[Reviews - 107]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2287 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Beta'd by Slackerace
No days you can borrow
No time you can buy
No trust in tomorrow
It's a lie

There was a time, a century plus of time, when Spike would have scoffed at the notion he might enjoy warmed pig’s blood. Who could savour reheated food from a sterile cup when you could work up an appetite with a hunt? Feel the blood pumping into your mouth, spiced with fear and adrenalin? Now, warm blood was the stuff of fantasy, even if it came from a plastic bag and a microwave, and the vampire couldn't stop his mouth watering as Buffy neatly snipped the top off a second bag.

Now, a meal he didn't have to beg or perform for was so close to being an impossibility that he wanted to be suspicious, would have been suspicious, but the smell rising from the empty mug in front of him and the hope of seconds drove nearly every other thought from his head.

If he'd ever thought about it - and he'd pondered on the Slayer plenty back when he'd had choices and free will and thought William the Bloody was the biggest bad in town - he’d not have pegged her as the sadistic type. Had always known she'd shared the enjoyment he felt when fighting her, the challenge of meeting a real equal. Had almost gone as far as regretting that it was a dance that had to end sooner or later with her death, because they'd fought so well together they'd both deserved to win.

That was before he'd come to realise how humans could be predators as well as prey. Could take that victory to such extremes even an evil vampire had his stomach turned, as well as his body broken. And now they weren't equals. She held the upper hand as surely as he'd done with every helpless girl he'd ever cornered in a dark lonely place, and he was the victim whose best hope was the quick death she didn't seem inclined to give him.

Spike had spent the last week waiting to be sold again, with only the occasional menial task around the warehouse to occupy him. He'd not spent the time wondering what his next buyer would be like, because he knew full well what to expect. When action was impossible and pain inevitable it did little good to wonder what form of torture was coming your way. Given enough time, even a change of tormentor was a holiday, and maybe if he'd had even that much choice Spike would have said he preferred the humiliation of slavery to the nerve wracking waiting in that hellish place filled with screams that no longer turned him on.

The evils of men were easy for a vampire to understand - the cruelty of the individual - but the institutionalized brutality of that demon trading place was something beyond him. And though he should have been used to it by now, the number of times he'd been displayed and resold, somehow this stint had seemed harder and Spike was truly starting to wonder if he was losing his mind.

A young girl, whom Spike would have sworn he'd never seen before and would have eaten if he had, had called out to him as if he was her saviour. And even though the scars he'd received for allowing her to escape were still fresh all over his body, he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined her. If he hadn't daydreamed daring to stand up to the guards, and fabricated in his own mind resistance that he was no longer capable of, after so long trying to stay quiet, obey the rules as best he could and never call attention to himself. And now he was sitting in the Slayer's kitchen as she made him dinner, which could surely be nothing but a fevered dream.

He'd felt surprise as he overheard from the guards that his potential new buyer was a woman, but hope had long been quashed in him and he'd expected nothing better than a slightly different form of torture. When the first tingle of Slayer had hit his senses and he'd scented the more personal signature of the girl he'd always considered his Slayer, he'd been so surprised he'd broken the no eye contact rule. The face that met his had been grim and angry and made Spike realise with a shiver that the change might be no good thing; he got the distinct impression that the reason she was there was intensely personal.

So he clung to the hope that she might kill him because it seemed the best option. But despite the aggression in her every movement as they'd left, she'd still made no move towards him - not even raised a hand to him though he'd seen those hands twitch with the effort of restraint. And instead of telling him what she wanted from her new slave, or what gruesome fate he had in store, she'd babbled nonsense about a sister he knew she didn't have.

And she'd thrown his tiny, horrible world into confusion.

Not that Spike was stupid enough to argue with her. Even if the habit of silence hadn't been so ingrained he could hardly shift it when told he would have retained the sense not to remind her of their past. How he'd stalked her for the kill, filmed her fighting, kept careful tabs on her family and friends. Invaded her home, twice, and seen with his own eyes and senses that she'd only had a mother.

Better sense than to remind her of what a threat he'd once been, and better sense than to take her at her word and ask any of the questions bubbling in his brain. The only question that had ever garnered him a straight answer these past few years was 'how are you going to hurt me;' and even if he was brave enough to want to know the answer, he seemed to have fallen through a wormhole where nothing she said made much sense.

Blood was simple though and as she placed the second mug in front of him he took the gesture as permission enough. Whatever game this might be, she could not later take back the feeling of having a full stomach for the first time in as long as he could remember. His eyes followed her back to the fridge and he realised she was already preparing a third mug. She turned suddenly and caught him looking.

"This is the last one, yeah? So you might want to slow down, savour it a little."

Last one for now or the last one ever? The vampire didn't know and didn't dare ask. He didn't take her advice either. Downing this half pint as quick as the first two, he could feel the blood warming through and it was a strange feeling after so long on begged scraps. Wounds that had stayed open and itching for days were already starting to close and Spike wondered if he was being repaired as a fresh canvass. Because that's what life had been to him for so long now; there had to be a huge comeuppance on the way for this current bounty.

The Slayer was looking at him with an expression he hadn't seen on anyone for years and never directed at him; he thought it might be pity but wasn't ready to believe this would lead to clemency. When she started asking him questions he answered automatically, waiting for the thing he could say that would cause her to punish him but the girl merely frowned as he dared a complaint about the conditions in which he was kept. Suddenly tired of waiting for her to strike, he said: "That your game, Slayer?"

She frowned again and he looked down again, bracing himself for impact. No amount of conditioning could have stopped him staring in disbelief as she sat down beside him and told him she was trying to help. The Slayer was still talking, quiet and serious, but Spike wasn't really taking the words in and when she touched his arm in a manner almost comforting he reacted more than he would do to a blow. Confused and scared, he rose up violently and made his stand with more courage than he'd felt for a long time. Maybe it was the belly full of blood, or maybe that this girl, and this place, reminded him of how fearless he'd once been. Lent him strength to speak his mind with a passion he hadn't let loose in years.

"Stop it, Spike."

Again and again using his name as if that's who he still was, and although he railed against it verbally, he could already feel uncontrollable tears prickling behind his eyelids. The shouting drained him, defiance dissipating as quickly as it had arrived and leaving him clutching at the table for support as the tears started to flow. He'd lied when he said she couldn't make it worse because he hadn't cried for as long as he could remember, tears meant emotions and he'd been forced to give those up somewhere along the line.

And the Slayer was talking again, her voice earnest and friendly but the huge concept of hope was too much for him to take in right then so the vampire went back to what he knew.

"So you're not going to beat me for breaking the cup?"





You must login (register) to review.