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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much for your response to the previous chapter. You reminded me why I keep coming back, and why Spuffy is like home.

I hope you like this chapter, too.

Thank you Marilyn and Mari for all the work you've put into making this fic read-worthy!
Day One – Delegate



I woke up like I usually did post-death: terrified.

I could feel my heart thudding inside my chest, like a startled bird flying against the bars of its cage. My pulse pounded in my ears, and my breathing was labored. I tried to bring my right hand to my throat, but felt a weight on it.

Buried. I was buried again. I’d have to dig my way up through the dirt. My other hand and my feet were weighed down as well. A whimper escaped my lips, and I felt my heart-rate speed up even more. How many beats per minute before a Slayer’s heart decided it had too much?

“Shhh…”

My eyelids flew open—or perhaps they were open already. Not like I could tell the difference; the darkness was thick around me, pressing down on me.

“Slayer, you’re having a panic attack. You’re okay. Listen to me.”

I knew that voice. Spike. What was he doing in the darkness? Couldn’t he leave me alone even here?

“Draw in a long breath—five seconds.” Α fizzling sound, and then the darkness was slashed by a sliver of soft yellow light. It was weak and sickly, but I focused on it, my mind wrapping around it and using it like a lifeline to pull itself out of the murky waters of panic. What had he said? Inhale. Five seconds. One. I wasn’t in my grave. Two. I was in Spike’s bed. Chained up. Three. He was holding a candle. Four. I was dressed but shoeless. Five.

“Good girl.” Spike hadn’t come any closer. I could see him by the foot of the bed, looking at me with almost fatherly worry. “Now hold your breath for another five. You’ll be okay.”

I nodded. I could already feel my heart slowing down to normal. He remained silent while I counted the seconds, but I could see him mouthing the numbers in the faint glow of the candle. His skin looked paler than usual. I wasn’t certain the whitish hue was a result of the flame shining right below his face or his seeing me in such a state for the first time since he’d known me. Wondering about Spike’s feelings again—when I should be considering him incapable of having any—was bad for my mental health in general, but helped steer my thoughts to someplace other than my panic over my waking up in a grave.

“Now let the air out slowly. Five seconds again.”

Once more he counted with me, this time out loud, and by the time the air had cleared my lungs, my brain was clear, too. Clear and in denial. “Take the chains off.”

“We’re not done with the breathing exercise.” He sounded so much like Giles telling me training wasn’t over, I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “I’m going to turn the light on now, okay?”

I squinted against the assault of the light. “Take them off, Spike.” He’d had his fun and a Slayer tied to his bed for a whole night—maybe more, I didn’t know what time it was—but the charade was over now, and I had to get back to being miserable at my own place.

He approached me slowly, cautiously, like he would a wounded Tyrannosaurus Rex. “You will not leave before the week is over, Buffy. You said you wouldn’t, and I have every intention of holding you to that. If you white-hats don’t stick by your word, what is this world coming to, after all?”

Low blow. I had no ethical responsibility towards a demon, but with self-doubt gnawing at me on a daily basis, I couldn’t afford to back out on a promise, no matter whom I’d made it to. Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.

“I can’t spend a week in these,” I said, lifting my arms so he could see the manacles. I was going for whiny, but seeing the red welts where they’d dug into my wrists brought tears to my eyes. I’d thoughts of creating such lines myself recently… only deeper…

It might have been the tears or something else he saw on my face, Spike was always too perceptive for my own good, but he was by my side in a second. “You’re not leaving for another six days,” he said sternly. Still, he produced a tiny key out of his front pocket and undid the shackles on my wrists. “Don’t make me fight you.”

His voice said he would if he had to, and I had no intention of trying to escape with my legs still captive. I waited in place while he began rummaging in the drawer of his bedside table. And how stupid is it for a vampire to have one of those?

I really wanted out.

I’d been stupid thinking he could help me.

I’m lying.

I wanted out because I didn’t want him to be the one who could help me when I couldn’t help myself.

I had been waking up the way I had that morning for weeks. Weeks of spending minutes staring at my ceiling and wondering if that would be the day I’d finally return to heaven. Or if maybe that time I’d be going to a whole different place for being a coward on my second time around. Spike had calmed me down in fifteen seconds.

Maybe he’d used thrall. I scowled at him.

His fingers, cold on my inner wrist, made me flinch.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned this in advance and didn’t have them padded.” He rubbed ointment into my skin, looking seriously contrite. I had no clue what he was talking about until he pointed at the shackles.

It was funny, really. He’d kicked me, punched me, driven me through more than one wall, choked me, spanked me, whipped me, fucked me in various positions and orifices, and was apologizing for having inadvertently scraped my skin. A bark of laughter that could have easily been a sob clawed its way out of my throat, leaving it dry and sore.

Having taken care of my insignificant injuries, Spike freed my left leg and passed me the ointment. “Put a thick layer of this on. It’s aloe vera. Takes the sting away fast.” Getting up, he added, “I’ll be right back.”

“What about this?” I waggled the toes of the right foot and gave him a watery smile. Truth be told, three-quarter-free-Buffy could probably hurt fully-free-Spike enough to get him to hand over the key, but I’d rather turn that probably into a definitely if I was to make a run for it. Which I still wasn’t sure I wanted to. I had said I was staying, after all.

He gave me a look that was one part amusement and two parts incredulity. “You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you?” Turning on his heel, he started toward the stairs, giving me a perfect view of his ass. If a swagger could be mocking, his was.

I sat up, did what he said with the aloe, and managed to push some of the stuff between the remaining shackle and my right ankle. Minutes ticked by, and I began wondering if his idea of helping me consisted of letting me wallow in misery. I was bored.

The chain clinked when I tried to get more comfortable, and I reassessed it. The links were thick, but I could probably break them if I put my heart into it. Then what? I could hide behind the makeshift staircase and take him down when he showed up again.

It seemed like too much effort. I let my gaze wander idly around the room until I noticed something I hadn’t before. The armchair in which Spike had sat and read to me the previous night had a pillow and a bunched up sheet on it. Like someone had spent the night in it. Standing guard over me.

A wave of emotion washed over me—an emotion I hadn’t felt in such a long time, I couldn’t put my finger on it for a handful of seconds. It felt foreign.

Affection.

The moment I figured it out, it was replaced by shame. Of course I felt affection. For my sister. For my friends. For Giles.

Did I?

I knew I loved them, but had I felt it since my return? I’d felt the obligation to protect them, to keep them safe, to make sure they had their friend back, but I’d never wanted to just give them a hug.

Did I want to give a vampire a hug? Oh God, I’d come back wrong. I knew it!

Spike bounded down the stairs holding a tray. It looked like one I’d gotten Xander as a housewarming gift, and close inspection showed it was that exact one. Instead of lecturing Spike, I felt like giggling.

The smell of bacon made my lip curl. “Spike, I really don’t feel like eating this.”

“What I say, when I say it.” Why had I agreed to that? “You’re skin and bones. Eat your breakfast, and then we’ll start with Lesson the First.” He balanced the tray on my knees and climbed on the bed to unhook the chains from the ceiling.

“Is Lesson the First how to make Buffy rotund-shaped?” I grumbled. “Hey! You’ll topple it over!” I barely managed to save the orange juice from spilling when the bed dipped and the tray followed its movement.

“I suggest you start with the liquids.” Jumping to the floor, he wrapped the chain that was attached to my ankle around one of the bed’s massive legs and secured it in place with a padlock. After a moment’s thought, he tore a strip of his sheet and covered the metal cuff, to stop it from digging into my ankle. “There. This should be more comfortable for you.”

I was touched and impressed, so I shoveled food in my mouth to avoid showing it. His eggs were a bit runny, and he’d gone a bit overboard on the pepper, but the toast was good, and I was sure if I finished that he wouldn’t mind me skipping the bacon and going straight to the fruit-salad.

He did mind it, but I ignored him. As soon as I was done with everything I was planning on eating, I held the tray out to him and said, “I should call Dawn.”

“That is actually part of our lesson.” Looking at the leftovers disapprovingly, he took the tray and went to the nook that served as his bathroom.

“Oh, really?” I called out to make sure he could hear me over the running water.

“Yup. Name of the lesson is Delegate.”

“That’s not a name; that’s an order.” I threw the covers off me and began patting my pockets, but couldn’t find my cell-phone.

“Yeah, well, works for me.”

The water stopped running and, looking up, I saw him leaning against the opening that led to his sort-of-a-bathroom, my cell in his hand. “Looking for this?”

“Gimme.” I didn’t like that he had it. How long had he had it? Had he gone through my texts? Had he sent texts, pretending he was me?

“Lesson the First: I’ll give this to you, and you’ll call Red and tell her you’ll be going away for a week. She’s to take care of Dawn and the house during your absence.”

Yeah, okay. And then pigs could start flying. I turned so my legs were hanging down the side of the bed. “Spike…” I was using my most reasonable, grown up voice. The one of the young woman who had been through a lot, but not enough to snap, who still had it together. “I know I said I’d stay for a week, but Dawn needs me. And I have to patrol. I can come by here afterward, and we can—”

He came closer until he stood right in front of me. “I’ll take over patrolling, you’ll delegate the house and the Bit to Willow, and that’s that.” It was a good thing that he interrupted me, because I have no clue how I would have finished that sentence. We could talk? Do what we usually did?

What wasn’t good was that assertive, non-pussy-whipped Spike was extra yummy.

Ever practical—except for my younger years, when I used to go patrolling in mini-skirts and high heels—I tried to combine business and pleasure. “Maybe you should convince me…” I let my knees fall open and wrapped my legs around him. “Or punish me for talking back to you. Either way, I’m not delegating!”

He tucked his tongue behind his teeth. Couldn’t he just use his tongue another, more productive way, so we could both be happy campers? That would help me immensely. Then I could go back to hating him and myself, and being a responsible mom for Dawnie and friend for the Scoobies. It sounded better when I played it in my head.

“Call her. Tell her you’ll be away. Lie if you have to. They’ll manage without you, I promise.”

Grumbling, I took the phone and pressed “2” to call home. When nobody picked up, my call went to the answering machine. I briefly considered saying Spike had kidnapped me, then sitting back and waiting until they burst in to dust him.

“Hey,” I said instead, “it’s me. I decided I need to be alone for a while, so I’m going away for a week. I’m okay, honest. I’ll call you. Wills, please take care of Dawnie, and Dawn, please don’t be too much of a brat, okay?” After a moment’s pause I added, “I love you.”

Spike’s hand was already outstretched before I’d disconnected. I handed him the phone back, and he put it in his back pocket.

“Now can we play?” I waggled my eyebrows.

His eyes held pity in them, which infuriated me. I planted my palms on his chest and pushed as hard as I could. He flew back and landed on his ass. It didn’t give me half the satisfaction I’d hoped it would.

He stood, came back to me, and slapped me in the face.

I punched him.

He slapped me again. “Are you going to cry now?”

I recoiled like I’d been bitten by a snake. “Why are you doing this?”

His jaw clenched, relaxed, clenched again. “You have an addiction, Buffy. Need something to numb the pain. I wish I cared little enough to keep being that addiction, but I love you. I hope if the pain goes away, you’ll want me for me. Until then, I’m cutting you off.”

Cutting me off? Who did he think he was? I so wasn’t addicted to him.

I kicked at him with my free leg, but he grabbed it midair and flipped me on my stomach. Before I could do anything, he sat on my thighs. “You’re trying to replace one addiction for another: violence for sex. Doesn’t work. Alcohol won’t, either. The emptiness inside?” His voice rose at the last word, like he was waiting for me to acknowledge that emptiness, and I caught myself nodding. “You’re the only one who can fill it.”

“And I do that by delegating?” I spat the words out with all the venom I could muster, but I really, desperately, wanted the answer to be yes. I wanted it to be that simple and that fast, because if it wasn’t simple and fast, there was the possibility I might just give up.

“You have to get rid of the clutter to put in the good stuff.” It sounded stupid. He was stupid. He might have used his most serious tone with me, the one he had used to tell me he saved me every night, and which made me cry every time I remembered it, but it didn’t make sense.

“My sister and my friends and my Calling aren’t clutter.” My voice was shrill because right then, that very moment, they were exactly that.

“They are when you’re sinking.”

I guess that made him my lifejacket. That was beyond bad.

I don’t think we said more than ten words to each other for the rest of the day. He left me alone a lot. The chain was long enough for me to roam the room and go to the bathroom by myself—although not long enough to make the latter not awkward. He took me upstairs at some point, shackled to him, and let me watch TV. My phone rang, but he didn’t give it to me, or allow me to see who it was. He didn’t let me lift a finger to help him when he cooked pasta aglio oglio in his very basic kitchenette.

I didn’t feel the need to protest once through it all.

If anyone else knew where I was, I’d have done nothing but protest or try to fight my way out of there.

I didn’t know which of the two should scare me more.

That night he read me “The Ugly Duckling.” Again the nightmares stayed at bay.


Tbc.


Chapter End Notes:
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