saw it.
“We’re here for you to answer that question, actually, Buffy,” Giles reminded her with a calm smile, his curiosity obvious in his eyes. “I’m assuming that everything went according to plan?”
Buffy nodded with a careless shrug – too careless – as Spike hesitantly took a seat beside her, unsure of exactly how he was expected to behave at this point. “Sure. No big deal. Slayer fought big bad vampire. Kicked his ass. Not so big and bad any more.”
Spike was surprised himself by the soft growl that rose in his throat, resentful of her embarrassing misrepresentation of the way things had gone. Physically, she had not managed to overcome him; they had been quite evenly matched. She would not have been able to overcome him at all without resorting to the sexual methods she had used against him.
The slight tightening of her smile revealed that Buffy had noticed the soft sound that the others probably had not – and she was not exactly pleased. But she let it go and focused on her Watcher as he went on.
“Have you confirmed the success of the ritual in any way, Buffy?” he pressed her mildly. “You’ve proven that Spike is indeed under your control? Because, it would be quite possible for him to present a façade of submission for long enough to escape you, if necessary.”
“Yeah,” Xander agreed with a nod. “This is Spike. He’s not exactly the picture of honesty…”
“He *is*, however, still *in…the…room*,” Spike shot back with clear resentment at the way they were speaking about him, as if he were some sort of animal incapable of understanding their conversation.
“Buffy,” Xander said with a smirk. “Could you do something about him? That might help to settle the question.” He paused, giving the vampire a nasty smile of satisfaction. “I think if Spike managed to make it through the rest of the meeting without saying another word – I’d be convinced.”
Buffy hesitated only the briefest moment, in which Spike dared to hope that she might not subject him to any further humiliation in the presence of these people who had kept him a prisoner and mocked and belittled him for weeks now. Whether they knew it or not, in their little circle, his position had actually become elevated since they had last seen him – he was the chosen mate of their leader, the Slayer.
Aside from the whole nasty side effect of dealing with her insanely possessive abusive side – not all in all a bad role to have, he thought.
That is – if she would even acknowledge it.
His hopes were dashed when she reached a casual arm across his shoulder to rest her hand at the back of his neck in a heavily intimidating gesture, her thumb resting warningly above her mark as she sought his eyes.
He reluctantly looked at her, and his helpless anger, hurt – and disappointment – was clear in his eyes, giving her pause.
But only for a moment.
“Spike,” she said calmly, smiling easily at him. “Shut up. You’ll speak again when I tell you to. Clear?”
He nodded slowly, looking away from her before she could see the wounded look in his eyes.
“Wow,” Xander smiled, suitably impressed. “I think I’m convinced.”
“It’s been five seconds,” Willow said dryly.
“Yeah,” Xander cracked. “That’s gotta be some kind of record.”
“Time will tell,” Giles mused thoughtfully, studying Spike’s stormy expression, his brow creasing in a frown. He looked back to Buffy with a slight shake of his head, breaking his own reverie. “Now, Buffy – do tell us exactly how the ritual came about. This is the sort of momentous event that should be recorded and reported to the Council. I’d like to hear every last detail.”
Spike could not suppress the little snort of laughter that escaped him at those words.
*No, Rupes,* he thought wryly. *I really think you don’t.*
He realized too late that he had drawn the attention of the Scoobies with his reaction, odd to them, considering their perception of what had happened.
“What’s funny?” Willow wondered with a frown.
“Yeah,” Xander smirked, rising from the table casually and walking around the table toward the drink he had left on the counter. “Don’t think you’ve got much to laugh at, Deadboy…now that you’re impotent in every possible way…”
Anger came over the vampire at the cruel words. As Xander passed him, it was simply too tempting. Just a slight movement of his leg, and his foot caught behind the boy’s ankle as he passed, knocking him off his feet and backward onto his rear.
There was a moment’s stunned silence as the others took in what had happened, and as Xander climbed to his feet, swearing softly under his breath, Spike mentally cursed himself for letting his anger get the better of him, breathlessly waiting and hoping that no one would realize the truth about his chip. It appeared to have been accidental – possibly – and if it was an accident, then the chip wouldn’t fire? Right?
The sudden wave of anger from his claimant beside him struck him with a stunning power. He could feel the fury rolling off of Buffy at his foolish actions that would possibly cause the revelation of her secret – at least in part. He felt a sense of fear rising up in him, in spite of his resentful determination not to feel it, overwhelming him in spite of himself. He could feel her blazing glare of anger on him, and did not dare to look up at her.
He was so focused on the powerful emotions he could feel coursing through his bond with Buffy into his own consciousness that he was completely unaware of Xander as he got to his feet beside him.
“The chip,” Xander said darkly, glaring threateningly down at the very distracted blonde vampire. “The chip didn’t fire. He doesn’t have a chip anymore.”
“If he ever did,” Giles added grimly, his eyes deadly serious, his expression dismayed at this turn of events.
“So,” Xander went on, his mouth twisting up in an angry, vindictive smile. “You’re not defenseless anymore, huh?” His smile faded, his fist rising to strike as he spat out, “Good!”
Spike was unaware of the bit of conversation, unaware of the threat or the fist flying toward his face, too overwhelmed by the foreign emotions he was feeling so strongly, overwhelming him completely.
And just like that, the pressure of his claimant’s anger was lifted, vanished – or – not vanished, exactly.
Redirected.
He was only aware of Xander’s intended blow as the Slayer caught the boy’s wrist, standing to her feet in the same fluid motion and pushing him backward away from Spike, hard, without releasing his wrist.
Xander cried out in pain as his wrist was wrenched painfully by the motion. “Buffy!” he gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t touch him!” she snapped, her voice a menacing growl, as she released her friend with a shove, standing protectively between him and Spike. “Don’t ever touch him!”
The dark-haired youth was suddenly terrified by the strange fury he saw in his friend’s eyes. There was a very real, even deadly, threat in her expression, and he knew that she would really harm him if he ignored her warning.
In a fearful, trembling voice, he whispered, “Okay! Okay, Buffy! Please, just – calm down!”
The threat to her claimed vampire removed, Buffy slowly returned to herself, her eyes widening with horror on the terrified face of her shaken friend, widening further as they fell on the wrist he was cradling in his uninjured hand. Total silence had fallen over the room, a heavy, shocked silence that could be physically felt.
A single thought went through Spike’s head, amidst the mingled apprehension and anticipation of the fallout of this little unintentional revelation.
*Looks like the dirty little secret’s out now.*
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