set me on fire and watched as I floundered
unable to speak
except to cry out
and wait for your answer
He couldn't really remember being someone other than Spike. Angel had always called him William, perhaps pleased that their Christian names were virtually the same. But other than the great git no one else dared to talk to him about the old Spike, the young boy.
It was all for the better anyway. Spike breathed in the night air, grateful for the fresh breeze which now flowed through the window. Everything was quiet except for the soft sounds that emanated from the other side of the bed. Her cheeks were dry now, lashes dark against pale skin that had been red from the night's events. Gods, he hadn't expected her to go so quiet. Dru would've yelled until all the men were outside their door. If he remembered correctly, Dru had enjoyed it all a little too much, taking the confrontation to extremes, but that didn't bear thinking about. Or at least hadn't until now.
Exactly what was he going to do with her? Spike had proposed the idea of mistress rather rashly. He knew it wouldn't be the girl's idea of solution but he had been half mad at the idea of Angel coming, still was if he wanted to be honest. The man could not have her, no matter what Drake said.
She's mine… But mine how? He turned onto his side and stared at her serene face. How she had managed to fall asleep next to him was anybody's guess.
A mistress was the last thing he needed.
The house was secure but trying to start something up with Riley would put them all in danger, and having Buffy at his side would not make it any easier. He allowed himself to smile as she shifted in her sleep, bottom lip jutting out to form a pout.
If he didn't know any better, Spike was sure that she could sleep for years. She would too, just to get away from me.
He'd never been much for introspection. His life had necessitated things that could never be looked at in the harsh light of day and the night's events were no different. She was his and he had taken her.
Then why did he feel the tiniest bit of regret?
Maybe it's because of Dru he thought reflexively. After all, that made sense. Losing her had been the last tie to any form of humanity and perhaps Buffy was awakening some small part of that old self.
She whimpered and he reached for her almost instantly, pulling her small frame into his arms, shushing the sleepy protests as she settled against his chest. She was a marvel in so many ways but all he could think of was her pleas from hours earlier.
Was this what it meant to be bewitched?
He allowed himself to relax, pondering the question until sunrise graced the sky. Hours later and he was only sure of one thing: he had no clue of what he was doing with her.
Beneath them, down in the second level of the mansion, Don stirred. The night had been far more productive for him. The first time in a while that he knew exactly what he was doing. Thinking only of his morning rituals, the man caressed the stubble on his jaw, not even noticing that his hands were covered in dry blood. I need a shave.
His arm was wrapped around the body of the girl, but it didn't matter. He barely considered any more than one would a piece of grass. She was no longer of use and thus unremarkable and worthless.
She didn't matter.
Not she, it, he mentally corrected, the corpse next to him was no longer a girl. A giddy feeling enthused him as he considered the fact. He had killed under all their noses without even being detected. It was a miracle. Or perhaps, just a small token of how much Spike and the others trusted him. Don grinned and fingered the gash on the side of her face. He'd been lazy and cut her there, not even caring when her screams escaped from the gag. She'd been fun, he thought, but then again what other purpose would a whore serve?
You could never love one.
Unbidden he considered the girl upstairs. No doubt Spike was giving her a good seeing to, teaching the slut a lesson about who was in charge. He didn't feel good about saving her from Warren anymore than you would remove a piece of road kill from the road. She was useful in keeping Spike preoccupied and until she stopped fulfilling that purpose, Don would let her live. He'd heard whispers though, of Spike wanting the whole thing to become more permanent and knew that would never do. He had his orders and they said that she had to go. The ink was still fresh from his tattoo and Don knew that no matter the personal risk he would follow through and deliver the girl to her death, Spike and the circle be damned.
He considered the dead girl's staring eyes as he stood up from the bed. He should've picked one with green and blonde hair. They were the wrong colour, blue like a calm ocean. Far too fucking blue for his tastes.
He'd picked her up the night before, after Warren had failed to satisfy him any longer. It was all in the screams or begging. The moment Warren had given in, Don had felt the fun go out of it. He couldn't stand to see the pathetic man there in the kitchens late at night, just waiting for his punishment. No they needed to fear him and the cross, in order for him to feel fully sated.
Last night the girl had become that person. He'd bought her from some pimp in Hell's Kitchen, enjoying the long drive back to the mansion, and with it her increasing fear. By the time he'd gotten her into the room, she was shaking, trying to dig up some courage for the paid for act. But her pimp knew better. Don had paid for keeps.
When he was finished the night sky had been graying and too tired to do anything else, he had laid down beside her, eyes falling peacefully closed as she choked on her gag. Spike had long since stopped patrolling and trusted him absolutely. It wasn't like Hunter would say anything either.
Only Wesley could truly get him into trouble.
Shifting as the morning glare hit his face, Don tried to ignore the smell. She had died violently and now the blood which he had so reveled in, coated the floor and bed. Breathing it in, Don tired to picture how he would get it out of the building without anyone seeing. It was frowned upon to bring back girls to the house, but then again, Spike had never actually forbade it either. It was just one of those things that went unmentioned. The other men took it for granted, sometimes bringing their girlfriends or hookers or boys in, all on the odd day off. But Don never had participated in that. He was clean. Unconsciously his hand brushed the back of his neck, the fresh ink still smarting. He'd joined a year ago but it took time to be fully initiated. The little cop entering his area had finally convinced them that Don was ready; ready and willing to carry out the cross' agenda to the bloodiest end.
He smiled as he heard the other men began to rise and begin their daily activities. It was the weekend and for most meant that their days of carousing could properly begin. Laughter echoed through the heavily bolted door as someone, probably Gunn, teased Hunter about having to baby-sit the bitch again.
He went to the basin to wash, uncaring as the dead girl fell onto the cold floor. He could leave her here. No one would dare search his rooms; especially not that little weasel Warren. A smile broke along Don's crooked features as he remembered the servant's cries of pain. The fool wouldn't touch the girl again.
She belongs to the cross.
Uncaring of the body, Don shoved it into the closet. She had been small, petite, but not the right hair colour. It was easy enough to imagine though.
He locked the door on his way out, humming to himself.
It was their room. Or at least as she looked at it, she could see that it was Masters' room. But instead of the cold vanity that she was used to, Spike's glass windows were placed in between, giving a view that led to nowhere.
Where am I?
She was naked. Her hands brushed the bruises around her neck and she twisted in order to see if he was in the room. The last person she wanted was to see Spike.
Luckily, she was alone. Buffy stepped onto the floor and winced as cold seeped into the pads of her feet. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt like this. I don't want to remember.
Buffy took another step forward, wondering where Warren was with the morning meal. And where were the locks on the door? Holes where the doorknobs normally would have been fitted gaped and the door itself was cracked.
Had they been attacked? Had Drake finally come to get her? She crept now, hands reaching out in front of her, as the windows shattered. And then she felt him.
"Riley."
Where have you been Buffy? He sounded the same as ever, country and calm, even as everything around her was shifting, changing irrevocably. But still she couldn't see him, just a looming shadow that seemed to suck all the remaining air out of the room.
But his lips were on her now, questioning and demanding something that she couldn't quite give; at least not anymore.
His words were a constant litany, washing over her deaf ears. I was so worried. I thought you were dead. Why didn't you call? Why didn't you get out in time? You're just a little girl and you can't protect yourself.
He lifted her like a doll and set her on the chair till they were the same height. She could never be this big without his help.
His face was marred, like someone had placed a brand upon the untouched skin until it burned into the bone. Someone had finally seen how ugly he could be. Buft Riley didn't notice, mouth moving awkwardly.
You need me, he kept saying. Without me they would never pick you, never think you were special enough to do anything. And then he was sighing, as though weight had been pressed down onto his back and he could barely move. And I love you Buffy. I love you so much it hurts. Why don’t you love me back?
She gaped at him, at the floor as he swept her down to size.
Maybe you can't love. It happens.
He was adamant, voice reasoning even as she felt herself growing smaller, like someone had fed her a potion or was it a cookie? Her whole body seemed to grow cold, toes becoming numb as frost gathered on the shattered glass.
Riley was silent now, imposing. And still that shadow hung behind him.
When had he become her father? When had this relationship become so confining? She looked up again, and this time her eyes could not reach his face unless she tilted her head straight up to the ceiling. He was so tall.
He reminded her of a soldier, his eyes hooded beneath a wealth of brown wavy hair that looked like he had stepped out of a combat zone. Blood was smeared along his left cheek and he looked angry. The burn was gone now and she felt oddly sad about that. It had been the one thing honest about him. And yet it was all so familiar. She cried as he grabbed hold of her, that bruising, infamous grip reminding her of exactly why she had wanted to leave. Her engagement ring swung from the chain around his neck as he pulled her against him, chest muffling her screams.
Hush Buffy. You're safe. I've come to save you… even if you don't deserve it.
But it's not you that I want, she screamed. And then stumbled as he pushed her away.
Is it me then? Angel reached for her hand, brooding face cloaked in a mask of darkness. Where had all the light gone? Why was there such a large shadow behind him too?
I don't know, she replied. I don’t know anything anymore. You were what I wanted once upon a time. You made me feel like I could do it, be the hero. She paused. But you weren't there when I needed you. She stood firm as he stared at her. Riley still sat in the background, his large frame crushing the chair beneath him. But it was Angel towering over her now and she trembled as his hands seemed to pull her apart, as though he was grasping not just at her skin but at her innocence as well.
I can't be there for you. You know that. His voice was heavy but his lips didn't move, one side of his face frozen as though in the grip of a mask. I'll never be able to truly help you. He pointed over her shoulder, and then she felt the hate fall over her, dirtying the air. She knew without looking that it was Spike. Somehow no matter where she turned, all her routes and paths and exits led to that man.
Angel seemed to share her feelings. You're a queen in the making. He's just a poet. He'll only ruin you Buffy. Mark my words. Willy's going to ruin you for us all.
Buffy woke in a cold sweat, hands unconsciously reaching for the empty space where Spike had been during the night.
"You know she's here. What I need is for you all to make her feel less like a hostage and more…" he paused trying to find the right word. Requests were not his strong point, orders were more simple and more definite. "I guess the word 'm looking for is comfortable. She needs to at least tolerate us if we're to get anywhere with Angel. And I don’t enjoy any stupid bint kicking up a fuss, no matter what Drake said about makin' her miserable."
Gunn laughed at that one, his eyes crinkling with amusement as the rest of the men exchanged glances. More than one was obviously unnerved. Spike could understand the feeling, he was changing the game on them by not killing her and letting the Captain discover the small pieces left of her body.
He couldn't help the sense of horror which rose in his throat at the thought of killing her.
He'd called the meeting early, knowing that many of the men would already be gone to enjoy what was a rare break in a long schedule. He had only his top six men in the room, Wesley having been admitted on the small concession that he not say a word. Don't trust the blighter with a lighter.
"'ve decided that we need a proper strategy for the chit and for New York," said Spike loudly. "Buffy's worth more to us alive. And I doubt that Riley wants Buffy as much as he wants his own force-"
"But she's his girl," argued James. He sat at the back of the room, his chair turned to the side as though he was not really all that interested. All for appearance's sake.
"'M not willing to risk throwing her into the river to see if he comes running." Spike rolled his arms, muscles straining against the tight blue collared shirt that he wore. "Fiancées come and go, but power is forever, or some such rot, I just know it's not the best play." He waited until everyone nodded before continuing.
"That doesn't mean we can't use the threat of her death to mess with the Captain's head mind you. I don't fancy giving the wanker everything just because he's got the ear of the mayor."
"Then what are we going to do?"
"Intimidate the sod," Spike replied evenly. He kept his voice soft as he outlined the strategy, trying not to grin when one man would make a darker suggestion. Within an hour they had created a plan worthy of cartoon villains and maniacal laughs, but still he didn't feel quite right and leaving the bedroom had only worsened his mood. For the small amount of hours that he had held her sleeping form in his arms, he had felt the strangest sense of peace.
"You've heard Wesley's report already" he snapped, moving onto other business and not bothering to acknowledge the other Englishman as he nodded at the comment. Good, keep silent you wanker. "What I want now are some strategies to deal with Angel. We can't just have that tosser doing as he likes."
"We could shadow him," Hunter offered. "He'll bring his own men of course." No one looked at Wesley, but Hunter's words were enough. "But, I reckon that he won't like me watching at three in the morning, even with the protection."
"But we don't want to piss him off, that's the point isn't it?" Gunn had been there nearly as long as Hunter but the older man was wrong, and pretending that angering Angel would solve anything was pure stupidity.
"I want him angry" Spike admitted. "I want the bugger to be so fucking mad that he makes an idiot of himself and proves to Drake how useless he really is", Spike took a claming breathe, "but we all know that that won't happen. No" he muttered turning his back on the men in the room, "what we need is for Angel to reveal himself to Buffy."
"Why do we care about her?" Don shook at the other men turned to stare at him incredulously. He had slid into the room a little after the others, clean-shaven but still smelling of the girl.
He gasped as Spike stalked quickly across the room, his forearm connecting with Don's windpipe.
"You care because I care, gottit? If any of you have a problem with my mistress you best speak your piece now! Spike didn't remove his strong hold on Don. The man had already spoken as far as he was concerned.
"He gets it boss." Hunter was at Spike's side now, pulling at the iron muscles until Spike finally released the larger man. The rest of the men had filed out silently, their good mood ruined by yet another of Don's unwelcome questions.
Don fell to the ground gasping. He could barely see from the lack of blood flow to his brain and didn't register the kick into his gut as Spike forced him out of the room.
"What's happening to you?" Hunter had waited behind, not wanting to let Spike get off without properly explaining himself. They were friends first, no matter the chains of command.
"What do you mean?" Spike moved towards the liquor cabinet, hands shaking at the force of his rage. Hunter didn’t wait to speak as he poured himself a drink.
"That," Hunter said as though assuming that such a description was enough. "Throttling Don, planning to torture Riley… we've never acted like this before," Hunter continued.
"Do what I have to," Spike responded bitterly. "'M in the inner circle and that demands things more than just murder and the odd spot of violence. No matter the reasons for doing it. We're competing against Angel and Drake, Hunter, not just the Captain. An'" he said faltering, "it may be getting to me just a little."
"Well you need to find some way to deal with it," Hunter said in frustration. "And when were you going to tell me about keeping the girl?"
"When I told everyone else!" Spike whirled around to face the much taller man. His face was red with anger and just a hint of hurt. In many ways Hunter was more of a best friend than lieutenant. "It's my bloody business after all! The bint just gets to me, in a good way" he added when Hunter again opened his mouth to speak, "and after Dru, I never thought that a woman would make me feel anything." He paused, chest heaving with the depth of his emotion. Even when Buffy wasn't in the room she was still twisting his thoughts and emotions until he was more confused than ever. "An' yeah I want her to be my mistress, but that's just to piss off the great poof. I don't care for the chit any more than you for any of the girls that you drag home."
Hunter nodded, trying to hide his disbelief. He didn't care for her but still felt emotions similar to when he had been with Dru? Spike was insane! And just a little contradictory Hunter thought sarcastically. Spike probably didn't know what he was feeling, but it wasn't apathy. Still Hunter could go along and pretend, if it made Spike feel better.
"If that's all it is-"
"That's all it bloody is," Spike assured him, for some strange reason desperate that someone would believe in him, as though it would give him strength to believe the words himself.
Got to change the subject.
"There's such a thing as soft power, Hunter." Spike said. "Imagine her as a willing mistress, Angel buggered and belittled on an ongoing basis, Riley shamed and humiliated, just a puppet on a string. If I show up with the chit on my arm and without her sounding off any alarms, that'll go a lot farther than just going in guns blazing."
"I agree," Hunter said quietly. "What I don't get is the whole Angel thing."
"I'm not going to explain everything," Spike admonished, fed up at having to say so much already. "He wants her, simple as that. And I hate him so he can't bleeding well have her."
He didn't add that there was the small case of Dru, the man already knew that without the words actually being spoken. "Angel thinks he can just pretend that I wasn't given New York. Add that to the fact that Buffy was his undoing and the Poof is all but willing to start a war… The circle is only strong as the members in it and Masters' death hasn't ended the sodding subterfuge, no matter what you and the others may think."
"What are we going to do then?" asked Hunter worriedly. Alone he could express the mutual fears that were no doubt keeping the Brit up at night as well.
"I don't know." His head had somehow leaned downwards until his hands propped it up. When had he ever felt peace? With Buffy .
"Act like we're above it. You keep Riley guessing about Buffy and I'll handle the Poof. He's visiting for Drake but beyond that it's nothing more than him trying to stir the pot. Enough women and drugs and hopefully the blighter will sod off again."
"You hope," said Hunter.
"We all better bloody well pray that he does," responded Spike. "I need Buffy to see things differently and without him around, that'll be far easier."
"About that," Hunter said, his hand leaning against the door as though he was about to leave. "I never remember having any information on her before Masters came undone."
"That's because there was none. One of her own side gave her up. I still don’t know who it is, but I'm sure that Angel's got something to do with it. How else could he have got to her so quickly? I think Drake's suspicious himself… Masters hadn't even turned around and Angel was already twisting the girl 'round his finger."
"Maybe she didn't know" Hunter offered as Spike stared down at the floor. What is this girl doing to him? "About the informant I mean… Angel certainly wouldn’t have told her about the threat on her life."
"'ve thought the same myself" Spike admitted. "She had no bleeding clue what I was talking 'bout last night. He paused, guilt seeping in again as he remembered what had happened after their conversation. "I don’t want to tell her m'self either. Chit's going through enough as it is."
Hunter didn't know what to say anymore. Spike looked weary from their discussion, his eyes no longer willing to meet Hunter's.
"I heard you wanted me to take her today?"
"No" Spike said softly. It would be easier. "I'll take her. Me and the girl have some arrangements to make."
Hunter nodded. Buffy probably still wasn't keen on the whole mistress arrangement. The girl's nothing but trouble. "Where are you taking her today?"
Spike turned, his hand now on the doorknob. "The fields" he said, "Wesley told me the chit likes to ride."