It was after nine o’clock that evening when Joyce finally made her way back through her front door. She had had to stay late at the gallery, which did not close until eight, and then had to go by the butcher’s shop to get more blood for Spike. The vampire was feeling much better, but he was still a bit weak from Buffy’s savage attack that morning.
Still – Joyce had been a bit nervous about leaving him alone with Dawn.
She had felt guilty to even be concerned. Spike was her friend, and Dawn’s, and she knew that it would hurt him to know that she was afraid to trust him. And she *did* trust him, really. She knew without a doubt that Spike would never intentionally harm her or Dawn.
But she also “knew” that Buffy would never raise a hand to her mother, either.
The claim that connected her oldest daughter to the blonde vampire was a powerful thing, and very dangerous; Joyce knew that much already. She was terribly afraid that if Spike felt the need to go to Buffy, and Dawn tried to stop him – as she certainly would – he might hurt her without even realizing that he had.
And yet, at the same time, it seemed that Dawn was the only one with the power to stop him from giving himself over to the dangerously unstable Slayer.
Joyce wondered again how it was possible – what strange inherent power allowed her youngest daughter to soothe the desperate craving that spike had for her sister, with just a simple innocent touch of her hand. Did it have something to do with the claim? Some effect because of the blood bond and because Dawn was Buffy’s family? And if that was the case – then why had Joyce herself not been able to stop Spike?
Dawn had had no answers for her mother’s questions. Neither of them had any idea why only she was able to calm the confused, desperate vampire.
They just knew that she *was* able.
When she thought about it, Joyce was certain that Spike’s love for her and Dawn – which had already pushed him to defy his claimant once – in combination with Dawn’s soothing power over him, would protect the girl while Joyce was at work. She simply could not stand the thought of leaving him to fall under the power of the claim again while he was alone, just to go running to the girl who would only hurt and abuse him again.
Though she had not said a word to him of her dilemma, not wanting to hurt his feelings with her involuntary suspicions, Spike had perceptively realized her concern, and had suggested quietly and sincerely that she make use of the chains that her daughter kept in the basement.
His touchingly understanding, accepting manner, and his willingness to submit to such a thing to ensure Dawn’s safety, made up Joyce’s mind. There was no way that Spike would ever hurt Dawn. She could safely leave him here with her daughter, of that much she was sure.
And there would be no chains, she decided. She shuddered to think of what could happen if Buffy decided to return for what was hers, to find Spike chained and at her mercy.
No, she could not leave him here alone. Bound or free, he would be helpless to the Slayer’s attack without Dawn’s settling influence to help to steady him.
Joyce had end up calling home several times during the first couple of hours she had been at work, anxious in spite of herself, and wanting to make sure that everything was all right. But when every time she had found that it was, she had eventually relaxed and stopped calling, going about her work.
Now, as she took in the peaceful, comfortable scene before her, she wondered why she had been worried at all.
The television was on, quiet voices punctuated with a laugh track barely breaking the stillness of the scene. It was the only light in the room, so Joyce supposed that the exhausted pair had been asleep for some time.
Spike was sprawled on the sofa, his head resting on the back of it, his face turned toward her, peaceful and relaxed in sleep. Dawn was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder and her hand firmly clasping his – also sound asleep.
Joyce smiled with affection at her daughter’s clear determination to protect her friend through whatever means she could – even from himself. She wondered with a sad sort of feeling what mini-crises these two might have faced today, how difficult it might have been for Dawn to keep Spike from going to his own doom – but somehow she had managed it.
After putting Spike’s blood away in the kitchen, Joyce returned to the living room to cover them with a soft throw blanket, thinking it would be best not to wake them. She knew that Spike had to maintain contact with Dawn if he was going to stay calm and avoid falling prey to his own desires – and if they were going to have to be together all night, the living room sofa was the most appropriate choice.
As far as Joyce was concerned, it was the *only* choice.
After checking all the doors and windows, being sure that the house was safely secured for the night, Joyce turned off the television and made her way up the stairs to her own bedroom, satisfied. Tomorrow, she would go to the Magic Box, and hopefully she had put enough of the fear of Joyce Summers into Rupert Giles to make him come up with some answers by then.
But for tonight, she was done with worry, ready to allow herself to rest, confident in the knowledge that they were safe.
As she made her way up the stairs, she did not notice as her young daughter stirred restlessly in her sleep, unconsciously turning over to rest against the sofa, facing away from the oblivious sleeping vampire – her hand slipping unnoticed from his.
Buffy was trying to go to sleep. She really was.
But apparently, the “source of her power”, whatever *that* was, had other ideas.
She tossed and turned restlessly on the little cot that Giles had provided for her, trying to put the thoughts of her gorgeous blonde vampire across town out of her mind. She wanted him with a nearly feverish desperation, a need that was slowly consuming her from within.
She *burned* for him.
*And you can have him,* a voice whispered temptingly in her head, sounding suspiciously like her own.
She looked across the dimly lit room with longing at the keys to her chains, cruelly left just within her line of vision, on a little table across the room from her. Giles was sleeping in a sleeping bag in the store itself, the door to the training room mostly closed to allow her some privacy, but open just enough that he would hear her if she called him.
If the door was fully closed, he would not be able to hear her if she needed him, as it was semi-soundproof to disguise the sounds of her training sessions – and it would never do to have the Slayer chained up overnight in a soundproof room, where no one could hear her if something tried to attack her.
This *was* the Hellmouth, after all.
She was pretty sure that the keys left carelessly lying on the table had been an accident, and not, as it seemed at the moment, a deliberate attempt to torment her. She knew that there was really no chance of her getting herself free, should she lose enough control to want to.
Which was becoming a distinct possibility.
At any rate, the keys had been left far enough away from her that she would not be able to reach them without breaking her magically enhanced, unbreakable chains. And if she was able to manage a feat such as that – well, the keys themselves would be sort of a moot issue.
But as it was, the chains could only be opened with the keys, which were well out of her reach. Giles had probably not been terribly worried about where he left them, as long as she could not get to them.
He had been wrong not to worry.
A part of Buffy whispered insistently that she should call for Giles, wake him up and have him come and take the keys away. It would remove the temptation that was haunting her at the moment, demanding that she take advantage of the one opportunity to escape her bonds…
…the one opportunity Giles had failed to consider.
Buffy was trying desperately not to think about it herself. She desperately wanted to be with Spike – but she was terrified that if she was with him before they had found a way to control the rage within her, she would only end up hurting him.
*He’s yours,* the voice echoed again in her head. *You can do whatever you want with him…*
“No, Buffy,” she whispered aloud, shutting her eyes tight as she struggled to control the overwhelming desire that was pushing her to do what she knew she should not. “Don’t do it. You can’t. Don’t do it…”
*You can – just do it – he’s yours, there’s nothing to stop you…*
“No – I can’t hurt him again – I *won’t*!” She was just grateful that there was no one around to witness this latest evidence of the losing of her mind.
*Fight it, Buffy,* she told herself firmly, her eyes shut as she tried to concentrate on anything but her consuming, ever-strengthening desire for the vampire she had claimed – and the mental link that joined them.
*Fight it…*
The digital clock on the endtable read 10:35 when Spike awoke, very suddenly, from a deep, restful sleep – the first he had had in weeks. He glanced around the room for a few moments, blinking, disoriented, as he tried to figure out what it was that had awakened him. The room was perfectly silent. At his side, Dawn slept soundly, not moving or making a sound – and not touching him at all.
It was then that he felt it again – a strange sensation that he did not remember feeling, but instinctively knew was what had awakened him before – a twinge of feeling in the mark on his throat, not strong enough to be called pain – yet – but a slowly building burn that he knew only Buffy’s touch could relieve.
The longing for his claimant came over him with a fresh power, his suddenly overwhelming desire for her drawing him to get up, to leave – to find her. He somehow sensed that she was calling to him, was making him feel these things.
He had to go to her -- *had* to -- *now*!
*No,* something in him warned. *Don’t do it…you’re safe here…don’t blow it. Stay here…*
He glanced at Dawn, oblivious to his struggle as she innocently slept on. A part of him desperately wanted to wake her – and a part of him was intensely relieved that she was still asleep.
Her touch seemed to have the power to calm this need within him – to give him back some measure of control over his hijacked emotions. He wondered for a moment if it would work while she was sleeping – thought about just reaching out and taking her hand, to see if it could cool the rising fire of need within him.
But for some reason, he could not bring himself to do it. He told himself that it was not necessary, and anyway she probably had to be awake for it to work – and he did not want to wake her – but he knew the truth, deep down.
A part of him did not really *want* these emotions quelled.
The pressure of the call he could feel, drawing him to Buffy, mingling with the burning in her mark with his own natural desire for her, formed an almost irresistible force, and before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and heading toward the door, glancing anxiously back over his shoulder to be sure that Dawn was still asleep.
He didn’t want her waking up and trying to keep him from…
His hand froze on the doorknob, an instant away from leaving the safe shelter of the house, his eyes widening as he realized what he was about to do. Joyce and Dawn had gone to so much trouble to help him, to protect him from being hurt by Buffy again – and here he was about to deliberately walk back into harm’s way?
He swallowed hard as he was forced to ask himself the question – was it worth it?
Buffy had long since abandoned the cot, pushing it aside and resuming her frenetic pacing, though silently. Although something deep within her wanted to scream out in rage at the man sleeping in the next room, for restraining her like this, for keeping her from her mate – she knew that she was more likely to actually get what she wanted if he stayed asleep.
But why was she *not* getting what she wanted?
Her entire body was burning, shaking, writhing with a fever of need for Spike – her mate. Desperately she called him to her – but as of yet, he had made no response.
She could feel him, across the distance that separated them, feel the need he had for her, his desire to be with her and his reaction to the call she had sent out across the blood ties that bound them together. But she could also feel his doubt, his hesitation – and the fact that he was not moving any nearer to her – not yet.
She felt the uncertainty of his intentions – his debating whether or not to come to her at all.
She bit back a primal roar of fury, as at this distant act of defiance, the possessive force within her came surging to the forefront, intensifying the power of her call, demanding that her mate come to her as commanded, *now*!
Spike’s uneasy deliberations were cut short as the burning in his throat suddenly intensified to an excruciating level, and he choked back a cry of pain, nearly collapsing, desperately grasping onto the door in front of him for support as an overwhelming wave of powerful sensations swept over him, courtesy of his claimant.
He rested his head on the cool glass of the small angular window pain in the door, gasping in sharp, shaky breaths in an attempt to steady himself, while struggling at the same time to stay quiet, to not reveal his ordeal to the sleeping girl on the sofa.
He could feel Buffy’s fury, her indignant rage at the fact that he had not yet responded to her call – which was growing ever more powerful…and painful…by the moment. He wondered, fighting back a sick feeling of panic as his hand rose to cover his enflamed throat, if she could actually cause him to spontaneously combust from clear across town.
Because he felt like he was going to – and he knew that only her touch could soothe the scorching heat that engulfed him.
The sensitive flesh beneath his hand was shockingly hot to his own touch – and not the least bit soothed by the cool pressure he applied. A sense of cold apprehension settled in the pit of his stomach, roiling up in waves of nauseating fear. Suddenly, he very much wanted to stay here – as far from the enraged primal force that was controlling his mate as he could possibly get.
But it was too late for that.
He had no choice; his decision was suddenly made as he realized that the only way he would find any relief from the agony she had unleashed upon him was to go to her, to yield to her demands. Steeling himself to do what he knew he had to do, he slowly and deliberately opened the door, slipping out into the night, carefully closing and locking the door behind him.
Even now, he wanted to be sure that nothing happened to the two other most important women in his life.
As quickly as he could manage through the haze of flame that seemed to surround him, he made his way across town toward the Magic Box, though no one had told him that that was where Buffy was spending this night.
No one had to.
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