As Buffy and Anya walked back into the living room, headed toward the kitchen, the anxious blonde vampire tied to the chair tried to get their attention.
“Hey! If you’re gonna be bloody well talking about me, you ought to at least have the decency to stand where I can hear you! For all I know, you could have been out there plotting my bloody death, and I’d never know it!” he pointed out in a heated tone of indignation. The Slayer’s parting words as she had walked outside had worried him more than he wanted to let on.
But he had never been any good at hiding his true feelings about anything.
Buffy just smirked at him as they reached the kitchen door. “For all you know, we were,” she agreed in a cool voice of amusement that made him suddenly apprehensive. “Keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”
“Now wait just one soddin’ minute!” he demanded, his unease translating into anger at its source – the Slayer. “I haven’t done a bloody thing to you since I came to you of my own volition, in a gesture of good faith, and all you’ve done is treat me like a soddin’ prisoner, which I’ve done *nothing* to deserve, so if you’re going to threaten my unlife, the least you can do is do it to my face!”
“The only reason you haven’t done anything to us,” Buffy reminded him as her hand came to rest on the kitchen door, “is because you can’t. You’ve been – neutered.” She smiled as she said the word that she had chosen only because she knew it would get to him.
“Not as much as you’d like to think,” he countered with a smirk, quite successfully covering just how much the use of the word *did* bother him. “But apparently *you* should be! Got more bloody *energy* than you know what to do with, don’t you, Slayer? I know your type.” His tone was smug, knowing, and he watched for her reaction, knowing that she knew he meant something else entirely by “energy”.
Buffy felt her face flame with embarrassment that he had commented on her attraction to him, even in such a veiled fashion, in front of Anya. She was furious with herself more than anything, that her own arousal that had been building during the – intriguing – conversation with Anya had given her away.
Still, she was determined to ignore him for now, just to get into the kitchen and away from his too-perceptive senses – not to mention his words.
But then – he spoke again, his voice low and mocking. “Like a puppy,” he mused with a smirk. “Enthusiastic – but a bit clumsy.” As determined as she was to ignore him, he was to not let her.
It worked.
Buffy froze in the doorway, her back still turned to him, and he felt a sense of satisfaction that he had managed to get to her, finally. Then, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed and with a dangerous light in them – and satisfaction was suddenly replaced with apprehension.
As she slowly approached him, a small, predatory smile on her face, he tensed in instinctive preparation to react, though he knew that there was really nothing he could do. The Slayer’s eyes flashed fury as she leaned down in front of him, her face inches from his, meeting his eyes intently.
“First of all,” she said in a tight, angry voice that told him she was trying very hard to restrain her anger. “You have done *everything* in your power to deserve the way we’ve treated you, and worse. You’ve tried to kill me countless times, kidnapped my friends, and generally just annoyed the hell out of me. And as for your little ‘gesture of good faith’?” she sneered with a derisive little laugh, “it was more like a gesture of ‘I’m so pathetic that the only one I can turn to for help is my worst enemy’. *And*, by the way, you only found out that you needed that help while trying -- *again* -- to kill my best friend. And, considering that you’re tied to a chair in my Watcher’s living room, and couldn’t actually hurt me, even if you weren’t – I think I’ll threaten you to your face, or behind your back or anyway I damn well please!”
His patented smirk remained in place throughout her little speech, which left him mostly unconcerned. When it came to him, for some reason, the Slayer was really mostly bark, very little bite – unless he somehow managed to get her *really* pissed off.
Apparently – she was really pissed off.
It caught him by surprise when a small, strong hand shot out to grab a handful of his hair, pulling his head back in a gesture that was more threatening than painful. She was using very little of her actual strength; they both knew that she was strong enough to snap his neck with one quick movement if she wanted to.
And they both knew that she wouldn’t.
His smug smile faltered for just a moment as she gave his head a quick, sharp little tug backward, but was immediately back in place, mocking her even through the discomfort, unwilling to show her that her actions had any impact on him at all.
“And by the way,” she added, lowering her voice slightly and giving him a calculating smile of triumph that made him feel terribly uneasy, in spite of himself, “you might wanna be careful what you say about me, Spike. I just might have to prove you wrong!”
She released him as suddenly as she had grabbed him, standing up straight and turning to leave – gritting her teeth at the sound of his soft, derisive laughter behind her.
“You’d love the chance to try, wouldn’t you, love?” he goaded her, his cocky smirk unaffected by the little encounter.
This time, Buffy forced herself to ignore his comments, reminding herself that after the ritual was over, she would not longer have to put up with his constant mockery. If her sexual abilities did not shut him up – a single order from her lips would.
As the Slayer and her friend disappeared into the kitchen, Spike muttered under his breath, “Bitch.”
He hated the way she had of acting with him, all high and mighty, proud and self-righteous, as if she was the defender of all things good and pure against all things dark and evil – and he was good enough to fit in neither category, in her eyes – relegated to a status not unlike that of the dirt beneath her feet.
The overwhelming blow that his pride had taken with the helplessness that the chip had introduced to his life, was intensified every time she spoke to him, with derision and disgust, making it abundantly clear that she despised him completely.
And yet – he knew that his senses did not lie. The Slayer was attempting – and failing – to hide a powerful attraction to him. In fact it hardly seemed that they were ever in the same room lately when he was not aware of her silent desire for him.
And what was even worse, was the response that intoxicating desire created in him.
He tried to deny it; he insisted that he *hated* her – wanted her dead, and wanted to be the one to make her that way. Yet, in the end, he could not deny that what his body was screaming out every time he was anywhere near her, was the truth.
He wanted *her*, too. And that was the most frightening thought of all.
*Infuriating bint!* he thought resentfully. *When I get this bloody chip out – the Slayer’s gonna see how bloody neutered I am! She thinks she knows a thing or two about a thing or two, eh? Well I’ll be glad to teach her a long, thorough lesson before I drain her dry!* he smirked. *Then *she’ll* be the one tied up and helpless, and we’ll see how *she* likes it!*
Now there was a nice little thought – the Slayer in chains, at *his* mercy, unable to resist him as he made her eat the words she had just spoke, pleading, begging him for just a little more…
*More*? He suddenly snapped out of his reverie, wide-eyed in horror. Where had that thought come from?
*No! Not begging for more!* he corrected his fantasy quickly. *Begging for *mercy*! ‘Oh, please, Spike, I admit you’re a master vampire, and stronger and smarter and all round better in every way than I am, and in no way weak or unmanly – and bloody sexy – please – touch me again…’*
*No!* he snarled at himself in near panic as he realized the turn his thoughts had taken again. *She’s the bloody Slayer! You’re not supposed to want to shag her senseless, you’re supposed to want to kill her dead!*
Spike leaned his head back with a weary sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, before looking back up at the door, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in anger at the thought of the girl just beyond it who took so much pleasure in every moment of his humiliation.
When the chip came out, he told himself, a bit too emphatically, the annoying, vicious little blonde was going to pay for the wreckage she had made of his life – because she *was* responsible. For everything that had gone wrong over the past few years. It was all her fault.
It was the Slayer who had ruined everything for him, beginning when she had paralyzed him in the church that night. If he had not been confined to that bloody wheelchair, he could have defended his rights against Angelus when he had made his appearance a few months later – which was also Buffy’s doing, by the way!
Drusilla’s unfaithfulness with Angelus had been the beginning of the end for his doomed relationship with his Dark Princess. After that, she had never seemed to regain any amount of respect for him, and had become more and more unfaithful, and more and more blatant about her infidelities, until finally, she did not even bother to try to hide them anymore.
She had blamed it on him, claiming that he was the one who had changed – that he was not really hers at all anymore – that he was obsessed with…
No…he did not care to think about that right now.
But he had only come back to Sunnydale in the first place because Drusilla had left him, and he had blamed the Slayer and Angel for her loss. Deep down, he had thought that he could win her back if he killed the Slayer, to prove to Drusilla that he was hers alone. But he had ended up getting side-tracked with the soddin’ love spell business that had gone so badly, and failed to accomplish his original goal – killing Buffy.
But while he was there, he *had* heard the rumors about the Gem of Amara. And it was when he had come back for the gem that he had had that disastrous battle with the Slayer. A bloke had nothing if he didn’t have his pride, right? Couldn’t just let it go at that. He had to stay and avenge his reputation of the Slayer.
And it was because of sticking around Sunnyhell to kill the Slayer that he had been captured by the commandos and had the soddin’ chip stuck in his head.
So it was really all very clear. Even a bloody child could see it.
It was all Buffy’s fault.
Yes, he thought, glaring at the spot where she had disappeared a few minutes earlier. One way or another, he was going to find a way to get the chip out of his head. And when he did, Buffy was going to pay.
William the Bloody was going to kill his third Slayer.
“Okay,” Buffy announced as she closed the kitchen door behind her. “Let’s do it.” She looked expectantly at her Watcher, waiting for his response.
Giles was startled by her sudden surety. “You’re – quite certain, Buffy?” he asked cautiously, though his face made it obvious that he was pleased with her decision. He wanted her to go through with the ritual.
Had he know all that it would involve, Buffy thought grimly, he would likely have felt much differently about it.
She nodded decisively. “I’m sure,” she declared.
“Buffy, I don’t like this,” Xander said quietly, sounding very unhappy. “What if something goes wrong? What if he overpowers you, while his chip is down?”
“He won’t,” Buffy said simply. “I can beat Spike easy. He’s never really beaten me…”
*You’ve never really beaten *him*, either.* The thought made her uneasy, so she put it out of her mind. This time – she would.
She had to.
For the next few minutes, Buffy and her friends discussed the particulars of the ritual – though not nearly in as much detail as she and Anya had discussed it. At first, Giles and Xander were both adamantly against the idea of her being alone with Spike to perform the ritual. They wanted to be sure that she was safe, shoe start to get the upper hand.
Buffy did not say what she was thinking – that there would be little that either of them could do to help her against an unchipped master vampire like Spike. But even had the ritual not been of such a personal nature, and the safety of her friends not an issue, something inside her balked at the idea of having anyone else around for this occasion.
Some deep down part of her seemed to recognize that this was going to be a profound, personal sort of thing – powerful rivals locked in battle for mastery – and although she could not explain it, she knew that even if she were to be losing, if she found that she could not defeat Spike on her own – she would not want anyone to intervene.
The thought just seemed – wrong…unfair, somehow.
This was going to be between her and Spike. No one else.
After lots of discussion, and some downright arguing, they finally came up with a basic plan of action. Buffy finally thought of the ideal place to set this epic battle, and they worked out the timing for Willow’s spell, and the time they would carry out the plan.
The next night, at 8:00 pm – when Buffy would be at her peak performance level – Spike’s chip would lose its signal, allowing him to fight her freely. It would stay down, Willow had said, for approximately six hours. During that time, Buffy knew that her fate and that of the blonde vampire who had crossed her path so many times would once more intersect, in a battle that would change both of their lives in a dramatic and profound way.
But she really had no idea just *how* important this battle was going to turn out to be.
After the next night – her life would never be the same again.
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