If Spike’s heart had beat at all, it would have been pounding as he followed the Slayer out of the little magic shop, toward her house. Every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to flee, or to attack – anything but the obedience that seemed to happen automatically, his will subject to the command of his claimant. But he knew that the first option was impossible, and the second was insanity, considering how easily she could put a stop to any attempts to attack her.
And the consequences for such an act of insanity were something he did not even want to begin to consider.
Buffy did not say a word to him, did not even wait for him to catch up, as she stalked down the sidewalk toward her house; she knew that he would follow, having no choice but to obey her command to come with her. She needed no words at the moment, her very stance speaking of a terrible fury that he found very disturbing, considering that he would very soon be alone with her in a place private enough for her to unleash that fury if she so chose.
And he was pretty bloody sure that she *would* so choose.
He struggled to catch up with her furious pace, wanting to at least make the attempt to diffuse some of her anger before they reached her house. They were walking down the sidewalk of downtown Sunnydale, and though it was late, there were still a few people about.
He did not think that she would harm him in public, though the prospect of the Slayer being locked up for domestic violence was somewhat entertaining. Sunnydale’s rather inept police would not be likely to believe her excuse that he was not really a “person” – just a member of the evil undead – and therefore battering him was perfectly legal.
Of course – seeing said inept police attempt to actually take her into custody would be just as hilarious, he knew.
“Buffy,” he said, a bit breathless with nerves, not exertion, as he didn’t need to breathe at all, really. Scared to death of her reaction, but knowing that he just had to try, he tried to placate her in a quiet, cautious tone, just as he came up beside her. “Buffy, love – let me explain…”
As he caught up to her, without a word in response, the Slayer gripped his arm in an iron hand, turning suddenly and steering him forcefully with her into a darkened side alley off of the main street. Within a matter of seconds from the moment he had opened his mouth to explain, he was slammed hard against the brick wall of the building behind him, a hard hand over his mouth shoving his head back against it with a painful impact, and muffling his moan of pain.
He could feel the heat radiating off of the Slayer’s small but powerful body as she pressed in close to him, her eyes narrowed in anger as they met his. “I don’t want you to explain, Spike,” she informed him in a frighteningly calm, cold whisper. “I don’t want you to say a single word. It’s your freakin’ *mouth* that’s gotten you into this, and if you open it again before I tell you to…”
She removed her hand from his mouth, and he drew in a gasping breath – just before her fist smashed across his face in a blinding backhand blow that knocked his head into the wall again. He saw stars, and felt his knees buckle, struggling to stay on his feet as she gripped his hair and yanked him back up, leaning in close to his face to finish her threat with a cruel smile on her face.
“…I’ll just order you to keep it shut for good, Spike. How would you like that? Personally, loud mouth annoying pain in the ass that you are, always running your mouth – I think you’d stake yourself in a week if you couldn’t talk. Save me the trouble.”
The threat was terrifying to him, the thought of being permanently silenced, the knowledge that she could actually do it, sending a shudder of fear through him with the reminder of just how thoroughly buggered he really was in this situation.
Not daring to speak, he just shook his head desperately, emphatically, his blue eyes pleading with her not to carry out her threat, his silence a promise of his obedience. He hated being so completely under her power, but knew that defiance at this point would be no less than utter stupidity.
His submission seemed to calm her, and she released him, stepping back away from him a little. He leaned back against the wall for a moment, breathing hard, overwhelmed with relief, but not daring to move until she indicated that she wanted him to. He had quickly learned that the only way to bring Buffy out of the frightening state she was in at the moment was to yield to her the submission she desired.
But at the moment, it did not appear to be working.
His already rapid breathing quickened as she moved in close again, a slow smirk spreading across her face. His entire body tensed as she brought her hand up to stroke gently down his cheek, and he fought his instinct to pull away, knowing it would only infuriate her further.
Her smile widened slightly, and he could feel that she was pleased with his compliance, as her hand drifted down, gently pushing his head back, and he yielded to her touch, not moving as her fingertips fell lightly over her mark on his throat, caressing in a feather-light touch through the soft fabric that covered it.
The sensation of pleasure was all the more powerful for being so completely unexpected. He had thought that she would surely use the power of her mark to punish him, to remind him of her authority and make him pay for defying it before. But the intensity of the sensation he felt building inside him at the touch was not at all painful, and made him long for more, made him long not only for her hand, but her mouth, on the mark, reclaiming him and filling him with the powerful pleasure of belonging.
When she drew her hand back, he unconsciously leaned toward her, aching for the contact she had ceased, and a soft, throaty laugh rolled from the Slayer’s throat.
“You want me to touch you, Spike?” she said in soft mockery. “You want me to make you mine again?”
He nodded desperately to both questions, his eyes closed, gasping for breath. He dared not speak, but in his mind he was crying out. *Please…please, Buffy, yes…I need it…*
“Really?” she murmured, dark green eyes wide with false surprise. “You need me? You want to be mine?”
*Yes, yes…please…*
Her eyes narrowed with anger as she demanded, “Then why were you trying to ruin it?”
The light, almost tickling motion of her fingertips on his throat did not change, but suddenly the pleasurable sensation became tiny electric jolts of pain, and he felt a tremor of dread coursing through him. He shook his head pleadingly, knowing where this was headed, and desperate to head it off.
“Please…I wasn’t…please, Buffy…”
Instantly her hand smacked back over his mouth, and he winced with pain as she hissed, “Shut up! Did I tell you you could talk?”
He hadn’t even realized that he had – not aloud.
Not waiting for a response that she obviously did not want, she went on, “Why would you deliberately tell them something that you knew would only get them upset about the whole thing? Now Giles is looking for a way to break the claim! Is that what you want, Spike? You want this claim broken?”
He flinched from the cold threat in her words, a new fear coming over him at the thought, and he shook his head, swallowing hard and closing his eyes against the tears he felt rising. The claim was still for the most part one-sided. If she wanted to, Buffy could reject him – decide she did not want the vampire she had claimed after all, and send him away. His unaccepted claim would fade with time, and she would get over it.
But he never would. He was eternally bound to her by her claim, and her rejecting him would not change that.
*No…no…*
“Because if you want to be rid of me that badly,” she continued relentlessly, and he was surprised to hear a trace of hurt behind the bitter anger in her voice. “We don’t have to wait for them to find an answer.” Her eyebrows raised in a challenging smirk, as she suddenly released him completely, stepping back a couple of steps from him and adding, “You wanna go? Go on. I won’t stop you.”
His wide blue eyes focused on hers in stunned terror. He shook his head slowly, as he whispered, “No…no, Buffy…I don’t want…”
“What are you waiting for?” she interrupted him in a voice that trembled with fury, rising with each word as she taunted him. “You wanna go so bad? Get out of here! Go!”
His voice shook with tears that he did not bother trying to hide as he stepped toward her on trembling legs, still shaking his head. “No – Buffy, please – don’t make me…”
Instantly she was back upon him, gripping his arms and shoving him back again, pressed between the wall and her body, oppressively close. “Don’t make you what?” she asked in a low, hushed voice that sent shivers down his spine. “Don’t make you what? Leave me?”
He nodded desperately, tears streaking his face, as she raised a gentle hand to wipe one away.
“Thought that was what you wanted,” she said softly, a question in her expression, but the anger fading with her proven point. “I thought you wanted to get away. Isn’t that why you told my friends everything, after I specifically told you not to?”
“No,” he whispered miserably, choking back a sob. “No, Buffy, that’s not…I mean…”
“Then why?” she pressed him, her hands on his arms easing their painful grip, her voice softening with something resembling tenderness. “Why would you do what you did?”
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, Buffy…I just…I was just…”
“What?” she prompted when he stopped. “You were just what, Spike?”
He was silent for a long moment before replying in a barely audible whisper, “Afraid.”
Her hands slid gently up and down his arms in a comforting gesture, as she pulled him in closer to her, and he found himself leaning into her embrace automatically. He knew that he shouldn’t – knew that she was hurting him worse with this kindness than with her violence before – but he simply couldn’t help the overwhelming relief he felt at her acceptance, after the threat of her rejection.
“You don’t have to be,” she assured him in a tender whisper, one hand rising to stroke softly through his hair in a gesture that was both soothing and possessive. “You have nothing to be afraid of, if you do as you’re told.” She paused, before adding in a gently reproving voice, “If you’d done as I told you tonight, none of this would have happened. If you hadn’t made me so angry, telling my friends after I told you that I didn’t want them to know, I wouldn’t have hurt you.”
*It’s your fault,* the message behind her words echoed in his mind, and he fought not to allow himself to believe it, a part of his mind rebelling, though another part of him wanted to accept it as truth – simply because she had spoken it.
*Shouldn’t have told,* he told himself. *Not like they can do anything, anyway. Hers now…nothing anyone can do to change that.*
Although he had already accepted the truth of the matter, her next words, spoken softly in a calm, soothing tone, sent a chill down his spine.
“Besides – it’s not like any of them would care to help you anyway.”
He froze in her arms, feeling the trap tighten around him that much more. She was right. The Watcher, Red and the boy, none of them cared about what was happening any further than how it affected Buffy. They wanted to help her, but could not have cared less what happened to him. If she killed him in one of these spells, before they could bring her back to herself for good, it did not matter to them, so long as they managed to find an answer before she hurt someone who actually *mattered*.
Anya cared, and had made an effort to help tonight – and he knew that she would again, as soon as she managed to get her mind off her own personal problems with the self-centered boy she was dating who did not deserve her. She had been too preoccupied with Xander’s thoughtless rejection to even notice when they had left, and she was the only ally that Spike had at the moment.
After a few moments, the Slayer drew out of the embrace, slipping a possessive arm around Spike’s waist and leading him out of the alley, and down the mostly deserted street toward her house.
They made the rest of the walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. He could feel the difference in her, knew that although her anger had faded, she was still not quite herself, and was careful to remain quiet and compliant with her demands, not wanting to take a chance of setting off another violent outburst.
It worried him, however, that his submission had not yet brought the Slayer back the control of herself that it had returned to her the other times. It seemed that with each episode, the violence increased, and that even in her lucid moments, Buffy seemed to be more easily angered by him – less in control. He wondered if whatever malevolent force was controlling her was becoming more dominant somehow. If so, would it eventually take over?
Would Buffy lose herself completely to it?
As they entered the house on Revello Drive, Spike wondered idly when the Slayer’s mum would be returned home. Buffy had said that she was out of town on some sort of business trip, and that was why she had free reign of the house like this. He wished that the woman would return. He had only spent a brief amount of time with her here and there, but she had always been kind to him, and he knew that she would not approve of her daughter’s recent behavior toward him.
He wondered what Buffy planned to do with him once her mother returned. After all, what with Red being her roommate, and the whole utter lack of privacy in general that accompanied dorm life, she could hardly keep him with her in her dorm room on campus. And he was fairly certain that she would not want her mother to have any idea of what was going on. Perhaps, out of necessity, he would be granted a certain measure of freedom again.
*And the first moment I’m free of the nasty little bitch,* he thought bitterly. *I’ll leave this soddin’ town forever and never come back.*
*Yeah,* he added wearily a moment later, *and while I’m at it, think I’ll take up sunbathing, then take a dip in holy water to cool off.*
Buffy took off her jacket and hung it up on the rack just inside the door, while Spike waited nervously for some instruction from her, unsure of what she would expect of him now, and hesitant to act in any way for fear of invoking her wrath.
Because he could still feel the odd presence that seemed to surround her any time he did anything to rebel against the authority of her claim. He had done his best to obey her since leaving the Magic Box – and still he knew that she was not back in control yet. His nerves were so taut by this point that he thought he would lose his mind if something didn’t change soon.
And then – it did.
In the next moment, two things happened at once.
A familiar but unexpected voice was heard from upstairs, in combination with hurried footsteps heading toward the stairs. “Buffy? Is that you?”
The Slayer’s head turned toward the stairs in surprised recognition, not having expected the speaker to be home. And at the exact same moment that she became aware of the person’s presence, Spike was stunned to see an instantaneous change in her eyes – feel the instant release of the tension that was created by her altered state of mind. He could see the reality of the past few hours sink in for Buffy, her eyes widening in stricken shame and disbelief at what she had done, at the same moment as a slim brunette made her way bounding down the stairs to greet her older sister.
And Spike wondered with fascination what it was about the presence of the youngest Summers woman that had the power to bring Buffy back so suddenly. Really, when it came right down to it, he didn’t care *how* it had happened – only that it had, as the tremendous sense of relief washed over him.
Whether she knew it or not, the vampire had just found another ally in an unexpected place.
Dawn Summers.
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