Spike stared at the Slayer in disbelief, wondering if she had really said what he thought she’d just said – but not really daring to believe it, no matter how badly he wanted to.
“How?” he managed finally in a hoarse whisper, his eyes searching hers with an aching look of desperation and longing.
He wanted so badly for it to be true…was it possible…?
“I don’t know, Spike,” she admitted softly, her hand rising to tenderly caress his cheek before drifting down to rest gently on his shoulder. “I really don’t know how I did it. I just know – I knew what I was doing, and I couldn’t seem to stop it, but I hated it so much! So I just – fought it – tried so hard…I can’t even explain it, really. But – but I managed to push back all that – that rage, the violence that was in control of me – and now *I’m* the one in control.”
*Yes,* Spike thought dubiously, looking away from her, trying to conceal his doubt. *But for how long?*
He believed that she *thought* she had won – and perhaps she had, temporarily – but he knew better than to think that the ultimate victory over the force that was controlling her could possibly be so simple.
“I don’t know.”
The soft, apologetic admission that Buffy made in response to his unspoken question took him by surprise, and he looked back up at her sharply, unable to hide the spark of fear in his eyes. He had almost forgotten that she could hear his thoughts. Again, he felt a trapped sense of helplessness, reminded of the fact that there truly was no escape from her control.
Her eyes softened, welling with tears as their link also revealed these feelings and thoughts to her, and she was overwhelmed with guilt again.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hands moving slowly up and down his arms in a gentle, reassuring motion. “All those things I said – what I did to you – Spike, I’m so sorry!”
He believed that she was in control for the moment – but that did not mean that he felt safe to speak his mind just yet. There was no guarantee that the force she had managed to just subdue for the first time, if -- *when* -- it returned, would not punish him for any disrespect or defiance he showed now, while Buffy was in control.
“ ‘S all right,” he said in a soft, low voice, his eyes averted to hide the shame, the tears, that her gentle sympathy now brought flooding back to the surface. “You couldn’t help it, love.”
“But I could have,” she corrected him softly. “I could have never done this to you. I could have told Giles that I wasn’t gonna do it. I could have left well enough alone, Spike, like you said.” She paused, before adding very quietly, “You were right."
For another long moment he just stared at her, incredulous, slowly shaking his head before lowering it again, as he began to laugh softly, a bitter, ironic note to the sound.
"What?" Buffy asked with quiet concern in hr voice, frowning -- because there was certainly nothing happy about Spike's laughter at the moment. "What is it?"
"Nothing, Slayer," he finally replied quietly, his shoulders still shaking as he met her eyes again. "It's just that -- never thought I'd hear you bloody say a thing like that!"
She smiled uncertainly, not sure if she should feel relief at his explanation or not. It made sense; admitting that he was right was not very Buffy-like behavior. But his emotions just seemed so precarious at the moment; she knew he was not at all okay, and possibly on the edge of a complete emotional meltdown.
A moment later, he proved her right, his smile fading as he added, "Somehow not as bloody satisfying as I thought it'd be." His shoulders shook again with silent, joyless laughter at his own words.
And then, before either of them could prepare for it, in an instant, the laughter had turned to sobbing. Tears streamed down the blonde's face, as he doubled over, gasping for breath through the sobs that choked him.
Instinctively, Buffy put her arm around him, pulling him close to her in a steadying embrace, her heart breaking with the weight of what she had done. Her arms were tentative, unsure; after all that had happened, she longed to comfort him, but was not sure if he wanted to be comforted -- not by her.
Spike was unresisting -- but that meant nothing at the moment. At what point since she had claimed him had he been made to believe that he had the *choice* to resist at all? He felt so tense againt her, and his body was shaken with violent shudders of emotion. She thought it was from his crying -- but she had to be sure.
"Spike," she whispered into his ear, knowing he could hear her despite his anguished sobs. "I know I'm probably the last person you want touching you right now. I'm so sorry. I wish I could undo it -- but I can't. And -- and everything inside me is just crying out and telling me over and over again that -- that you're *mine*, and I should be making this better. I want so bad to be here for you -- to protect you -- to do *something* to make this right! I really want to be here for you, Spike -- but I won't force you to let me. If you want me to -- I'll just back off and leave you alone."
He did not respond at all, but she felt him flinch a little against her at the words – and Buffy felt a cold chill go down her spine as she thought she realized why.
He did not want her to touch him – but he was too afraid to say so.
She pulled back slowly, swallowing back a sob of her own at the perceived rejection, though she knew it was well-deserved. She couldn’t blame him a bit if he never wanted to see her again, after the way she had treated him.
And he was bound to her for the rest of her life.
But then, she was startled as his hands reached out, suddenly grasping her arms in a strong but trembling grip, holding her to him desperately.
“No,” he whispered through his tears, without lifting his head from her shoulder. “No, Buffy – please, I need you!”
His desperate, nearly panicked plea tore at her heart, and she immediately pulled him close to her again, moving backward so that her back was to the wall, and just holding him in her arms for a long time as he sat there beside her and cried it out. Even after his sobs had subsided and he seemed to have regained control, she just held him, her hand moving slowly up and down his back in a soothing motion. For a long time, they just sat there in silence, taking comfort in each other.
Because beyond all the pain and turmoil of their frightening situation, one fact remained – they were mated, and neither would ever feel truly complete again without the other.
“I feel like such a pathetic git,” Spike finally said, his voice hoarse and raspy with the tears he had just shed. “Bloody ‘master vampire’! Bawling on the shoulder of the Slayer, no less! Some monster *I* turned out to be!” His voice was full of self-derision, as he added in a low mutter, “Bleedin’ ponce!”
Buffy was silent, her hand playing idly through his hair, offering him silent comfort as she stared off into space.
*And I’m the monster who brought the monster to tears,* she thought, her eyes widening with horrified realization.
“Feel free to jump in any time and correct me,” Spike said dryly, without lifting his head from where it rested on her shoulder – calling her attention back to the conversation and out of her morose thoughts.
She could not help but laugh, in spite of their situation, at his ever-present sarcasm. Still, the sound was subdued, controlled – her heart was too heavy to allow much more.
“It’s just the claim, Spike,” she reminded him gently. “It makes you care more than you should about what I think, and it gives me power over you. If it wasn’t for the claim, you’d be trying your best to kick my butt across this room right now.” She paused, considering for a moment, before adding with a shrug and a teasing smile, “You’d be *losing* -- but you’d be giving it your best shot!”
“Thanks,” he said flatly, her words only earning a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “You’re so encouraging, Slayer. What would I do without you?”
She did not respond, only swallowed hard, her smile fading – and Spike fell silent, too, as the unspoken, unintentional implications of his words sank in for them both.
“So,” Spike finally broke the silence again, lifting his head from her shoulder, but still content to lean against her, enjoying the rare pleasure that was his claimant’s affectionate embrace. “while you were mentally kicking this invisible nasty’s arse across your mind and back – did you happen to get a good look at it? Any clue as to what it is?”
Buffy did not respond at all for a moment, considering how best to answer the question. Finally, she shook her head. “I just don’t know,” she admitted softly, her voice heavy with concerns she was afraid to voice. “I just – I just don’t even know how to explain it, Spike. It feels like – like it’s *me* -- or – a *part* of me – but…”
Suddenly, she pulled back a bit, causing the vampire to lift his head from her shoulder as she turned slightly to face him, wanting to see his eyes and make sure that he understood what she was trying to tell him. “…but, Spike – I *didn’t* want to do it! I promise you I didn’t! It’s like – like it just takes me over, and I can’t seem to make it stop, but I know what I’m doing the whole time too. And – and this last time, I managed to stop it – to control it somehow…”
His expression was calm, unreadable, as he focused on her, listening carefully to what she was saying, his expression revealing nothing.
Buffy went on, struggling awkwardly to put it into words. “It doesn’t feel so much like something else taking me over, as it does – a *part* of me that I can’t control – at least, not without a major fight. But I know I haven’t always been like this. It’s like – a *new* part of me – but – still me, you know?”
She studied Spike’s expression hopefully for a moment, before looking down with a heavy sigh of defeat. “And – this makes absolutely no sense – does it? I know you can’t understand it if I can’t explain it right or understand it myself…”
“Actually, love,” Spike interrupted, speaking slowly, his voice stronger now, and full of dawning realization. “it *does* make sense. In fact, it sounds kind of – familiar.” He paused, his eyes taking on a cautious light of excitement as he started to put a few of the pieces together.
There was a gentle sarcasm in his voice as he added, “Oh, no, love – no way in the world would *I* understand the concept of having a scary, dangerous part of yourself that likes to come out and revel in violence and torture – and having to fight to keep it under control all the time.”
He gave his words a moment to sink in before shaking his head, his eyes wide and innocent as he dead-panned, “No. Can’t relate.”
Buffy felt a cold fear clench around her stomach as she realized what it was that he was suggesting. “So you’re saying – maybe it’s like – your demon? A part of you, but…” She stopped, shaking her head, looking away suddenly – but not before he saw the rising terror in her eyes.
“*No*,” she stated emphatically. “No, I am *not* part demon! That’s just – just ridiculous! I…”
Her voice trailed off when she felt him tense up again under her arm that was still wrapped around him, and realized that she was making him nervous with her rising agitation. She deliberately softened the sharp edge to her tone, her fingers tracing a light, reassuring caress up and down his arm as she finished quietly. “No. That can’t be it.”
A moment’s silence passed, and she felt Spike relax against her again, before he asked in a thoughtful voice, “What did your Watcher have to say? Did he have anything useful to contribute for a change?” His tone suggested that he highly doubted it.
Buffy shook her head. “Nope,” she sighed. “Not really. He left a message for the Watcher’s Council, but they haven’t called him back yet…” She looked back up at him with sudden interest, remembering that there *was* something she could offer him in the way of semi-useful developments.
“Oh!” she said brightly, though the cheer didn’t reach the expression on her face. “We *do* know how this happened to me, I guess – sort of. We even know what it is…” She paused, before admitting with an apologetic look, “Sort of.”
Spike frowned in confusion, giving her an expectant look as she went on, “See – there was more than just the ritual involved. Willow did a spell…”
“Well, *that’s* never good,” Spike muttered, rolling his eyes in irritation.
Buffy played the good friend, although she completely agreed, and ignored his comment as she continued, “She did this spell…it was supposed to free you from the chip so that you could fight me. But – it also set something else free. The wording was something like, ‘release the source of their power’. So – whatever is making me act this way – I guess is the – the source of my power? The thing that makes me the…” Her voice suddenly trailed off and she frowned, as she met his eyes again, and saw the wide-eyed look of shock and apprehension on his face.
“What?” she asked, her voice suddenly very small, uncertain.
“Buffy – I know what it is – and you’re not gonna like it,” Spike began cautiously. “I wasn’t gonna say anything unless I was sure…”
“*What*?” she gasped. “Tell me!”
“Your Watcher already contacted the Council?” he asked, his tone dark and troubled.
“He left a message for them,” she repeated, a bit impatiently. “But it’s like, a huge time difference from here to there, so he’s just waiting for them to call him back.”
“They won’t,” he stated flatly, and something in his tone sent a shiver of fear down her spine. He pulled away from her arm and climbed to his feet as he explained, “They’ll just show up. We have to get out of her, Slayer. *Now*.”
“Spike…”
“Who knows when they got that message? They could be on their way here right now,” he went on, lost in his own thoughts as he headed toward one of several weapons chests she kept in this room, crouching down in front of it and searching for suitable items to arm them both.
“*Spike*!” Buffy was on her feet by now, heading toward him.
He grabbed a sleek little dagger with a deadly edge, tucking it into his belt, his mind racing with too many worries to notice as she came up behind him. “I’ll tell you everything once we get going, Buffy, but they’re gonna be looking to take you out, and…”
“What are you saying?” she demanded in incredulous disbelief. “Are you saying that the Council would deliberately *try* to kill me?” As she spoke, she grew impatient with the bits and pieces of information she was slowly getting, and grabbed his arm, pulling him up away from the weapons and turning him around to face her.
He was impatient himself in his worry, and without thinking he jerked away from her hand. “Buffy, we don’t have time for this, we have to…”
His words were cut off in an instant by an iron hand around his throat, spinning him around and slamming him forcefully into the wall – pinning him there. He struggled for a moment instinctively – until she moved in closer, one eyebrow raised over a little smile of amusement, but a warning look in her eyes – her grip on his throat unyielding.
The silent message was clear.
She found his resistance amusing at first, in it’s futility – but she was quickly ceasing to be amused.
He froze, closing his eyes in a little grimace of pain, acknowledging his mistake, though she would not ease up on his throat enough to allow him to speak.
*Please, Buffy…please…please…*
She smiled coldly, pleased by his words – unaware that he did not mean them as they sounded. He was not begging for mercy – but for *his* Buffy, the one who cared for him and treated him with kindness and hated the way *this* Buffy treated him, to fight for all she was worth.
At the moment, if she was fighting at all – she seemed to be losing.
The Slayer pressed in nearer to him, pressing slightly harder on his throat, cutting off his oxygen completely. He did not need it to survive, but he still maintained the habit of breathing – had ever since his turning. Not being allowed to breathe had him on the verge of panic, gasping uselessly in a residual, very human fear. His pleading eyes met hers – and he knew immediately that she knew this, whether she had read it in his thoughts, or simply figured it out – and she was enjoying his fear.
*Buffy…Buffy…hurry…please…*
Misunderstanding – thankfully – the cruel creature wearing Buffy’s face smiled, her eyes glittering with anger and menace as she moved in closer, her grip not easing a bit, as her thumb started to rub a slow, lazy circle about an inch above her mark.
He felt his knees weaken beneath him, and struggled to maintain his footing. The spot she was touching was not the sensitive mark she had left there – but it was close enough to send a shudder of sensation through him.
*Buffy…please…*
“Don’t try to rush *me*!” she hissed in a threatening whisper. “We’ll leave when I *say* we’ll…”
He opened his eyes, anxious and hopeful, when her words suddenly cut off, and he felt her hand slacken a bit on his throat. Buffy’s eyes were closed in a frown of what appeared to be intense concentration or pain, and she took a step back away from him, releasing him completely.
“Buffy,” he gasped out, wincing slightly at the effort, his hand rising unconsciously to his sore throat. “Come on, love – fight it back!”
She shook her head, backing up another step away from him, and he noticed with alarm that she was swaying dangerously on her feet.
It was pure instinct that drove him to her side, gentle but strong hands beneath her arms, holding her up the instant before she would have collapsed. He knew that there was a good chance Buffy would lose the battle for control and proceed to hurt him again – but she was his mate, and she needed him.
And that was all that mattered.
He hoped uneasily that she would not lose consciousness. If Buffy passed out this time like she had last time, then it would take them even longer to get away – and if his theory as to what was happening was correct, they did not have much time.
“Come on, baby,” he said softly, his lips a whisper away from her ear. “Come on, love, stay with me…come on…” he coaxed her gently, as her head lolled back slightly then forward sharply, and she allowed his hands to hold most of her weight.
Finally, her breathing evened out again, and she slowly raised her head to look at him, her eyes hazy and distant. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for her to speak and let him know who exactly he was facing.
“Spike?” she whispered uncertainly, fear and concern in her tearful green eyes – and he knew that it was *his* Buffy that had returned to him this time. “Did I – are you – are you okay?”
And *he* nearly collapsed, shaking hard with relief, gasping for breath as he lowered his head slightly to touch hers, as he whispered in a voice of immense relief, “Yeah, pet…I’m all right…I’m all right…” He looked up at her, eyes shining with awe and adoration. “You did it, love. You beat it again…”
“It – wasn’t as hard that time,” she said, her voice still quiet and weak with exertion. “I – I’m conscious,” she shrugged slightly, with a little quirk of her lips.
He could not help but laugh, nodding. “That you are, fortunately,” he agreed with a smile. “It should get easier,” he added, his expression becoming more solemn as he nodded again.
The knowing sound of his voice made her frown, remembering. “Spike,” she began hesitantly, holding his gaze intently. “Do you know what’s happening to me?”
He looked at her for a moment before replying simply, “I do. But Buffy – please trust me, pet, we have to get out of here, *now*. I promise I’ll tell you everything once we’re somewhere where those bloody wankers won’t look for us, but I’m telling you they’re coming after you and they don’t want to help you. Okay?”
Buffy studied his expression for a long moment, as if trying to decide how much trust to place in his word, in his theories. Finally, she nodded slowly, a look of resolution in her eyes.
“All right,” she agreed quietly, reaching toward the weapons chest herself. “Let’s go.”
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