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A/N...your support for this fic that was originally meant as a one shot is awesome. I hope you like this chapter.

She couldn’t leave. The changes in mood and attitude Spike had displayed over the hours she had spent with him were so lightning fast that she could feel a steady thump at the base of her skull. Yay, she was in for a headache. Staring at Willy’s tank disguised as a car didn’t help to dim any of the tension either. So, casting her eyes around, she found herself searching for a window that would help her to spy on Spike. For no other reason than to make sure he didn’t wheel himself into a fire or something. That the grate was free of flame was so not the point, Buffy conceded with a humph.

It looked like she’d left him alone in the chair just in time, as he was soon set upon by his vampiric claim to family. It was funny how those few hours watching him get drunk, watching him slowly accept that she wasn’t about to stake him while he couldn’t even stand, gave her an alarming ability to read him. Know the nuances of his lips and the glitter of his eyes when he was in pain but masked by sarcastic bravado.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected the treatment had been for him to be so resolute in seeking his death. Sure, losing his love to his long lost grandsire wouldn’t have made him want to do wheelies while singing in the street. But even if Drusilla was a fickle bitch, she couldn’t see that the woman who had previously enjoyed the loving devotion of William the Bloody would be intentionally unkind to him. But the callous acts being performed in front of Spike would be more than enough to make the blonde vamp decide to end his torment. Seek a permanent release from his pain.

It was horrific. It was awful and so deliberately cruel. Not to mention gross and disgusting. No way was she putting up with this.

Without questioning why she felt so strongly about taking Spike away from this kind of daily life, Buffy spun away from the window and headed for back-up. And a plan. And a shred of commonsense.

She didn’t even give Willy’s car a second glance as she blurred down the street.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He wasn’t ready. Not bloody ready to return to the persona that belonged in this chair. Become the beaten down childe that didn’t deserve anything but the stalest crumbs tossed his way.

Before he’d prepared his heart for it, before he’d resolved the kiss with the Slayer in his head, they bombarded him with their carnal scent. Skipped around his chair with cruel delight as they resumed their play with each other. The only thing he was grateful for was that the distraction kept them from smelling danger on him. Smelling small traces of betrayal and discontent.

Dru’s voice was a nasty trill as she giggled and sung the praises of her most special Daddy and his meaty schlong of terror. Spike hurt his eyes by rolling them back so hard at the waggling appendage of his grandsire and wondered if he could chip his teeth with a superhuman jaw clench. Good thing for vampire healing her of Spike’s nice shape or that little thing would fall right out of Dru’s slippy tunnel of love. But if Dru’s new thing were to throw hotdogs down her hallway, he’d find blonder pastures to stretch out in.

She slunk over his lap, her head swaying and body nude as they sung a serpent’s song, her eyes far away and dreamy and in no way focusing on him as she writhed her pussy against his jeans.

For the first time, the hedonistic act made him feel ill. Made him wish he hadn’t wasted the strength in his legs earlier in seeking the Slayer out. Made him wish he had waited for this repulsive moment to grow a set and seek some comforts instead of eternal damnation.

It wasn’t even that the sojourn into the Slayer’s lap had his mind casting for alternatives to take his mind off his current humiliation. Wasn’t that her lips had whispered a promise of other ways to exist. Wasn’t even that her maniacal driving scared the shit out of him and the life back into him.

For some fucked up reason, it was her hair. Shining gold that he would love to just fold in his hand; let his fingers smooth with a gentle touch while perhaps curled up in front of the telly.

The image brought a smile to his lips, and as out of it as Dru was, she took the sign as intended for her and slipped all over him some more. Her clammy skin made him colder and he found his mind wandering to warmer places, seeing other horizons.

Dru’s hands wandered to his pants, despite the lack of solid behind the zipper. Before she connected with metal, however, Angelus had torn her off Spike’s lap with a fist twisted roughly in the woman’s hair. She whimpered a little before her usual insane cackle grated in Spike’s ears.

A little shake of his head may have released him from the images of the blond out of his reach—‘and with bloody good reason’ he thought with a confused frown—but even the intricacies of his long-time lover had his teeth on edge. For the first time in over a hundred years she failed to captivate him. Just plain out failed, and that set a more desperate fear in his heart than the thought of meeting the business end of the Slayer’s stake should have.

Angelus shoved his conquest face forward across Spike’s lap and he cringed back in his chair in the face of understanding. Once upon a time he would have had his dick in her mouth, being sucked to a blissful place while she was pleasured from behind. But this act was designed to hurt, designed to keep him in his place by an Angelus with a point to prove. Her hair brushed against his crotch as she moaned and writhed above him, Angelus pounding into her sopping hole with all the vengeance of a hundred year craving for freedom.

What could he do but zone out? So Spike put himself back there, returned in his head to the role of invalid wishing for a savior.

Wishing for Buffy.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It wasn’t until she got to her Watcher’s door—pounding on it like the hounds of hell were after her brand new Jimmy Choo knock-offs—that she realised that Giles was going to look at her like she’d been turned. The thought of it nearly made her giggle, and probably would have if she’d not remembered the scene she had just run from.

A groggy middle-aged Watcher opened the door to her and at once Buffy was inside. He closed the door in a haze of confusion.

“Sorry for the early wake-up call, Giles. I forgot that not everyone else is up killing demon’s like me,” she told him, the small shot of sarcasm for once not intended but established nonetheless with his grimace.

She looked impatient as he retrieved a pair of glasses from the pocket of his robe and gingerly placed them upon his nose. He squinted at her, his eyes still in the land of nod even if his brain was ticking over slowly.

“I kinda need the gang’s help. But yours most of all, ‘cause… you know…you’re the man with the car.”

Giles’s brows hit his hairline in a sudden premonition that he was in for something he wasn’t going to like.

“Indeed,” was his reply as he snapped his glasses from his face and began to rub them nervously. “What happened, Buffy? I will try and help you if you need it. Of course I will.”

“Okay,” she started, her mind finally catching up with her motive and wondering if he would think she had gone around some shaky bend and crashed into a pesky hidden wall. “I kinda need your help in rescuing someone.”

The blank expression on his face immediately was replaced with active concern and he was racing for his room to get dressed. “Of course,” he tossed over his shoulder as he retreated into his loft. “Just let me throw on some clothes and get the keys. You can explain along the way. Will you need anyone else?”

Buffy nervously eyed the lightening sky—freezing out the image of Giles’s inevitably incredulous expression when they arrived and she explained her purpose—and smiled. It would be much easier to rescue Spike with a big stake, a bigger cross, and a confused but loyal watcher watching her back. That made her giggle quietly, not wanting Giles to hear and suddenly slow and not see any urgency in the sitch if she was laughing in the midst of apparent disaster.

“Nah, we should be able to do it on our own.”

He returned, scruffy but covered a little in tweed. Buffy grabbed his small bag of stakes, holy water bottles and cross and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Giles? Grab a thick blanket, too.”

His expression puckered as he contemplated the blanket, an uneasy feeling settling over his shoulders as he followed her into the approaching morning. As he unlocked his car—noticing Buffy’s flinch as the key lodged in the ignition—he asked for directions, wondering at her street by street by-play as he rumbled closer and closer to the mansion.

Once he realised the final address, he groaned and waited patiently for the reason he was sitting parked outside the home of their latest worry. One look at Buffy’s determined face told him he wasn’t going to get one that was rational, and instead of questioning her, instead of doing anything that might prolong his return to his bed, he crept along behind her.

Ready with resigned breath to watch the latest folly unfold.





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