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Author's Chapter Notes:
I can't apologise enough, I'm losing track of time seriously...I came on the site to update my profile and saw how long it had been since I updated, I was almost horrified! So sorry! Here's one for you guys!



The next day Buffy fought to move her hands and feet like she did every morning, but this time she found no resistance, no ties pulling her down. Was she back? Had it all been some kind of terrible dream?

She opened her eyes hoping to see familiar walls filled with familiar posters, look down and see her bed sheets, to be in her bed, but instead the walls were blue, like the sky, like his eyes. She sat up immediately, but the covers were not her own, nothing was. Everything rushed back to her, and instead of being upset she was disappointed, in herself. How could she be so foolish? She had to be on the ball; she couldn’t afford to be fading into fantasy every chance she got. She wasn’t home, and if she carried on this way she never would be. She had to keep her wits. She had to snap out of it.

She could do that, she felt refreshed. She’d gone to bed quite early, so early in fact that if Spike had come back up last night like he promised she hadn’t heard him. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, her eyes drifted to the door just as there was a knock on it.

“Buffy? You awake?” Spike asked from behind the wood.

Buffy sat up in bed and nodded meekly, before she had the chance to answer him verbally the door opened and he walked in.

She looked up at him questioningly, her expression must have looked indignant, because as Spike stepped in and closed the door he pointed casually to the peephole reminding her that he could see her from outside, in way of explaining why he’d come in without waiting for an answer.

Buffy still felt a little intruded upon, and uncomfortable sat there in the pyjamas he’d bought her, wrapped up in his sheets, in his bed. But this was his house, and he was her kidnapper, so she supposed he could do whatever he wanted. She just hoped he wouldn’t take advantage of that fact.

He sat down on the bed, too close for Buffy’s liking. She was resting against the headboard, so couldn’t move further away. Her only chance for distance was to get out of the bed altogether, and she felt too vulnerable in her nightwear to do that. If she hadn’t thought it would draw unnecessary attention she’d have liked to have grabbed the sheets from where they were trapped underneath him, and pulled them all the way up to her neck. She made do with drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them close to shield herself.

Spike seemed oblivious to her worries, though he sat staring at her as she fidgeted. She could see a small smile creep in and out of the corner of his mouth, as if he was fighting it.

“How did you sleep?” he asked eventually when he saw she’d come to sit still.

Buffy only nodded.

This time he couldn’t hide his smile, it spread across his face and lit the entire thing up, a dark velvet chuckle rumbled at the back of his throat. He found her uncomfortableness amusing apparently.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed and her brow creased as she tried to give him her best glare.

Spike laughed again and then changed his tone of voice, “How’s the room, kitten?” he asked gently, considerately, as if to make her forget he’d laughed at her at all.

“Kitten?” she repeated. That’s one she hadn’t heard before.

“It’s my new name for you,” he explained, “…after you gave me these.” He turned his face to show off the fading scratches on his cheek.

Reflexively Buffy winced at the thought of how much they probably still stung. She didn’t like the feeling of guilt that flushed through her once again. She wanted to cover, because she was sure that either her concern or her embarrassment would show. She quickly thought of something to ask him as a distraction. “Did you come up last night?” she asked timidly. Then worrying that he might take that to mean she was sad he hadn’t she added, “…Its okay if you forgot, I just wondered.”

He smiled sweetly, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“I didn’t forget, pet.” he said quickly, “I knocked, but you didn’t hear me. I peeked through and saw you in bed, so I left you alone. Figured you needed the sleep after everything.”

Buffy fidgeted again, uncomfortable with the thought of him watching her sleep, even though that’s not quite how he’d put it.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear me though. I wasn’t quiet.” he confessed.

Although she was usually a light sleeper Buffy wasn’t surprised she’d slept through his knocking. Spike was right, after everything she needed a good, long sleep, and last night in this bed she’d taken full advantage of the opportunity to have one.

She suddenly realised how much of a difference having this room was going to make to her, and even though she resisted it she inwardly felt relieved.

He’d never have to come take her to the bathroom, because she had her own now. And he wouldn’t have to come check on her bonds, because she didn’t need any.

That’s when it hit her; he would hardly have to check on her at all. Buffy didn’t like the thought of that. Yes Spike scared her, and yes she didn’t know what he was going to do with her in the long run, but she’d been here a week already, separated from the outside world, from home comforts and common surroundings, and he was the only thing she had.

She hated feeling a tie to him, she hated feeling anything for him, but she knew that without him she’d have nothing and no one. She would be utterly alone. She would be a complete prisoner, locked away with no contact, no comfort, and no chance of a reprieve from either plight.

“Things’ll be better now you’re up here.” he said after a while.

Here out of the way, she added to herself. Out of his way.

* * * * *

Her and Spike found a new rhythm; he now only came to her 3 times a day, every day at the same times. He gave her food, took away her empty plates and even branched out into cooking for her rather than just getting takeaway. He was actually pretty good, or at least Buffy thought so when she compared his food to anything she’d tried to make before. She figured he must just not have had time to cook for her in the past. Now he had all the time in the world, and so did she.

She was lonely. She hated to admit it, but now having her meals delivered was the highlight of her day. Obviously being a captive there wasn’t much she had the freedom to do, so if he stayed and said a few words to her she spoke back, just sometimes to check she still had a voice.

They never spoke in depth and never for very long, but he’d ask her things like was she okay? Or did she sleep well? Enough for her to feel like she wasn’t going mad.

Another week past; it was day 15. Buffy counted the days on a pad of paper Spike had left in one of the bedside draws. Something changed that day; she could sense it as soon as he walked in the room.

“What do you want?” she asked, feeling something was wrong. It wasn’t meal time and she hadn’t shouted him. Yet here he was, stood with his back against her door.

“Nothing, kitten.” he said with a wary smile.

Buffy’s brow came together in confusion.

“I just came up for a chat.” Surrendering to her questioning stare she heard him sigh, “I thought you might be lonely, Buffy.”

Suddenly Buffy felt anger pump through her veins, she tightened her hands into fists at her side, though she never intended to lash out with them. She didn’t need to be pitied. She didn’t want to need his company, or his conversation. She tried so hard to believe that she didn’t need anything from him, except her freedom.

“Get out.” she said through clenched teeth.

He could see that she was practically shaking. She moved towards the bathroom trying to escape him, hoping he’d be gone once she got back out, but he walked across the room, stepping into her path abruptly. He reached out and grabbed her arm to hold her back.

“Kitten?” he asked, implying more words which would have asked her what was wrong.

She looked up at him. “I said, GET...OUT.”

She tried to move once more, but he had her fast.

“What’s got into you?” he asked stunned. The last few days she’d been polite, she’d wanted to speak to him. Every time he came into her room he’d sensed that she wanted him to stay, just to talk.

He’d tell her about the weather outside, and try not to let it get to him when he saw the sad longing in her eyes to see it, no matter whether it was good or bad. He’d talk about the news in the papers and what he’d read that morning. He never let her look at them herself in case there was news about the robbery. He knew that would only upset her because the police had no leads, but he told her funny or interesting stories alongside that instead.

Their routine was working, their tension resolved. She’d been easy to keep, and easy to look after the whole week, so where was all this coming from?

He heard her breath slow as he held her, she became more pliant in his arms, but there were still traces of anger on her face.

“This is how I’m supposed to be.” she said anxiously, “How a kidnappee is supposed to act towards her kidnapper.”

Spike didn’t flinch at the words. He’d never deluded himself; he knew exactly who and what they were to each other. “You can act however you want to act.” he answered, frustrated, “but if you want to act like a spoiled child, go ahead!” He was starting to feel his control slip, so he stepped back. “We have to live together, Buffy. Might as well make the best of it.”

“Until what?!” she screamed, “Until you decide on a good place to stash my body?! Because if that’s all you’re waiting for I hear there’s an old swamp nearby. They’d never find me!”

Spike did flinch at that, even though he had considered it.

“But that’s not it, is it?” she carried on, “The problem’s that you think you can keep me here forever. That I’ll just sit back and let you.”

“Why don’t you just shut your mouth, luv.” Spike said gruffly. He was trying to keep his voice light so that he didn’t scare her, but it was laced with warning.

Knowing she wouldn’t get past him she stepped back and sat down on the bed, “Why won’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to ‘chat’ with you. I don’t want to even look at you.” she said bitterly, hoping her words had hurt him, but immediately regretting them when she looked up and saw that they had.

Quickly though he drew a mask over it and became resigned to the fact that he couldn’t do anything to make her happy. “Fine, I don’t know why I bothered. Was just trying to be nice.” he grumbled out in defeat, sitting on the bed beside her.

Buffy thought over that statement and how it made her feel. She still felt angry at him for coming to see her, but she was also angry at herself for upsetting him, and for caring that she’d upset him. That was the most worrying thing, that she might be truly sorry that she’d hurt his feelings. She had a right to be sharp with him.

She thought about her explanation before, but truly she didn’t know how she was meant to be acting. Was she meant to fight him at every corner? Or was it better to do everything he said, agree with him, play along and get him on her side?

Then again maybe she was right before, maybe her confusion had nothing to do with trying to figure out what was appropriate behaviour, and more to do with appropriate feelings.

She didn’t know what Spike was thinking, but he said nothing. The more the silence rolled on the more she thought, and the more she did that the more she got confused. Of all days, why today did he have to confuse her like this? Couldn’t he have stayed out of her way, not upset her, just for today?

“Some birthday.” she mumbled to herself.

“What was that, kitten?”

She panicked and her eyes widened when she realised her mistake in not saying it in her head like she’d meant to, “Nothing.” she said hastily.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Spike asked tensely.

Buffy looked at his expression carefully before answering, he looked ready to take a bullet, and she guessed why. She’d learnt enough of him to know that he had moments, they may be fleeting and few, but he definitely had moments where the thought of what he was doing to her cut him up inside.

Buffy remembered what everyone said about birthdays, that they were the one day you were allowed to be selfish, so she selfishly nodded, determined to make him feel whatever it was he was afraid to feel.

He turned away from her, looking at the floor in front of him. They continued to sit still, side by side until finally Spike began to shake his head.

“I can’t…” he started to say, but stopped himself.

Buffy had no idea where he was going with that sentence, and was surprised by the painful tone in his voice. She saw him scrunch his eyes shut, and then he stood up and walked out.

* * * * *

Buffy was napping, something she did a lot when Spike wasn’t around. It helped pass the time and also when she was asleep she couldn’t think about where she was; she could be somewhere else, anywhere else. This particular nap also helped her not to dwell on the fight Spike and her had had, or on her confession.

He was obviously planning to forget she’d ever said it, and that was fine with her. After all she’d rather have no birthday at all than a birthday in prison, no matter what the prison looked like. It’d be the worst birthday ever, and Buffy had had a few awful enough to give that title proper meaning.

When she woke there was no light trying to force its way around the edges of the boarded window, so she guessed it was evening. Spike hadn’t been up to her since this morning, she wasn’t sleeping as deeply anymore, so she would have woken if he’d knocked this time.

Just after that she heard the front door shut, and only then realised he must have been out all this time. She got up and went to the peephole, waiting for him to come upstairs to bed so she could at least get a glimpse of him as he passed by.

She heard noise in the kitchen, cupboard doors opening, then more footsteps, closer now, and then eventually he came into view. He looked tired and soaked through, it must have been raining. In fact it was, she could hear it now, beating against the house something terrible.

Instead of passing the door like she’d expected though, Spike came through it and started up her stairs, something in his hand. She moved back away from the door and held her breath.

He looked through the peephole and saw her standing there. He sighed deeply and then opened the door. He moved through the door sideways, keeping his hand and whatever was in it concealed outside. He looked up at her and sheepishly brought his hand into view.

Buffy gasped. He didn’t?

“Happy birthday, luv.” he said as he set the cake down, pulled out a lighter, and lit her candles.

* * * * *

Minutes later chaos ensued. Buffy was screaming, pacing and throwing things around the room.

“Buffy,” he said shutting the door, “Calm down. You’re being hysterical.”

“Hysterical?!” she screamed trying to rip a pillow.

Spike strode towards her, stood behind her and tried to wrestle the pillow form her. He only succeeded in helping her to rip it. Feathers scattered in the air and floated down. He grabbed her, she pushed him away and he stumbled backwards.

When he straightened himself up Buffy turned looking for her lamp. She picked it up and just as quickly sent it crashing to the floor.

Spike’s face pained, and she wondered if he knew as well as she did how much that lamp meant to her.

“Buffy, stop!” he insisted, standing still, now deciding to stay out of the way.

She ignored him, and continued.

“You aren’t even gonna say thank you?! You ungrateful little cow!” he screamed, finally snapping.

She turned to him shocked, and then laughed, “Seriously?” she paused, and then her words were suddenly thick with sarcasm, “Thank you, Spike. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“You’re welcome.” he said bitterly, not missing a beat.

“I can’t believe you did this!” she said as if it was the dumbest thing in the world to do.

Spike’s temper was at boiling point from the way she had twisted his gesture and made him feel stupid. “FINE!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Buffy vibrated with the force of his voice, it was like a punch to her system and she froze. She didn’t like to admit it, but after it she felt tears prick her eyes. She felt like a vulnerable child, wanting to cry just because she’d been shouted at, but his aggressive pitch had knocked the wind out of her.

He picked up the lighter and shoved it roughly into his back pocket, stomping about the room as he did so. He looked at the cake, “You gonna blow them out?” he asked.

Buffy would have laughed if she hadn’t been so close to crying. She tried to suck it up and shook her head vehemently.

“Fine.” he said again, leaning down and blowing them out. He strode towards the door, “Happy fucking birthday.” he said as he slammed it behind him.


* * * * *



Chapter End Notes:
A spoiler: Think Buffy and Spike are doing a good enough job of screwing things up with each other?...Wait until another character joins in the dynamic in Chapter 7!



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