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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey guys I'm currently looking for a job at the minute so I'm sorry I couldn't upload earlier but I'm doing my best for how much spare time I have...I hope you enjoy the new Chapter...more is on the way!



Spike had left her once more and hours had passed. She’d fallen asleep out of sheer boredom, but she’d been awake for at least 2 hours by her estimation. She couldn’t get to sleep again, partly because she wasn’t tired anymore, and partly because she was obsessing over something. The thoughts plaguing her weren’t the thoughts that should be plaguing her; thoughts of what would happen to her or if she’d ever get away from Spike. The thoughts were about her and Spike however. She couldn’t shake the feeling that his behaviour that morning was unusual.

Sure she didn’t know him, but from what she’d seen up until now, Spike was hot and cold, violent or gentle, he was never mild, he was never in between, he was never uncaring, he was never like that.

She must have done something to cause it, and worse, she didn’t know why but it bothered her if she had. He was probably mad that she’d tried to escape and in doing so nearly ruined his plans. He was probably mad she’d hit him over the head with a vase, scratched his face and left her mark on him. She’d had a right to do all those things, so why did she feel bad?

Buffy was fed up of obsessing, but then her stomach growled and gave her something else to think about. She should have realised earlier, but when the uncomfortable pains hit her she remembered she hadn’t eaten a thing since she’d been here.

As if he’d read her mind Spike came down 10 minutes later with some sandwiches. He pulled up her old chair, sat in front of her and carefully fed her, but although his actions were intimate and had Buffy’s heart fluttering, he acted as closed off as he had done before.

She took a minute to apologise for the scratches and the vase. She waited to see how he’d react, but he didn’t. He just picked up another sandwich and continued as if she hadn’t spoke at all.

As soon as she was done he got up and left. He was halfway up the stairs when she called him back.

“Spike?”

He turned wordlessly.

“Can you…” she faltered, and then looked away nervously as she tried again, “Can you not leave me in the dark?…I don’t like the dark.”

Spike’s jaw twitched as he fought his emotions, she didn’t see because she was too embarrassed to look at him.

When she finally shifted her gaze back to the stairs he was gone. She hadn’t realised, because his steps had been soft and the door hadn’t shut. He’d left it open; she couldn’t see it, but she knew because the light still trickled down, leaving her for once not in the dark.

* * * * *

Spike’s odd behaviour continued. She only saw him when he came down with food, water or to take her to the bathroom, and he wouldn’t speak to her much when he did see her.

He came down at different times during the evening to feed her, which always consisted of takeout of some kind, and he now left the basement door open so she could call out when she needed something. She didn’t know what bothered her more, that she had no one to talk to, or that he didn’t seem to care that she was there.

One of the only things he said to her was on their first trip back to the bathroom. He came down during the night because she’d called for him. She hadn’t been to the toilet yet, but he’d finally let her drink something so she now actually needed it. He carried her upstairs and dropped her down into the centre of the room untying her hands. He left her feet tied together, pointed her towards the sink where a new pink toothbrush stood in a glass and said “Just don’t you try anything this time.”

Buffy was grateful that he’d trusted her enough to close the door, not only so he wouldn’t see her doing things she preferred no one else saw, but also because she didn’t want to see him laugh when she unceremoniously hopped over to the toilet to do them. But as she sat there in that clean white room, staring at the tiles beneath her feet, she realised his tone bothered her. It hadn’t really been serious, if anything it had been playful, he didn’t seem in the least bit worried that she would or could try anything this time.

Whether he truly did think that or she was just being paranoid she didn’t know, but he certainly appeared more confident that she wouldn’t escape. Leaving the cellar door open had been a big step, but he hadn’t hesitated. He now only shut it when he went out of the house completely and she was pretty sure the second thing he’d said to her was “Shout again if you need me, pet.”

The reason she had to do that was because he seemed to be busy all the time. With the door open she could hear the occasional scuffle or banging, but she couldn’t for the life of her work out what he was doing. To be fair the banging had been brief, everything else sounded like shuffling, the moving of things or rearranging of things. It almost sounded like he was redecorating, and the first thing that crossed Buffy’s mind after that assumption was that surely he had more important things to be worrying about? But whatever the task he was at it day and night until what Buffy figured was her 7th day in his cellar, and unless she called for him his coming down was erratic.

The only exception was the morning. They’d fallen into a routine in the morning; he’d come down early and bring her toast, then take her upstairs to the bathroom so she could use the toilet and brush her teeth with the toothbrush he’d bought her.

After a few days he was trusting her to feed herself. He’d sit across from her after untying her and watch her like a hawk, but Buffy was usually too hungry to care that he was staring, or to feel intimidated. Although she had to admit that his behaviour and even his absence did make her more wary of him than usual. Absence makes the heart grow fonder they say? It was more like fear the unknown. Day by day the more he stayed away upstairs making his racket, the more he didn’t talk, the more he became the unknown. Buffy was losing her edge, because she didn’t know what was going on, what he was doing or more importantly why he was doing it.

There were still moments of course, moments when she saw his gentler side, but they were few and far between, and if anything they only made things more confusing. One minute he’d be brushing a crumb from the corner of her lips because he’d already tied her back up and she hadn’t felt it there; he’d be looking at her, his eyes burning through her, and the next he’d act as if she wasn’t important again, swanning off to lumber around in the attic.

That’s the one thing Buffy had figured out; he was definitely doing something in the attic. Not only were the sounds too muffled to be coming directly from the floor above, but she’d seen the attic on one of their trips. He’d taken her past that door before, the door on the second floor across from the top of the stairs, but she figured it was just another room. One day she noticed it was open, and as he carried her she strained her neck to see around it to another staircase. Her initial thoughts were something along the lines of how big is this frigging house? But then she felt something wash over her, something deep in the pit of her stomach; an uncomfortable feeling that she couldn’t shift. She felt like that room meant something for her, and she shuddered to think what he was doing up there after that.

On the 7th day he came down, untied her as usual, took her upstairs as usual, and she brushed her teeth, got fed, and got ignored as usual. Then in the evening he came for her, she presumed he was taking her to the bathroom even though she hadn’t shouted for him, but instead he took her right up to that door.

She was tossed over his shoulder like a rag doll, her hands dropped down below her, her waist resting on his shoulder. She was folded over him so the top of her body laid against his back, if she’d been any taller her eyes would have been level with his ass, which she had to admit even now wouldn’t have been the worst thing to have happened to her. She couldn’t see very well because of the hair hanging in front of her face, but as he turned towards the door she lifted her head and saw at the side of the staircase was a camp-bed. It looked rickety and uncomfortable, but it had new sheets on it and two lots of pillows. She didn’t have time to comprehend what it was doing there before Spike had opened the door and was climbing the second staircase behind it. She could feel him ascending upwards and she could see a new step appearing in front of her face every few seconds, until once again he stopped.

He was unlocking another door from the sounds of it. Buffy’s heart was in her throat, it had nothing to do with her being upside down, and everything to do with what she feared was waiting for her behind that next door. It had to be something bad, because he hadn’t told her what he was doing; in fact he hadn’t spoken to her at all. Maybe he was trying to distance himself from her emotionally, so he could get rid of her for good. Maybe this was it.

He opened the door and walked forwards into the room beyond it. Obviously Buffy couldn’t see where he had taken her, all she knew was the carpet was a misty blue colour not too far off the shade of his eyes, but not as deep in intensity. Her last thought was a strange one, one that she fought with all her being, but one which popped into her head regardless. It was a wish, a wish that she could look into those eyes once more, no matter what he was going to do with her, if this was it, that would be her last request. She had no idea why; maybe she’d hope to find some sort of regret in them for what he was about to do to her, or maybe she just wanted to see them, because these days they were her only comfort.

Suddenly she was heaved over his shoulder until her feet hit the floor. She was stood facing him now. His expression confused her, he looked uncomfortable, maybe even a little bit embarrassed, but he didn’t look like he was going to hurt her, not like she’d expected.

Without a word Spike gestured with his hand to the room behind her, urging her to turn around and look at it. She was quite far in, but stood facing him and the door. Bewildered she did as he asked and turned.

The first thing she felt was relief, when she saw that the room he’d brought her to was just a room. There were no torture instruments or chains, no guns or knives, sacks or gloves. It wasn’t a room for getting rid of anything, or anybody. It wasn’t really even an attic, it was a bedroom, and as far as Buffy could see that’s all it was.

It was a good sized room, the big double bed in the middle of it took up most of the space, and Buffy had knocked into it as she turned. The whole room was blue, the carpet, the bed sheets, the walls. There was a door to the right that was open slightly to reveal on ensuite bathroom, which looked a decent size from what Buffy could see of it through the crack.

She was still confused momentarily as to why Spike had brought her up here, then her gaze shifted focus to the bed again, a pile of clothes lay neatly folded on the end. They didn’t look like Spike’s clothes; they looked like girl’s clothes. Suddenly the pieces started to fall into place, as she followed the bed with her eyes to the far wall where a window should have been. She could see the frame, and desperate trickles of light forcing their way through the edges, but it wasn’t a window anymore, it had been boarded up. She guessed not to keep the light out, but to keep something in. To keep her in.

Buffy stood staring her way around the room, as the relief she had initially felt turned into defeat. Her captor wasn’t getting rid of her; he was just moving her to another cage. Granted, a nicer cage, but still a cage. A cage that was just as hard to escape from, and just as unfamiliar.

Spike waited patiently for her to twig on, then sensing she had, stepped forward and said, “This was my room, but you’re gonna be in here from now on.”

Buffy just stared for a while longer, not acknowledging that he had spoken. She wondered if this was really happening. This was her room? How long was he planning to keep her here for if he thought she needed her own room?

She knew this was all her fault, because she’d pushed him. She’d made him see the practicalities of keeping her tied to a chair in his basement, but she’d wrongly assumed that he was confused and rash and that he’d let her go once she’d pointed out all those things, not calmly and slowly plan and work to create a better option for himself.

At least she knew now what he had been doing the past few days, the window for starters.

“The windows boarded up, and the door’s been reinforced.” he said as if reading her mind. “There’s a peephole and a lock on the outside of the door, so you can’t try any of your tricks again.” He said it almost humorously, with a slight smile, remembering the fight they had in the mud, no longer angry at her the memory now amused him.

She still stood facing away from him so she didn’t see him smile and didn’t sense he’d made a joke. She listened to everything he said, but didn’t process it. She was still in shock, she’d have to take everything in and think about it later.

“I’m gonna go,” he said after she didn’t say anything back to him again, “Let you get used to the room. I’ll be back later before you go to sleep.”

Buffy turned back to him, “Where are you sleeping?” she asked dazed, still in shock that’d he’d done all this.

Spike misunderstood and thought she was worried that he planned to sleep in here with her, so he laughed, softly, and it almost brought her out of her daze. “I’m on a camp-bed for now, at the bottom of your stairs.”

Buffy briefly remembered seeing the bed, but her mind wasn’t enough together to ask him why he needed to sleep in the hallway when he had this whole big-ass house to himself. He left before her brain could come anywhere near catching up enough to ask questions.

Almost without thought she began to move around the room, looking at everything in turn. In the bathroom there were new toiletries and clean towels. Her toothbrush from downstairs had been put in the same glass at the side of the sink.

She came back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, saw the pile of clothes again and pulled them onto her lap. She removed each item from the pile one by one and was surprised that they all seemed to not only be her style, but also her size. How could he have guessed her size so perfectly? The most amazing of all was that he’d bought her underwear, and even the bras were in her size. Buffy mused over the idea that he’d been checking her out when she wasn’t looking. It was entirely possible, as this little surprise room had shown her that he hid things from her very well.

Suddenly Buffy focused on something at her feet. It was an extension cord poking out from under the bed. She put the pile of clothes aside and knelt down on the floor. She lifted one side of the duvet, peered under the bed and saw the cord ran all the way underneath. She replaced it and looked over to the other side, seeing it travel all the way across the room to the furthest wall where it was plugged into the mains, to what she figured was the only set of plug sockets in there. Confused she looked back to the extension, and then to her right to see what was plugged in that was so important that it couldn’t just have been moved closer to the socket.

It was a lamp, standing on the side table by her bed. She thought back to her own bedroom, she had a lamp right next to her bed there as well; she kept it on all through the night, just as she had kept on her nightlight as a little girl. Her crippling fear of the dark was only helped by the presence of another person, if she was in her room alone she always had a light near her. Then she remembered telling Spike the other night not to leave her in the dark, and suddenly realised why he thought the light was so essential that it needed such an elaborate set up.

But even after that revelation she now felt completely in the dark. Completely lost and in the dark once more.


* * * * *



Chapter End Notes:
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