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Author's Chapter Notes:
Delay again but here I am, with an extra long chappie for ya. It was hard to write it, since I had troubles with getting things out of my head and put it in writing properly, without sounding too confusing as a result. Well, you'll be the judges of how much I just complicated the whole thing. I'm sorry, but I hadn't had much time or will for editing. I'm quite beat and still on pills and tea...
Don't listen to my ramblings, go on, and read it .

Thank you all for the wonderfull reviews you gave me last time! Love ya all very much! I'm hoping I won't scare ya all away after this update :)
Chapter 6 – The Chess game



That's the game of chess,
your life against the death
and you're a looser
just loosing your last breath,
the clock's tick tock,
seems to be dead men's talk
and you're a looser,
just loosing your last breath.

The point of death has never been closer;
enter the garden of chaos and order.
A rude awake from the dream,
from the dream that you've been painting,

It's a dream within a dream
so much yet to be seen
how much time is it taking
till you feel the agony

and still you are searching
for your lost memories,
but you know you'll have
a blind date with your death.

The chance to live has never been closer,
enter the garden of chaos and order.
A rude awakening from the dream,
from the dream that you've been painting…

A sweet awakening from the nightmare of the hating
a dream within a dream so much yet to be seen… - The Chess Game by Cemetery of Scream
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He force-fed her.

He actually strode into her cell, grabbed the bowl of soup she left untouched again this day and pressed it to her lips.

And she obediently opened her mouth without a protest. It was the last thing she expected of him to do… or rather, she had never expected it of him to do it at all. It shocked her, to say the least, freezing her mind from forming any words of protest.

All she could do was remember his heavy footsteps, as he strode so purposefully into her cell, demanding of her to sit up from her curled up position in the hay, while prying her hands from her face with his fingers. Then demanded of her to open her mouth. Demanding that she gulped the liquid down. Demanding of her to repeat it all until the bowl was empty and her stomach full. Demanding, always demanding.

When the first shock was over, her bewildered mind was in no better condition than before. She really hasn’t realized how weak she became. That lone bowl of soup two days ago – was it two days? - hadn’t done anything in making her feel better. It sat heavy in her stomach as she listened to that guard why was it brought to her.

Now she was being fed forcefully. By him no less…

This was what she feared the most, beside the impending pain that awaited her in the hands of the Lord William Rayne – the Devil… which, as she noticed fleetingly, were surprisingly warm, holding her weak body upright, and strong... She was losing control of her life completely. And it was hard to hold the chin high and not to cry now, when all she did was huddle on the floor shaking. Where was that girl now that she used to be?

She was trapped, accused of things she most likely hadn’t been guilty of, and now couldn’t even undermine the supposed allegations due to her lower status. She was denied of sleep and talk, because she was aware of the fact that every word she’d utter would speak against her. She was held prisoner by the Devil himself, which had a voice of an angel that saved her few nights before…

This is where the once proud and free girl resided now.

She was trapped. And, Buffy thought, as the bowl was tightly pressed to her lips, she was denied even the escape to other realm, to join her beloved Mother. It is what such starvation should bring, right? Her death. The death that would not be caused by the hands of another man, demon or fire…rope… … water. It would be by her own will… her own choice – to starve.

Buffy was shocked by where her fuzzy and muddled mind brought her. The warm soup was slowly awakening her now and she struggled to think of anything else. The man that held her was insistent that she drank it all, and she did not protest. She hadn’t wanted to die, per se. Not at all, she wanted to live. To breathe the air of that meadow again, the air so clean and filled with scents of earth and flowers. She longed to feast her eyes on the beautiful colors of nature surrounding her, watching river sparkling in the sun or glowing softly under the moonlight. She longed to control her life again, being free and…

Free.

Here her mind stopped. Freedom was such a beautiful word.


She looked up, as the bowl was removed finally, and saw that blue eyes were staring into hers. It was all that she could see for a while… that mesmerizing hue of the heavens… it engulfed her completely and whole, freeing her for just a moment.

She longed for that clear blue sky too.


But it was gone the minute he closed his eyes.
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Spike was… … he could not describe it at the moment.

It happened right after he came out of the torture chamber and started walking behind Riley Finn and Graham Miller, another guard he trusted enough to be present for the torturing sessions.

He hadn’t wanted to, but as he was passing the cell of one Buffy Anne Summers, his eyes strayed towards her. It was not in his plan to do so, honestly, but as he saw the look in her eyes, the look of complete and utter terror she was sending after the girl that guards were carrying outside, he paused in his walk.

It was… it was really her eyes alone that did it. That strange something, happening in his chest. It suddenly… tightened. Constricted for just a brief second, mind you, but nonetheless it happened. He hadn’t felt anything like it for very long time, so he couldn’t point a finger on exactly what it meant, but it was there. He tried to shrug it away. He didn’t like it. It felt foreign. Unlived and now awoken anew.

Guards paused in their steps too then and he sent them away distractedly, eyes glued to her form in the hay, frowning in thought. He was observing her closely now. There was something else in her eyes as well. Not just terror, but something like… compassion. That’s it, he thought, compassion for the girl that was carried away from her view.

The girl she did not know.

He hadn’t expected it. The thought alone was confusing, but he was gifted with reading people’s expressions well, being part of his expertise and all, so he was sure that he hadn’t made a mistake in reading hers. It was mind-boggling, to say the least. Something in him… felt differently for a moment, before he squashed anything unneeded away again.

Spike cocked his head to the side as he watched her. Buffy’s chin was trembling. She hadn’t cried once since she was brought here and even now there were no tears sliding down her paled cheeks…

And there was something about the cheeks that disrupted his thoughts. They looked gaunt-like. Sunken again. Spike frowned further, this time he knew the feeling brewing slowly inside him. Pure annoyance and angry exasperation. He was sure he ordered meals to be brought to her. Hadn’t she…?

He looked down then, just to make sure before he’d start to rip off the heads of his servants, and saw that bowl was indeed there, but still full, still warm apparently, a thin line of steam rising from it.

The feeling boiled. Spilled. And he saw red.

Bloody, buggering hell!

He looked up at her again, fully prepared to jump in and wring her soddin’ white neck for her refusal to do as he expected of her to do, but just as he grabbed the iron bar, to push his way inside, he saw that she was curled up in a protective ball, pressed down into hay, still all the while gazing at the girl that was almost out of her view now. The two awoken beasts inside him battled.

Briefly squeezing his eyes shut was thankfully enough for him to calm down, though his jaw was tightly clenched. His storming into the cell would only ruin everything. He opened his eyes, opened his mouth.

He noted the obvious fact of her not eating in a flat voice, barely containing anger that was again boiling inside of him, threatening to spill over. The result was her flinching; she hadn’t seen him standing there apparently and she curled even tighter into a ball, this time hiding her terror-stricken face behind her dirty palms. Her hands were so small and skinny… His mind went blank for a few seconds after seeing that.

Then the next thing he knew, he was kneeling at her side, pulling her on his lap and making her drink down the entire bowl’s content. Some of it spilled down her chin from the corners of her mouth, splattering down on his hand that held her upright at her waist. But most of it was where it should be.

Warming her up from inside out…

There were no thoughts behind his actions. Not one, until she finished and gasped for air. He placed the bowl down and forgot what his intentions were supposed to be next as she looked dazedly into his eyes at that point. He found himself frozen in time.

Because, for the first time, she didn’t look away in fear or flinched. Her eyes were widened, almost like child’s in wonder and… longing.

Not begging, mind you. Just… longing. And not in a way that he was now, too, drowning in her green pools, feeling her on his lap, though trembling and only skin and bones… and how could her hair still smell like flowers after spending in this dank cell for three days and a half? The stank of body fluids and all that dampness and mud should ruin her natural scent, shouldn’t it?

Then it hit him. Hit him hard, like a well placed punch in his stomach.

Stank cell. Dungeon.

Witch.

He closed his eyes tightly, gaining control over himself again. And what. In a bleeding hell. Was he doing. Sitting in all this filth. Coddling her??

He quickly disentangled himself from her, ignoring the crestfallen look in her eyes as he left her lying in the hay and stormed out.

He needed a bath.

And he needed Anya.
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Buffy was left alone and confused. She even stopped shaking, though that was probably mostly from the warmth that soup gave her.

The soup she was made to drink. By the Devil called William. She could not forget that tender name...

Why did he leave so abruptly after that? Has he left to bring the others now that she was fed? Buffy suppressed the shiver rattling her small body at the mere thought.

That tall guard with a glare has told her last time that the food was brought to her to strengthen her body so she could be alive longer when they… Buffy refused to think further.

Shouldn’t the hands of a Devil supposed to be cold?

She shook her head to clear it from the thought. Where has that thought come from, anyway? Oh. His hands were warm. And she thought the Devil should have cold hands. While that was obviously untrue, as she clearly felt it herself only moments ago, should it mean then that he wasn’t the Devil after all?

What a chaotic mess of disorder ruled in her mind just now! She was locked in a cage by the one Monarch of Hell with warm and gentle hands, when on the other hand, she was sure he was the angel who saved her before as she recognized him by his voice, but now held ice in his eyes.

And why would his eyes hold the colors of the summer sky she so craved?

She shook her head again. This time the action was more dizzying than before. She sat upright, her hands shaking from the effort of pushing herself upwards.

Even if his eyes held the blue hues she loved to watch, he was here to mock her, to taunt her with freedom she could not have any more. And she could clearly remember a few times before, that his eyes could change. Darken to the point it reminded her of when her Mother used to call her to come inside, warning her of the approaching storm, while pointing at the darkness spreading and mingling with the blue, dimming it.

She was lost in her thoughts, staring into the stony floor. For once, her memories weren’t awful. They were of her mother and her lovely curled hair, the color of sunshine and richness of the golden wheat. Her kind eyes and soothing voice, warm embrace and smell of fresh apples…

Buffy was so caught up in her thoughts that the sudden sound of footsteps startled her and she hardly suppressed yelp.

She sunk down again, and looked up from her position, thoughts of her mother forgotten abruptly. Buffy could see that someone was standing in front of her doors again, just like before. She caught a glimpse of blonde hair before turning quickly towards the wall, hugging it, with only one certainty in her mind.

He came back to take her away and lock her behind that door of endless torture.
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Lady Darla Rayne was looking out the window of the carriage she and her husband had taken to the London, watching colors of the sky in warm, rich, yellow and red hues, painting a striking image of a late autumn day passing into the night. She could already see the cold wisp of dark blue creeping upon the lively colors, soon to be smothered into the night. Grass plants and almost barren trees beneath the striking spectacle were wearing red and golden rays of the sleepy sun.

She hadn’t ever particularly liked the countryside. She preferred bigger towns and court, where she would admire newest fashions as they’d be presented on women parading on the balls and dinners. She loved the show of wealth and her family alone was fortunate enough to have it plenty.

But she hadn’t wanted to go on this trip this time. She loved her husband dearly, so she soon complied with his wishes and had come with him when he asked her, but it was done and agreed with accompanied pout and bribery - promises of new lovely things, mostly.

She looked back inside, watching distractedly at her husband, sitting in front of her on the plush bench. Her first refusal to accompany him was simple. She hadn’t wanted to leave little Andrew with his brother.


He took her lack of enthusiasm to visit court with a frown at first, thinking she was ill. But when she assured him that she only wanted her younger son be spared from the works William delighted in doing, he was fast to convince her, that spending time with his older brother, Andrew would only benefit.

‘’He shall get the chance to learn from the best, my dear.’’ Her husband reasoned when she told him of her thoughts.

‘’William is too busy right now and besides… even if he allowed him down in those disgusting dungeons, which I refuse to believe that he will, I do not wish for Andrew to be in contact with all these scoundrels. They might be diseased or worse. He is only a child!’’

‘’Nonsense,’’ Lord Ethan chuckled, his eyes wrinkling at the corners… she always liked that. ‘’It is the perfect time for him to discover all shades of the world, my sweet wife. Not only the shade of pure white, but the black and gray as well. He shall learn the most at this age. You shall see!’’

Darla un-lady-like snorted in answer and turned away, then catching his eyes in the mirror again as she sat with him standing behind her. They both froze for a second. None of them even for a minute entertained the thought of Andrew accompanying them to the court, because there was nothing entertaining in it at all.

Their eyes told the whole story of a horror that happened the last time he went with them… Lady Darla would have to see, as soon as they arrive, if Lady Glorificus had stopped limping already...oh, and they still owed Sir Rupert Giles new chess pieces...

‘’Besides, my dear,’’ Ethan continued with a bit of strain in his voice, most definitely the incident playing in his mind still. Good thing only few of the people knew what had happened. ‘’He adores his older brother. I’m sure he will behave like a… a good boy that he is.’’


Lady Darla Rayne looked out the window again, deep in thought. They would soon stop to rest for the fast approaching night. It was a long journey ahead with a few more stops and all the while she’d think of things Andrew usually did when there was lack of attention for him. She internally winced and wondered, just what exactly her younger son was up to right now.

And if she even really wanted to know.
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He was looking at the prisoner with scrutinizing eyes, just like his brother did the first day, unknowingly to him.

She was tiny, he noted with dissatisfaction. He thought she would be ugly, hag-like, with white mussed hair like a crow’s nest. She shouldn’t have any teeth left and her skin should suppose to be hard, like leather. Not that he touched her… he just observed the paled skin from the other side of the bars, where torch lend it flickering golden glow. And her hair was golden, her strands like the most expensive dress of his was knitted of. And hers was dull and dirty. She looked tired and cold. And so very afraid as she spotted him finally.

He sighed in disappointment. She didn’t do it.
Andrew watched her trembling body, as it was turned towards the wall, her forehead pressed to the stone.

‘’So… wanna play a chess game with me?’’

The girl he saw behind bars looked stricken by his words as she turned toward him by the sound of his voice. He didn’t know why, but she looked almost surprised. They both waited in thick silence for a few moments.

And then, she burst into tears.
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He rode his black steed like a man possessed through the quiet streets of Sunnydale, the iron hooves were pounding loudly upon the stone floor; the black hooded cloak he wore was billowing behind him in the wind, looking almost like large darkened wings had sprouted from his back, ready to take him into the air. To anyone watching, he’d make a spectacle of a flying beast leaping from the shadows of hell itself, thus further fueling frightened imaginations.

He finally reached his destination. Spike hastily dismounted at the well known local brothel house and inn Arashmahaar, and pulled the hood of his cloak down tighter, to mask his features as he bounded up the stairs three at the time, not minding the strange looks he got from other patrons.

‘’Anya!’’ he burst through the familiar door, calling for her like a mad man. ‘’Bloody hell, where are you wench?!’’

‘’I’m here, Will, no need for you to shout, you know. I hear you quite well.’’ came a calm, if not a little husky, voice from the adjoined room that served as a bath room.

Spike breathed a deep sigh of relief, closed the door, made a few steps further in and sagged down into the chair by the fire, trying to catch a breath. His, usually tough demeanor faded, almost like it melted at the presence of the flickering flames nearby, and he hunched down, his elbows propped on his knees, his head in his palms.

Anya found him like this as she emerged from the other room, wet washcloth in her hand. She was not quite shocked by his show of obvious vulnerability, being able to see it often when he came to her, but it surprised her nonetheless.

‘’What is the matter, William? Is Andrew all right? He didn’t jump out the window or something stupid as that, just because someone told him he could try to fly? I could really slap him from causing you so many troubles sometimes, you know?’’ She paused then and frowned. ‘’No, he could not do anything stupid, since I was just there with you and he was just fine.’’

She briefly paused again as it dawned to her. ‘’Oh, do you need me again so soon? I must say, I haven’t quite recovered from the previous one yet, since it happened only few hours ago, but I could try and…’’

‘’No.’’ came the muffled voice. Spike hadn’t looked up. He felt exhausted. ‘’I don’t need you for that. Not yet at least.’’

He paused for a few heart beats and Anya frowned. Why is he suddenly like this? He was in a completely different mood not a few hours ago.

‘’Could we just…talk?’’ Spike slowly asked as he finally looked up, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames from the fireplace. They shone but seemed blank to Anya.

She just now realized how very tired he looked. She could thump herself on the head for not thinking and seeing it right away. ‘’Of course we can.’’ She came closer and sat down in the chair closest to his. ‘’That is why you came here for, is it not?’’ The question was really a statement but she waited until she saw him slowly nod. ‘’Could I offer you anything, William? Tea, perhaps?’’

‘’No, no tea, thank you. And, yes.’’ Spike sighed and looked at the flames. ‘’I came ‘ere to talk.’’

Anya watched him silently as he composed himself.

‘’I think that…’’ he paused again and then growled in frustration, wiping his face with his palm, looking irritated. Then he looked at her expectant face, his words fast but tripping. ‘’I don’ know what to say. How to… say what’s on ‘m mind. Not this time ‘round.’’ He looked away again.

Anya noted his rough spoken words, more close to commoner speaking, than those of a Lord-like status. He was really, really befuddled about something.

He looked back at Anya then, his eyes wide and unfocused. ‘’I… I think she might be…’’
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‘’…innocent, I swear!’’ Buffy cried out, her hands clutching at the bars on her door. Her tear stricken face was wet and cold, draft harshly drying it.
Andrew just nodded. He already knew that. The girl in front of him could hardly stand. She couldn’t possibly do all those things by herself and it was widely known by now that she was a loner since her mother died.
He suddenly wished his mother was here.

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‘’I don’t rightly know what to do anymore.’’ Spike couldn’t make an eye contact with the shocked woman, sitting near his chair.

Anya was stunned, but that was hardly ever achieved by most men in her business, so she composed herself quickly again and put her best calm look on her face.

‘’You go and do what you do best, William,’’ she told him. ‘’And that is to bring those who deserve it to justice.’’ A quick remainder would not hurt now, will it?

‘’It is not that simple anymore, Anyanka. This is… something else.’’

‘’I know, but it won’t change the fact that you have your work to do. After all this is done, you shall feel better again, I’m sure.’’

‘’I believe so.’’ Spike stood up from his chair and looked gratefully at Anya. ‘’Thanks, pet. I needed that. To put things off my chest a bit.’’ He then went with his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. ‘’I got to go back. Christ knows what Andrew’s up to, and quite frankly, I do not want to know about another chess incident, like the last time. Or any other incident, for that matter.’’

‘’You know, you never really told me, what happened with those chess pieces…’’ Anya’s eyes were big and innocent, clearly in hunt for a good gossip.

Spike chuckled. ‘’And you’ll never know. No one ever will.’’ With that, he turned and walked toward the door. ‘’I will call for you to come soon again, if...’’ he sighed and shook with his head, a wry smile on his lips.

‘’Yes, yes. Oh, and William?’’

‘’Yes, Anya?’’ he paused at the door, holding them open with his back to her.

‘’Will I have to scream again, just so you could scare the poor girl some more? I was serious when I told you before that my voice hasn’t recovered yet.’’




TBC...


Chapter End Notes:
So...still reading? Was it good? Bad? confusing? Don't worry, confusion can be healed by explanations. as for the other two? Please let me know. :)

Idk if i'll update this year any more. It's absolutely better to write with a head that doesn't spin. ;) Besides... hollidays are approaching fast - If you guys don't hear from me anymore this year, then I wish you all a wonderful time, wherever you'll be spending it! Lots of hugs and smoochies to you all! :)



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