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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry for the long wait guys, just been through a really rough patch with my boyfriend, not the best thing to inspire creativity to write fanfic based around a pairing! But me and him are more than fine now so I’m back on the clock!



Buffy’s head shot up to look at him.

As if it would make her feel more at ease he reached down and stripped off his own top first. In fact it did the exact opposite, and Buffy panicked. Outside she didn’t move a muscle, but inside her body was screaming for her to make another run for it, even if the last time didn’t get her anywhere.

“We’re gonna catch pneumonia otherwise, luv…And your clothes are caked in mud.” he said reaching out to her as if to do it for her. She pulled back immediately in answer that she’d do it herself, but then stopped.

He knew why. “I’m not turning ‘round, pet. You’re just gonna have to blush and bare it.”

She felt sick to her stomach at that point, and she wanted to cry, but she bit her lip to stop herself from doing so. She turned around so that her back was to him, took a deep breath and pulled her blue shirt over her head.

Luckily when she began to slide down her skirt and thick tights he did look away, but only to locate a chair, and then he dragged it across to her. Seeing she was now only in a practically see-through crop top and her underwear, both of which had escaped the mud onslaught, he decided she could stay as she was and told her to sit. Buffy felt like a dog, but she did as she was told and he began the laborious task of tying her up again with more strips of shirt. She was too tired to fight him, and he knew it.

Suddenly she shivered and he sighed. “I’ll get you one of my shirts.” he said not even looking at her; he just got up, gathered her clothes and walked out of the room. She heard a beep coming from the kitchen from what she assumed was the washing machine, and then the inevitable churning sound when it started its cycle. She heard him climb the stairs and some other noise before he reappeared a few minutes later with a white cotton shirt.

He knelt down in front of her to help her on with it, and when he looked up his eyes were bang level with her chest. She saw him stare for a moment and suck in a deep breath. When he looked up again he locked eyes with her and it was clear he hadn’t expected to. He was suddenly embarrassed that she’d been watching him and seen him stare. “Sorry.” he laughed nervously. Buffy didn’t say anything, to be honest she wanted to laugh too, but it was wrong and awkward and she thought it best from now on to do nothing at all. One thing she’d learnt from this whole thing was how unpredictable the man in front of her was.

Buffy was a fighter, and she was sure eventually her strength and bravado would return, but right this second she was too shaken to try or test him.

He straight away got on with clothing her. He untied one hand at a time, and grabbing her wrists as gently as he could he put her arms into the sleeves one by one. She bit back a gasp when his hand skimmed the skin on her forearm gently; everything was happening so slowly and tenderly it was almost sensual, and she thought he felt it too, because he was avoiding her eyes completely now. He looked in total concentration at her body as he manipulated it, and when he’d finished tying her back up he reached forward to pull both sides of the shirt together in front of her bosom.

He threaded a couple of buttons into the holes painfully slowly, and stared at them as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Buffy didn’t say or do anything the whole time, she was in a fog, confused by how something so simple could affect her so much. Just then Spike seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had been in and rose to his feet.

“You’re bleeding.” she said innocently, seeing the angry marks on his face and the red which now ran through his once blonde hair. Her hand itched to touch him, as if it would say sorry, like his gentleness just now had been his apology. She knew she shouldn’t want to apologise, but she did. Her pride made her keep quiet, but she continued to stare at the wounds she’d given him guiltily.

“I’ll be back later.” he said with a shaky voice. And with that he was gone. She heard him run upstairs, and he didn’t come back down until 20 minutes after the washer had stopped.

* * * * *

Neither of them said anything as they sat across from each other in the living room, the moment was awkward and the air was thick with tension. Spike had come down a while ago to load Buffy’s clothes into the dryer, but instead of going back upstairs he had come and sat with her, and now there was just silence.

Suddenly Spike broke the calm, got up and started walking towards her. She stared at him terrified and tried to read his expression, but it baffled her; it was emotionless. He’d sat there uneasy and fidgeting, clearly finding the silence and company as uncomfortable as she did, and now he didn’t seem bothered by her at all.

When he got to her side he didn’t stop, but carried on and walked behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when he leaned down. His breath on her back made her want to shiver. He slid his hands behind her on either side, in between her and the chair, to grab the wooden frame.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her breath faltering as his skin brushed hers.

“I’m putting you back down in the cellar.” he said to her, and then under his breath muttered, “You unsettle me up here.”

Buffy heard him though, and wondered if it was only her tendency to run that unsettled him, or was it something else about her?

“What about my clothes?” she asked as he picked her up, chair and all. She gasped slightly in shock when he lifted her, but then stayed quiet and waited for an answer.

“I’ll bring them down later.” was his only response as he headed through the house awkwardly with her in tow. He paused and jerked his hands further up the frame. This hoisted the chair up for a second making Buffy’s stomach flip. Although she knew how strong he was from all the times he’d carried her before, she was still afraid of being dropped.

When they got to the basement he took her down slowly, stopped every couple of steps to set the chair down and reassess his grip. Buffy shut her eyes through the whole ordeal, before she knew it she felt him turn her around, and there she was centred in the room once more, facing the stairs, her previous chair discarded in the corner.

She felt him move from behind her and he strode away without a word.

“Wait!” she called out. She felt her bravery come back a little.

She heard him give a heavy sigh and he walked back to her, “What is it now?” he asked; his face strained as if he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. In reality he didn’t, because he knew everything she said or did caused him more trouble.

Buffy studied him for a moment, judging his mood, “What about the next time my clothes need washing?”

Spike said nothing, but he looked up at her.

“You gonna give me your shirt every time?” she pushed.

“I guess.” he answered flatly, seeming calm. She hadn’t won yet.

“But you’re keeping me here indefinitely right?...That’s the plan?” Although he hadn’t changed his demeanour much she felt she was getting somewhere.

Spike just shrugged.

“So it’s not going to be very practical if I just have this set of clothes for you to wash and rewash all the time.” she paused, “What about showers?”

“Showers?” Spike repeated, confused, for the first time caught off guard.

“Showers? Baths?...I’m gonna start to smell pretty bad if you don’t let me have one.” He moved to speak, but she denied him. “What about when I need to go to the bathroom again?”

She had continued before he could answer her in the hopes of simply bombarding him with questions which would force him to see the reality of keeping her here.

“What about brushing my teeth? Washing my hair?” she continued.

She could see him fiddling with something in his back pocket, but she carried on unperturbed. “God forbid what about when that time of the month comes around…How am I going to change my tampons if I’m tied to a chair all day?!”

While her mouth was still moving he took a large piece of cloth from his jeans, unbeknown to her something he’d been searching for during her entire rant, and sank to his knees. His movements were so swift that she was still talking when he reached behind her and tied the cloth around her mouth twice.

Before deciding on the cotton shirt for her new ties he’d cut up an old suit jacket that didn’t fit him anymore. In the end he’d thought the rough texture would cause as much friction on her arms as the laces had done, but he’d put a large strip of it in his jeans anyway. At the time he wasn’t sure why, but now he worried that he’d known at some point he’d have to gag her. His gut twisted a little at the thought that his instinct was trained for this sort of thing.

Buffy’s eyes widened, shocked and outraged by what he’d done.

“It’s late, Buffy. Really late.” he said exasperatedly from the floor, completely ignoring her reaction to the gag, “I’m going to bed.”

Buffy mumbled something as she tried to speak, and under normal circumstances Spike would have probably had to fight the urge to smile at her feeble attempt, but he was too tired, and he was too cranky, and his head still throbbed.

She tried again, and thrashed around at her bonds in frustration when the sound coming out refused to match the words she wanted to say.

Spike immediately leaned forward and grabbed her arms to keep her still, “Hey, hey! Buffy! Stop!” he shouted, but this time there was no anger or frustration in his voice, and if Buffy had stopped to listen she would have heard a hint of consideration in his tone. However she didn’t stop, not at first. “Buffy, luv. You’re gonna make your wrists worse.”

Buffy felt tears building up behind her eyes. Her body sagged, giving up before her mind did. As soon as he’d said those words she’d played the scene forwards in her head, struggling wouldn’t get her free. His admission though almost caring reminded her that she’d struggled before, and all she’d done was hurt herself. It reminded her that she’d screamed, she’d fought, she’d lashed out at him, she’d run, and nothing had worked, nothing would work. So she gave up. Exhausted from everything that had happened that day, tired from trying to fight him she gave up.

He felt her body relax and let go of her. She felt the tears threatening to come and willed him to leave before they did. She got her wish, he stood up, left, and as he climbed the stairs she couldn’t hold back the flood gates. All she could do was pray that her face would dry before he came back down, and she wouldn’t have to show him her weakness ever again.

* * * * *

Buffy woke up to the familiar clang of the basement door opening, and once fully roused waited for him to come down.

She felt like she hadn’t gotten much sleep, but then it might not be so strange to still be tired, as she didn’t know what time it had been when Spike had put her back down in the cellar; it could have been early morning by then already.

However long she’d been out she knew she’d woken twice. She couldn’t place what the sounds were that woke her each time, the sound proofing on the walls letting as little sound in as they might out, but she assumed they were coming from upstairs, so she also assumed they were coming from Spike. That meant that he probably hadn’t slept well either. When he came down eventually, carrying a pile of clothes in one hand that she recognised as her own, and a glass of water in the other, she saw the bags under his eyes to prove it.

He didn’t say one word to her as he came closer, setting the glass down on the floor. He took her gag off and untied her; he placed the clothes in her lap and the gag in his back pocket. He took a few steps back towards the stairs as if to block them, but his expression didn’t look worried that she’d run, and that scared Buffy a little. Although she wouldn’t admit to liking him in the slightest, the gentleness he usually showed her, the human side of him, his faults and insecurities, everything like that helped her be a little more at ease. This cool calculated resolve was something she didn’t like.

She suffered the embarrassment of having to dress in front of him. He stood there stoically and when she’d finished she paused unsure of what to do. Then she picked up his shirt that she’d stripped off herself and held it out to him. He looked at it as if it was the first thing that clued him in to her being done, as if he hadn’t been watching her all that time.

He waited, and for some reason that Buffy couldn’t fathom she felt the strong urge to sit back in the chair, and so she did. It was as if his eyes had told her to. He stepped back towards her, retied her as he had done a million times, and still he said nothing. It was starting to drive Buffy a little bit crazy.

Afterwards he went over to pick the glass up from where he’d left it. She thought he’d forgotten about it, but he came back and brought it close to her. As she parted her dry lips and felt the cool water fill her mouth and slide down her throat she realised he hadn’t forgotten. He’d realised she needed water. He’d realised she would need to be untied to dress herself. He’d moved away from her, she guessed so that she wouldn’t lash out at him, and he’d blocked the stairs to stop her from running if she tried. He’d tied her back up and not let her touch the glass, again she had to guess, but she presumed it was in case she threw it.

All that meant he’d thought carefully, for a change he’d planned something. That was the scariest thought of all; that he might finally know what he was doing.


* * * * *



Chapter End Notes:
Let me know what you think, be honest because any kind of reviews help me to keep focused on more writing...



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