“Do you really have to go so soon?”

Buffy’s arms tightened unconsciously around her sister as they stood in the doorway. Dawn’s bags were on the floor at her feet, the single garment bag and carry-on that she had brought with her for her weekend visit to her sister and her husband.

“You know finals start Tuesday,” Dawn reminded her, her green eyes large and sad as she took in her sister’s demeanor – so subdued and self-conscious…and so very different from the girl she had once been. “You know,” she added hesitantly, already anticipating the answer before she asked the question – the same answer Buffy gave her every time she asked – which was every time she saw her.

“You could just come back *with* me. You know I’m living off campus now, and my new apartment is huge, Buffy. There’s plenty of room if you just wanna…you know… get away for a little while?”

Buffy fought back the tears that rose in her eyes, determined not to let her little sister – as she still thought of her, despite the fact that Dawn towered a good six inches over her by now – see how lonely, unhappy and uncertain she was…how badly she wanted to accept her offer.

“No, Dawnie, don’t be silly. I’m fine. I just…miss you…is all,” Buffy said, forcing a smile.

Dawn frowned, a familiar smoldering anger rising in her eyes as she watched her sister’s pathetic attempt to convince her that everything was all right.

Everything was *not* all right – had not been for a very long time.

If Dawn had had any idea five years ago of the terrible turn Buffy’s life was about to make, she would have warned her. Not that she would have listened – Dawn had only been fourteen years old, and Buffy had seen her as nothing more than a child.

And Riley Finn had seemed to Buffy like the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was sweet, and thoughtful, and paid attention to her, treated her like she was his entire world. And most of all…he was *normal*.

Buffy had been in love before, with someone very decidedly *not* normal…and they all knew that had not turned out so well. Since then, she had increasingly sought what she thought of as a “normal” life. At first it had thrown her when she had found out that Riley was actually a secret commando guy with a government agency, but when she thought about it, the fact that that secret government agency was a group of *monster hunters* seemed to work out perfectly for her.

She was the Slayer. Normal only went so far for her, no matter how hard she tried.

When the Initiative had fallen apart around them, she had been so proud of Riley when he had struggled up through the rubble of the life he had built for himself, and presented himself and his at that point meager achievements to those in charge, asking for the opportunity to attempt to try it again – his way. He had some ideas that had seemed quite radical, but he had presented himself well, and the government officials had actually listened and given the farm boy from Iowa a chance.

After all, he was one of the few who had actually kept the whole Initiative massacre from being much, much worse – as they were only too aware that it could have been.

One of his more radical ideas, which took a little longer than most to actually accomplish, was to go public. Riley seemed to think that the public would be in less danger if they actually knew that they were in danger at all. With Buffy at his side and the help of a group of soldiers placed under his command, he had spent some time gathering evidence and statistics, hard-core proof of what really went on behind the cover stories of people dying from “throat hemorrhages” and explained-away disappearances.

After a year or two, building up a rather impressive resume and experience, Riley had received the opportunity to take his evidence and his ideas before the President. It had taken some convincing -- but not as much as it would have taken had the President’s own mother not succumbed to death by an “unexplained throat hemorrhage” that had looked to his eyes suspiciously like a bite mark, only weeks before their meeting.

Buffy remembered clearly the day that the monsters she had secretly kept at bay for years became public knowledge. It was the biggest news story of the year, the revelation of the truth behind the strange occurrences that had been going on for so long, not only in Sunnydale, but throughout the country. For weeks, it was all that was talked about on news programs, talk shows, radio programs.

There were exposes revealing the truth behind the deaths of certain public figures who had died in very unnatural ways; public services announcements detailing the precautions to take when traveling at night to avoid vampire attacks; self-defense classes specializing in defense against supernatural attackers.

Buffy was amazed at how easily most people seemed to accept it. It was as if they had merely been in denial before, refusing to acknowledge what a part of them already knew, for fear of being ridiculed or thought to be insane. But now that it was open, common knowledge, many people began to come forward with their own stories of lost loved ones and strange occurrences they had experienced.

Riley became a very wealthy, very prominent man.

And Buffy, strangely uncomfortable with all the attention that seemed to be coming her way lately, even if most of it was indirect due to her relationship with Riley, mostly kept to herself and allowed him to soak up all the glory, although she had done quite a bit herself to help him reach the level of respect and authority he had reached. Dawn hated the fact that her sister, who had been fighting evil much longer than Riley had, was getting no credit for all their combined accomplishments, no acknowledgement for all her hard work.

But then, Riley acknowledged it.

He asked Buffy to marry him.

Dawn had known even then that Buffy didn’t love Riley, and that had been her first clue that there was trouble brewing in paradise. Buffy didn’t love Riley and want to marry him, as much as she thought that she was *supposed* to love him and want to marry him. Dawn had warned her to be sure she knew what she was doing, be sure this was what she really wanted, before she said yes…but what did she know?

She was just her little sister, after all.

So Buffy had married Riley, a mere two years ago. And already, Dawn knew that she was miserable. During that first year when Dawn had lived with them, she had seen a dramatic, almost instant change in Riley from the moment they got married.

He became quiet, withdrawn, moody. He spent a lot more time working on various projects, away from home, and Dawn knew that if not for her, her sister would have been very lonely. Buffy felt ignored and neglected, and Dawn began to notice her self-esteem suffer for it as well.

Riley would snap at her for little or no reason, and instead of getting angry and defending herself as Buffy would have ordinarily done, Dawn was shocked to see her backing down where she had done no wrong, blaming herself for the problems in her new marriage. If only she was a little more understanding, a little more patient, Riley was a very busy, important man…why couldn’t Dawn understand that it wasn’t his fault?

Buffy hardly sounded like the girl Dawn had grown up with anymore.

So it was that Dawn was not surprised when Buffy held her tongue, when Riley re-started the Initiative’s old research with controlling and using the demons and vampires for their own benefit, as opposed to simply eliminating their threat altogether.

Dawn knew her sister well enough to know that Buffy had very strong ideas about that sort of thing. She believed that it was that sort of mindset that had resulted in the disaster of the first Initiative. Buffy felt that if a creature was evil, dangerous, it should simply be eliminated – experiments with behavior modification and control were not only inhumane and ethically uncertain, but simply dangerous.

Still, she didn’t say a word as Riley began to do new research along the same lines as what the Initiative had done before, with the chips and such, building a facility where captured “hostiles” as he still called them were kept, experimented on, and rendered no longer dangerous.

Dawn knew that Buffy was worried about Riley’s new pursuits, and it bothered her that her sister refrained from saying anything about it to her husband. In fact, it seemed that as time went on, the distance between Buffy and Riley grew wider and wider, and Buffy began to close in on herself more and more.

Oh, she attended society events with her important, impressive husband, playing a role Dawn had never thought to see her in and hated the thought of – the dutiful, supportive wife, standing by her husband’s side, laughing at his jokes, supporting his every opinion, and never daring to think for herself for a moment.

But the only one she ever *really* talked to was Dawn.

As Buffy’s status had gradually risen with Riley’s, she had become distanced from her old friends, Willow and Xander, who had once been closer to her than anyone. And to Dawn’s dismay, Riley had seemed to encourage this distance, often making snide cut-downs against them in the privacy of their home, insinuating to Buffy that she was above them now, that they were way above the league of the amateur witch and the pizza delivery boy she had hung out with before.

Dawn could tell that it angered Buffy when he talked that way about her friends…and that was why she couldn’t understand why Buffy didn’t say anything…why she allowed it…and why she continued to distance herself from her friends, just to please Riley. Before long, Dawn was not only Buffy’s sister, but her closest friend…her *only* friend.

That was why Dawn had known so certainly that her leaving for college would crush Buffy.

Buffy had offered to let her stay there with them, as U. C. Sunnydale was only a short drive from their home. But the truth was, Dawn just couldn’t stand to spend any more time around Riley. He had become so arrogant, so self-involved, so…cold. And Dawn just couldn’t take another minute more of him than she absolutely had to.

Also, she had secretly hoped that Buffy would snap out of it once she was alone with him, and realized the kind of person Riley had become. Every time she came to visit her, Dawn asked her if she wanted to come stay with her.

And every time, Buffy refused.

“I miss you too,” Dawn said softly in response to Buffy’s words, and the sympathy, the sorrow in her eyes made Buffy look away.

“So what are you two doing tonight?” Dawn asked with a forced smile. She always tried to draw Buffy’s attention to the things that were *not* right in her life – like the total absence of any actual fun. Maybe if she kept forcing Buffy’s eyes onto the harsh reality that was her life, and out of her state of denial, eventually she would care enough to do something about it.

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in an expression of disgust as she replied unhappily, “Riley’s dragging me to one of those horrible auctions. I hate those things.”

“Me, too,” Dawn agreed with a sympathetic grimace of distaste.

“But I have to go. I mean, he’s kind of the reason why they even have them, so I guess I ought to be supportive,” Buffy sighed.

*Are you ever anything *but* supportive?* Dawn wanted to ask her, but didn’t. It was so unlike her sister to go along with something with which she disagreed so whole-heartedly as these auctions that were initiated by Riley’s organization.

And yet, here she was, going along with it just the same.

It had been a small step from the chips to render the demons and vampires harmless, to rendering them useful – especially now that society in general knew that they existed. Much to Buffy’s horror and disgust, Riley had gradually turned his project into a very profitable business.

Legislation had been drawn up, lobbied for forcefully by Riley and his supporters, to officially declare the otherworldly creatures he dealt with as non-human, in the realm of animals, and therefore not possessing any actual rights.

And then the auctions had begun.

Government sponsored and supported, places where people could buy a chip-controlled Fyarl demon to be used for heavy work, or any number of species for which Buffy did not know the names, to be used as beasts of burden.

Or a vampire, as a household servant.

A slave.

Buffy had thought of Angel, whom she had loved so deeply, and wondered where he was…if he was all right…and the thought of Riley’s auctions made her sick.

He had wasted no time in obtaining plenty of servants for the beautiful, spacious mansion in which they now lived. Buffy tried not to notice the unusual ratio of female vampires that he had purchased…or the unusual amount of time Riley seemed to spend alone in his study with some of them.

Even beyond the thought she tried to put out of her head, the fact she tried to deny of Riley’s infidelity, she hated the very idea -- because as much as she tried to tell herself that Riley was right, they weren’t human and it was not a moral issue, she had ceased to believe that in the moment she had fallen in love with Angel.

She hated what her life had become, a pretense of love and happiness that she had to fake her way through every day.

And she hated the auctions.

But she was in a position many girls would envy, she told herself, though she couldn’t make herself believe it. She was wealthy, and married to a handsome, powerful man who was still going places, although he had already come so far. What right did she have to complain?

She sighed as she watched her sister’s car backing out of the driveway, and went upstairs to change her clothes for the evening’s event. They were always formal affairs, and she wanted to look her best. She would have to suffer her way through it, as she always did, trying her best to look as if she was enjoying herself.

It was her duty.

Buffy descended the stairs, in a dark green dress of some rich, soft fabric that accentuated her curves and was very flattering. Her hair was carefully upswept in a style that she wouldn’t have had the first clue how to do during her Slaying days. Riley was waiting for her at the bottom, his arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

He was not even looking at her.

When she reached the bottom, he spared her a glance, muttering, “Finally. God, Buffy, how long does it take? For all the time you took, I’d have expected…” His voice trailed off, shaking his head as he turned toward the door, with a dismissive “forget it” sort of gesture of his hand.

The statement he didn’t finish stung her. *For all the time you took, I’d have expected…* Buffy knew that he had been going to say, “more”. *Great,* she thought, swallowing back the hard lump that rose in her throat. *Just the way I need to start this *wonderful* evening…with a kick to the self-confidence by Mr. Tactful. Why isn’t anything I do ever good enough for him?*

The ride to the auction in the classy, expensive black car that was Riley’s newest mode of transportation was smooth and comfortable – and utterly silent. Buffy’s heart ached with the distance between her and her husband. She had known when she married him, in some part of her that she had tried her hardest to ignore, that she didn’t love him. But she had cared about him, and had believed that over time, those feelings could develop into love.

But they had not, even after all this time.

So why did the increasing fear that *he* had stopped loving *her* hurt so bad?

They reached the building where the auctions were held, about once a month or so, and a valet in a black tuxedo opened her door for her and took her hand to help her from the car. She smiled at him automatically as Riley came around the car to take her arm and lead her inside.

*Go through the motions, smile, look happy,* she chanted in her head, nodding and smiling in greeting as they passed several people that they knew, on the way to the special reserved seating set aside for them.

Once seated, Buffy sat back with a small sigh of mingled relief and resignation. For a couple of hours at least, she could just sit back and not have to worry about making small talk with pompous, self-involved people she despised, who pretended to know her and pretended to like her, simply because of who her husband was.

Instead, she got to turn her attention to the disturbing inhumanity of the scene before her.

The center of the large room was a wide open circle, empty when the auction was not taking place. At the moment, it was completely filled with well-dressed people, strolling about, looking at the merchandise up for sale on this particular evening as they mingled and strengthened their considerable social connections.

Arranged in rows of small lots, each lot numbered, was a wide assortment of different breeds of demons. Those that were less similar to humans, the ones that best fit Riley’s description of all demons as “animals”, were locked in cages for the protection of the shoppers.

The vampires and other species more closely resembling humans were bound by heavy chains at their necks or wrists, attached to sturdy posts set firmly into the stone floor. There was no chance of their escaping or doing any damage to their current or prospective human captors.

Of course, all of them had already been fitted with the behavioral modification chip technology that Riley had perfected, so even had they somehow managed to break free of the impossibly strong chains that bound them, they would have posed no danger to anyone.

After playing the role of the dutiful husband and seeing that Buffy was seated comfortably, Riley made his way down to the main floor to mingle with his peers and check out the evening’s merchandise. Buffy hated even coming to these events at all, and the last thing she wanted to do was go down to the floor and look at the monsters. As it was, her repressed Slayer senses were screaming for release from the overload of the presence of so many demons so near to her.

She watched as Riley meandered his way through the crowd, away from her – always away from her.

*Am I that repulsive?* she wondered for the thousandth time, her eyes falling to her hands, resting in her lap as her tears threatened again. *He used to want to be with me all the time…now he can’t wait to get away.*

But the fact that she was struggling to deny was her relief that he *had* left. With him had gone, if only for a few minutes, the unbearable strain of pretending that everything was okay – normal – when it was very much *not*.

She glanced back up, idly surveying the floor. Suddenly, she did a slight double take, returning her gaze to a lot right next to the wall of the arena, very near to her actually, that had caught her attention. Chained in the center of the lot was a vampire.

A platinum blond, male vampire.

His back was to her, but she stared at him, hoping that he would turn and she would get a glimpse of his face.

*Couldn’t be him,* she told herself. *There’s gotta be thousands of vampires out there with peroxide blonde hair. Well, hundreds…okay, at *least* more than one!*

Despite the distinctive hairstyle on the familiar frame, she thought that it would simply be too great a coincidence if it really was Spike down there. After all, he had taken off right after the Initiative disaster, and no one had heard anything of him since. Buffy had assumed that he was on the other side of the world by now.

Of course, Spike never could stay away from Sunnydale for long – and he always ended up paying for it.

As she watched, a well-dressed young woman approached the lot, and Buffy felt unreasonably irritated as she obviously looked the vampire, who was clad only in a pair of worn blue jeans, up and down in a lustful way. She felt her temper rising inexplicably as the girl made what was obviously a suggestive, mocking comment, leaning in dangerously close to the vampire, whose owner had foolishly chosen to chain him by the throat, leaving his hands free.

Buffy watched in amazement as the vampire lunged toward the girl, simultaneously morphing into his game face and gripping her arms, pulling her very close to him to whisper something in her ear. Then he released her and changed back just as quickly, laughing as the girl stumbled backward in fright, losing her balance and nearly falling to the ground.

Buffy found herself suppressing a laugh as she watched the scene. If there had been any doubt left in her mind as to the identity of the vampire she was watching, it vanished when he tilted his head back challengingly and raised two fingers at the girl in an obscene gesture.

A distinctly British obscene gesture.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter to her anymore that the last time she had seen him, he had almost gotten her and her friends all killed; that all seemed a lifetime away, anyway. He was someone familiar, a reminder of a long-lost life that she missed desperately, far away from the wearying pretense that she existed in now.

Without really knowing why, she rose from her seat and headed gracefully down to the floor.


Spike was still laughing at the expression on the spoiled little rich girl’s face – yeah, that would teach her to mess around with a master vampire! -- when he felt the sharp crack of a whip across his shoulders. He flinched involuntarily at the flash of white-hot pain, as his master came quickly up behind him, furious at the little display, and at the fact that the potential buyers who had witnessed it were now steering clear of this particular lot.

The much larger man seized a handful of his hair and yanked his head back hard, snarling in his ear, “You worthless little piece of crap! If you go home with me today you’re going to regret it, do you understand me?”

Spike didn’t bother trying to hide the smirk that rose to his lips in spite of the pain. This particular master was a violent man, with a violent temper, and he did not usually make a habit of doing things that he knew would anger him. But the look on that silly bint’s face when he had whispered his suggestions in her ear – well, it was bloody worth it!

Almost.

“You’d better hope you didn’t scare all the buyers away, vampire!” the man snarled, releasing him with a shove and following it up with a backhand blow that sent him stumbling, struggling to keep his footing as stars danced before his eyes.

As the haze that blurred his vision began to fade, he could make out the vague form of a person standing in front of him – a woman. As his vision cleared, his eyes moved slowly from the ground up, taking in the gorgeous dark green fabric accentuating a flawless feminine frame, and raised his eyes to look her in the face.

He froze in recognition when he saw her standing there in front of him, taking in the scene calmly. He and the Slayer had not exactly been on good terms the last time he had seen her, and he had fled Sunnydale again, certain that she would be coming after him any minute to stake him for his betrayal.

But that was years, and eternities, ago – in another life, it seemed. Now, an unneeded breath caught in his throat as he took in each familiar line of her expression, and was carried back to another time – a time which, though turbulent and confusing for him, had been infinitely better than the present.

“Buffy,” he said softly, not even really realizing that he had spoken, until his master interrupted his reverie, demanding furiously, “*What* did you call me?”

Fighting back her irritation at the man’s reaction to her name, Buffy quickly stepped forward, the movement catching the man’s eyes, and only then making him aware of her presence. Looking a little self-conscious, he took a step away from the vampire, clearing his throat nervously.

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” he asked, respectfully, and Buffy realized that he recognized her. With a sigh, she reminded herself that there was probably no one here who did not – human or otherwise.

She kept her expression cool and smiled slightly as she asked, “Having problems?” Her tone was one of mild amusement as she glanced between the man and his slave.

Embarrassed by her having noticed the previous scene, the man stammered quickly, “N-no, no, Ma’am, no problem, really. This…*thing*…” he spat out the word in disgust, glaring at Spike, “…doesn’t know its place!” He smiled cruelly as he reached out and gripped Spike’s hair painfully, yanking him closer to him, in a wordless warning to good behavior in front of this very important lady.

Spike had kept his eyes and ears open during the past couple of years in which he had been enslaved, and he knew that the Slayer had been moving up in the world. He had not expected to ever see her again – yet here she was, in all her infuriating glory, smirking at him with laughter in her eyes at his predicament.

*Spiteful little bint,* he thought to himself, feeling irritation rising in him with his shame at having her see him in such a helpless position.

*Course, it’s been worse, mate,* he reminded himself. *You could be chained to a soddin’ bathtub!*

“It responds well to negative reinforcement, though,” the man went on, oblivious to the silent interaction taking place between the slave and the powerful woman standing before them.

“ ‘It’ does?” She seemed to be suppressing a laugh, her eyes sparkling with teasing mirth. And why should he notice her beautiful, sparkling eyes when she was mocking his suffering? he wondered, furious with himself as much as with her.

Buffy broke eye contact with Spike to look up at his master, and corrected dryly, “You mean ‘it’ does what you say when you beat the crap out of ‘it’.” he smirked wickedly back down at Spike and added, “I’ve found that to be true.”

He hated this, her casually discussing him with his master as if he was not even there, and he hated *her* because he knew she was doing it because she knew he hated it. And he really couldn’t say any of the brilliant remarks that sprang to his mind, for every single one of them would have gotten him beaten senseless for disrespecting the bloody “lady”!

He glared back at her in furious frustration, as his master frowned in confusion.

“You – you *know* this…creature, Ma’am?” he asked her, hesitantly.

“You might say that,” she smiled, not taking her eyes off Spike.

“But I’ve found that violence isn’t always necessary. There are other ways.” She was genuinely trying to help, so she was surprised and irritated when Spike sneered at her, a wealth of expression in those sapphire eyes that both mocked her concern for his well-being and suggestively asked what “other ways” she might have had in mind.

Her eyes widened in shock at his nerve. Behind her, she heard the sounds of the auctioneer coming to the podium, the crowd quieting somewhat, and knew that the auction was about to begin. She needed to get back to her seat.

“On second thought,” she said suddenly, looking back up at Spike’s current master, shrugging her shoulders carelessly, “Do whatever works for *you*.” And with that, she turned and walked away without giving Spike another glance.

Returning to her seat, she found that Riley was already there.

He smiled at her and held up the bidding card he had gotten for her. She had never once bought a slave of her own at one of these auctions, though Riley still always got her a card, and it was understood that she could bid at any point if she wanted, and money was no object. Although Buffy didn’t work, and all the money they had came from Riley’s pursuits, he recognized, if only privately, that he would not be where he was if not for Buffy, and his money was hers to spend as she wished.

“Where’d you go?” he asked her in a tone of mild surprise as he smiled up at her. It was as much affection or concern as he seemed to show lately.

“I got bored,” she said casually as she shrugged and sank back down into her seat, automatically reaching to take the bidding card from his hand.

She stared down at it without seeing it as she thought over the little encounter she had just had. She felt a little guilty for her parting words, though she knew she wouldn’t have said them if she hadn’t known that the auction was about to begin, sparing Spike any more actual harm from the man who would no longer be his master in a few minutes.

Why did she even care? she wondered. Spike was not only a soulless vampire, but a soulless vampire who had tried to kill her or have her killed many times, lied to her and betrayed her, and nearly gotten her killed the last time she had seen him. Why should she care what had happened to him? If he got beaten, staked even, it was no more than he deserved – right?

Why wasn’t she sure?

And she *certainly* shouldn’t feel guilty for laughing at him, she told herself firmly. After all, it was normal to laugh at the misfortune of one’s enemy – wasn’t it? And he *was* her enemy. He was. Always had been.

She thought back to the first time she’d ever seen Spike, when he had informed her openly of his intention to kill her, and unwittingly began the dance that would follow them through the next three years. She remembered the fire, the passion and challenge of being the Slayer and facing down an enemy who was truly equal to her in skill and strength.

She had almost been sad when he had gotten chipped, though she never would have admitted that to him. Gone was the single opponent she had known that she had never been able to *truly* defeat – at least, not in a permanent sense. He had been crippled, restrained – and it was almost…disappointing.

As the memories washed over her, she longed for those old days, before all of this. Now she had no one to fight with like that – no *need* to fight anymore – but she also had no one to talk to, no one to remind her of what she had once been.

In those few moments down on the arena floor, speaking not a word more than her name, he had brought it all back to her – the power, the challenge, the awe-inspiring fact of who and what she was – the Slayer.

A wave of sadness hit her as she realized that that fire fanned by the memories was already fading; she was already beginning to slip back into her quiet little “normal” shell.

If only she could hold onto that long lost feeling that seeing Spike had reinspired in her, just a little longer!

Suddenly, her eyes widened, as the bidding card in her hand came into focus with a blinding clarity, as she turned it slowly over and over in her hand. She froze as a crazy idea occurred to her, and she repeated her previous thought in her head…if only she could hold onto it…

She smiled slightly. Maybe she *could*.

Buffy stared down at the bidding card she held in her hand. She glanced over at her husband briefly, wondering what he would think of what she wanted to do. Riley was already ignoring her again, his eyes focused on the podium where the auctioneer was welcoming everyone to the event.

She wondered if she should say something to him beforehand, or just go ahead and make her bid when the time came. But then, when she thought of attempting to explain to him her reasons for wanting to purchase the vampire with whom each of them had a not-so-pleasant history, she could not imagine what she would say. She barely understood her reasons herself.

Maybe she shouldn’t; she faltered for a moment, wondering if she was just being foolish and sentimental and nostalgic. *Yeah,* she thought, sarcastic even in her mind. *The sweet, fluffy nostalgia is going to last all of ten minutes until he starts oh so nostalgically driving you insane! Yep. Just like old times!*

She glanced down again at the lot where Spike stood, looking for the number. When she found it, she almost laughed out loud. The irony was just too much. Spike was chained and waiting to be sold on lot number seventeen.

Once again she glanced at her husband to see if he had noticed her reaction, wondering as she did why she was getting so nervous. But, she saw quickly with mingled relief and disappointment, Riley was not paying the slightest bit of attention to her.

As usual.

Suddenly, she didn’t even care what he thought of her decision. Wasn’t he always pushing her to buy some household servants of her own? True, it was probably only to appease his own conscience for his own indiscretions he had committed with servants he had purchased at events such as this, but still – he really shouldn’t mind. She was just doing what he wanted her to. Right?

She was not even aware as the auctioneer made his way through the slaves up for sale before Spike; throughout the whole proceeding her eyes were focused on him. She noticed that he maintained his usual arrogant stance, never mind the fact that he was chained and being sold like an animal.

That was a fact that still bothered her, no matter how hard she tried to reconcile it with her own world view.

*He’s not a person, Buffy,* she reminded herself. *Not a person. No soul. Not even alive.* If she was going to do this, it would not do to become *too* sympathetic towards her new slave. That was all she needed to create more trouble in her relationship with Riley, who consistently and vehemently argued that all demon species were nothing more than animals.

Her rambling thoughts were cut short when she heard the auctioneer call out lot number fifteen, and her stomach did a funny little flip inside her. Why was she so nervous about this, she wondered again. It wasn’t as if anyone would think anything of her, the wife of Riley Finn who had *started* the whole industry, purchasing a slave. Even Riley wanted her to.

So it was settled. She was going to do it.

The auctioneer started the bidding on number sixteen, another male vampire.

*No!* she thought suddenly. *Bad idea, Buffy. Not gonna do it.*

She glanced again at her husband and saw that he was not paying attention, talking to the man sitting next to him. But then, he never did pay much attention when it was a *male* slave up for sale.

*I’m gonna do it,* she thought suddenly, boldly. Not that she had any intention of doing with Spike what she was certain Riley did with his slaves, she assured herself hurriedly. But it wouldn’t hurt to make him wonder – and maybe, maybe it would make him pay attention to her again.

When she heard the auctioneer call out lot number seventeen, she could feel her heart rate accelerate.

“Lot number seventeen is a male of the vampire species,” he began, launching into his description of the merchandise. When he finished he said, “We’ll open the bidding at $1,000. Who’ll bid $1,000?”

No one even moved. Buffy herself froze, her hand refusing to move to make the bid she had decided that she would make.

Buffy could see even from her seat that the man standing beside Spike was trembling with embarrassment and rage, though he would not do something as…well, tacky…as harming him while they were on display in front of the entire auction…she hoped.

Her heart was racing, as she struggled with her indecision. She cringed at the thought of Riley’s reaction when he saw her bid on Spike, but for some reason, she hated the idea of Spike going back with the cruel master he currently had, who would certainly punish him for not being sold.

Just when she was about to raise her bidding card, regardless of Riley and his opinion, across the aisle from her someone else raised their bidding card. As the auctioneer acknowledged the opening bid, Buffy peered around Riley to see who it was.

Her mouth fell open in indignant surprise when she saw that it was the very same girl that Spike had threatened earlier – well, at least she had thought he was threatening her. Now, suddenly, she wasn’t so sure. The girl had a sly smile on her face, and her eyes were gleaming with anticipation.

That little slut’s not getting her hands on my vampire! Buffy determined suddenly, too irritated by the girl’s blatant desire for Spike to even realize that she had called him “hers”, even if only in her mind.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Buffy raised her bidding card on $2,000.

As the auctioneer pointed in her direction and called out, “$3,000? Someone bid $3,000?” Riley turned his head slowly to look at her, a curious smile breaking out on his face. “See something you like, honey?” he asked her, glancing down to the platform to see what it was she was bidding on.

Buffy held her breath and waited for the explosion. Riley had always despised Spike, who was quite literally to him “the one that got away”. And after the whole Adam fiasco, Riley had wanted to hunt down the blonde vampire and stake him as slowly as possible for his part in it. Buffy was fairly certain that he was not going to like this idea at all.

The other girl had bid $3,000 when the auctioneer spoke, and Buffy quickly responded by bidding $4,000, keeping her eyes focused on the auctioneer as she braced herself for the inevitable.

But there was no explosion.

Of course not, she reminded herself bitterly as she raised her card to bid $6,000. We’re in public. Gotta keep up our sparkling image!

But then, to her great surprise, Riley laughed.

She looked at him, confused, noticing out of the corner of her eye that the other girl across the aisle was glaring at her as she raised her card emphatically to bid $7,000.

What the heck did he SAY to her? she wondered as she met the challenge in the other girl’s eyes and lifted her card again, before returning her attention to her husband. “What’s funny?” she asked, feeling slightly apprehensive.

“This is great, Buffy,” he smirked as he replied in a quietly laughing voice. “Much better than staking him would have been.”

Understanding dawned on Buffy as she made a $10,000 bid. So Riley thought that she was doing this to get the chance to get back at Spike for his many offenses against her. Well, let him think that, she thought with a slight sense of relief. It makes more sense than my real reasons – which I’m still not clear on and I’m sure not gonna try to explain to Riley!

The girl across the aisle was sitting forward in her seat, glaring at Buffy as she decided to raise the stakes a little and called out as she raised her bidding card, “$20,000!”

Buffy was tiring of the bidding, and the ridiculous girl and her attitude. Not even acknowledging her, using a look and tone of practiced boredom, she raised her card and called out, “$50,000,” calmly, without even waiting for the auctioneer to acknowledge the previous bid of $20,000.

During the entire bidding, Spike had not looked her way once, but now his eyes snapped up to her at the sound of her voice. She realized that until she had spoken, he had not realized that it was her who was bidding on him.

He did not look pleased.

A low, excited murmur began to Buffy’s startlingly high bid on the vampire slave. She suppressed a laugh as she saw the girl across the aisle let out a growl of rage as she flounced backward into her seat, shooting Buffy occasional death glares. She had thought that she was making an impressive bid at $20,000, and could not possibly go higher than Buffy’s bid. And she seemed extremely upset about it.

Buffy really wondered what Spike had said to the girl.

The auctioneer finally recovered enough to say, “$50,000! $50,000 going once, going twice…sold to Mrs. Finn.”

Buffy felt a momentary thrill, as much at her victory over the other girl as at her actual purchase, and looked down to the platform. Spike was staring up at her, his eyes wide with shock, as his former master led him off the platform and back to the holding area where Buffy would go after the auction to claim her purchase.

She felt as surprised as he looked, wondering not for the first time just why she had done what she had just done.

She didn’t pay much attention as they rest of the slaves were auctioned off, and Riley purchased a couple new ones for himself – of course both attractive and female. Her mind was racing, wondering desperately if she had just made a terrible mistake.

As long as she had known him, Spike had never caused her anything but trouble. And now she owned him; he was in her service. He was going to go home with her tonight, and – and what? Service her?

No! she corrected urgently in her mind. Serve! Not service! No servicing!

If she knew one thing about Spike, it was that he was proud and arrogant and would not be the least bit submissive if he could possibly help it, unless he was absolutely forced to be; and he was also very intelligent and perceptive, and would latch onto any small sign of weakness she might show and use it to his advantage.

Okay, so that was more than one thing, but those things could work together to spell big trouble for her if she wasn’t careful.

Stupid Buffy, she chided herself. If you were lonely, you should have gotten a puppy or something – not an obnoxious, arrogant, evil vampire who wants you dead!

When the auction was completed, Riley stood and turned to Buffy with a smile. “Time to go pick up our new slaves,” he said. “I still can’t believe you did that.” He shook his head in amusement. “I can’t wait to see the look on Hostile 17’s face!”

Buffy could wait. She was suddenly terribly nervous, and she had no idea why. No reason to be nervous, she told herself. You are In-Control Buffy. He’s your slave for pete’s sake! He’s the one who should be nervous!


He was. Terribly nervous.

Spike’s former master, thinking of the scene he had created with the girl before the auction, and wanting to avoid any further embarrassment in front of Mr. and Mrs. Finn, and chained Spike’s wrists tightly behind his back, in addition to the chain still around his neck, a length of chain hanging from it for him to be led by when his new mistress arrived.

The Slayer had bought him.

He sat on the small wooden bench next to the man who had sold him, his mind racing and his stomach churning as he tried to think of some reason, any reason, that the Slayer might want to buy him, besides the only one he could think of.

It was revenge. It had to be. For all the times he had tried to kill her and her friends, for the species war he had almost caused with that Frankenstein-type bloke, Adam. She had every reason in the world to want to hurt him.

And now, she had the power to do so as well.

There was no way to escape this time, he realized as he tested his strength against the unyielding iron that bound him. In a few minutes, she would be there for him, and he would be utterly helpless against whatever it was she intended to do to him. And judging by the pleasure she had taken earlier in his humiliation, it was not going to be pleasant.

He froze when he heard her familiar voice in the distance, and looked up to see her approaching, still a ways off – with her husband.

Spike swallowed back the uneasy, sick feeling that rose in him at the sight of the former Initiative member.

Oh, this is just bloody perfect! Not only have I got to deal with a mightily pissed off Slayer, but her soddin’ husband’s got it in for me too!

The man sitting beside him realized that Buffy and Riley were approaching, and jumped up, pulling Spike to his feet as well by the short chain attached to his neck.

“Here they come,” he said in a tone of anticipation, as if he were about to meet some famous celebrity or something.

It’s just Buffy, Spike thought, still thinking that the Slayer’s new status seemed odd, and not quite fitting to what he knew of her.

“Be sure and act respectful, slave,” the man muttered, smiling as Buffy and Riley came close enough to see. “Finn’s a hard man on his slaves, and I bet his wife’s probably the same.”

“Worse,” Spike muttered under his breath, taking a deep breath in preparation for whatever was about to come.

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, slave,” the man snapped.

Spike glanced up at him and was about to retort that what he did was no longer any of his bloody business, when Buffy and Riley reached them, and the man stepped forward to shake Riley’s hand.

Buffy was not really paying attention as they exchanged pleasantries. Her eyes had fallen on Spike, who was standing straight and still beside the man talking to Riley. His eyes were carefully averted, and though the expression on his face was calm, every muscle in his chest and arms appeared tensed, poised for flight or self-defense – neither of which was actually possible.

She realized suddenly with a start – he was scared. He was doing a pretty good job of covering it up, but he was actually scared! Of her?

The man had just accepted Riley’s check, and was saying something to her, so she nodded and smiled politely, as he placed the end of the chain around Spike’s neck in her hand.

She studied his face, brilliant blue eyes just slightly wider than usual, his full flawless lips pressed together in a firm line, obviously trying to conceal his rising apprehension.

Suddenly, it was very important to her to allay his fears. Wanting to get his attention without drawing Riley’s, she gave a light tug on the chain in her hand, and as she had hoped, he instinctively looked up into her eyes, without thinking about it.

She didn’t say a word, but something in her eyes made him think that maybe she didn’t want to hurt him, after all. He searched her eyes, and hesitantly opened his mouth to speak. Neither of them noticed as Riley said goodbye to her former owner and turned back to face them.

“Slayer,” Spike began, his voice quiet and uncertain, and she could tell that he wanted to ask her something. “Buffy…”

Before he could voice whatever question had been about to form on his lips, Riley struck out without warning with a hard fist across his face. He stumbled just a step or two back, stopped with a jerk by the chain in Buffy’s hand, as Riley gave him a hard, cruel smile.

“Two things you are not to call her again, slave,” he said emphasizing the word pointedly. “She is your mistress, and you will refer to her as such. Is that clear?”

Spike paused, taking a breath before answering, and glanced at Buffy. She was stunned by Riley’s unnecessary violence, and suddenly realized, too late, that he was looking to her to see if she would refute Riley’s order.

Spike had seen in her eyes that she did not intend to hurt him – which had left him with the question of just what she did want. He had thought that perhaps he would actually be able to talk to her – but then her super soldier had butted in with his brutal right hook. He desperately wanted to haul off and hit him back, knowing that although Riley was strong, he was stronger, but the chip in his head prevented it.

He looked to Buffy. She was the one who had bought him, and she did not seem happy with the way Riley was treating him. Maybe she would say something.

When she didn’t say a word, he responded in a quiet, controlled voice, “Yes, Sir.” He was proud, but he was not stupid, and he had spent enough time around the Slayer’s pet soldier to know that he had a mean temper. And he was in no position to fight back.

Buffy felt an immediate uncomfortable feeling of guilt. It seemed wrong for Spike to not be allowed to call her by her name. She somehow felt that they knew each other too well for that, despite the fact that it had always been as bitter enemies. She knew that she should say something, but was reluctant to place any further strain on her relationship with Riley.

“Riley – honey,” she began cautiously, her tone one of gentle warning.

Spike looked up sharply at the Slayer’s face; that was a tone he had never heard her use before – soft, meek, and almost pleading. The Slayer he remembered would have ordered Riley to back off it that was what she wanted him to do. He was shocked by the dramatic change in her personality.

And he didn’t like it.

Another harsh blow drove the thought from his head, as Riley’s fist connected a second time. “And you keep your eyes down, too,” he demanded angrily. “She’s a very important, very powerful woman, and you are beneath her! Don’t forget that!”

“*Riley!*” Buffy broke in finally, aghast at the unusually harsh treatment he was meting out. She could see in his eyes that Riley’s own anger over the events of the past had not abated much over the years, and he was taking the opportunity to release it.

On a creature utterly incapable of fighting back.

“Riley,” she repeated firmly, a soft but strong hand on his arm pulling him back a bit. “That’s enough.”

Riley looked annoyed as he shook her hand off and turned to face her. “Buffy, you don’t have any idea what ‘enough’ is. You’ve never trained a slave. He needs to know who’s in charge around here.”

Buffy looked back at Spike, who was standing in silence, his head down in a silent gesture of submission – so unlike him.

She hated it.

“I think he already does,” she pointed out, her voice calm, but steady and firm as she met her husband’s eyes.

Riley gave her a disgusted, angry look that hurt her worse than his words. It was in moments like this that he unwittingly revealed how little he really thought of her. “Whatever, Buffy. Do it your way. But you don’t know the first thing about handling slaves,” he said as he turned to lead the way back to the car. He stopped and turned suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at Spike as he addressed his wife, “But if that thing gets out of control – I will handle it. I won’t have a disrespectful slave in my house!”

And with that warning he turned and stalked away.

His house? Spike thought, his head down but a single eyebrow raised in question at the offensive wording; he knew Buffy was still looking at him.

She could not remember the last time she had felt so embarrassed. Riley had yelled at her, put her down – in front of Spike, treating her like a stupid child. She ignored Spike’s unspoken comment, and turned away, wanting to cry.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself firmly. It’s just Spike. I don’t care what he thinks of me, so it doesn’t matter.

But her husband’s harsh words and actions did matter to her, regardless of who saw or didn’t see them, and she was deeply troubled by them both. Somehow, seeing Spike seemed to have brought out an anger in Riley that she had not expected.

As she led her slave in silence to the car, she wondered again if she had just made a terrible mistake.

Spike sat silently in the backseat of the luxurious car, beside the two female vampires Riley had just purchased, a million thoughts running through his head all at once. And at the forefront was one single question which demanded an answer.

What had happened to the Slayer?

The silence between the couple in the front seat was almost a tangible thing, stifling and smothering, making the atmosphere terribly uncomfortable. Riley was angry, and Spike was sure that Buffy was too, and hurt…yet she said nothing. Why was she so submissive to the wanker who had practically worshipped the dust under her feet the last time he had seen them, and now treated her with such contempt?

He was still apprehensive, unsure as to what purpose he had been purchased for. He knew that if the Slayer was still angry over the problems he had caused her in the past, this was her perfect opportunity to make him suffer for it. But she really didn’t seem too eager to hurt him, and she had even tried – however weakly – to stop her husband when he had struck him.

Riley Finn. Now *there* could be a serious problem. The man had not spoken a single word to him before he was already knocking him around. He obviously had a grudge against him, and Spike had the unpleasant feeling that Finn was looking forward to having the chance to satisfy that grudge.

Riley had agreed to let Buffy do things her way when it came to her new slave – but who knew how long that would actually last? And Buffy seemed so inclined to bend to the wishes of her husband that he could hope for very little help or protection from her, he was sure.

Again he wondered – what had happened to the strong, assertive woman he had known, the one who would never have allowed any man to treat her with the disrespect her husband had just shown her?

When they reached the rather impressive mansion that was Buffy’s home now, Spike could not help but stare. He had had several different owners since he had been captured a couple of years earlier, but none of them had been as wealthy as Buffy obviously was now.

A gentle pull on the chain around his neck drew his attention, and he looked down at Buffy, who had been walking ahead of him, but had now stopped and was looking at him with an odd expression on her face. She looked pensive, thoughtful – and a little sad. As Riley came around the car with his new slaves, Spike quickly dropped his gaze, wanting to avoid another confrontation with G.I. Git, as he had mentally christened the man.

He silently followed Buffy into the house, through a rather large foyer and into what, in a smaller house, would have been called a living room. But everything in this room was large and ornate and impressive, and lacked the comfort that Spike associated with the words “living room”.

Riley quickly disappeared with his two new slaves, as he usually did on auction nights, and Buffy felt a fresh wave of shame go over her as she wondered if it was as obvious to Spike as it was to her what Riley was doing with the girls.

It was, and Spike was utterly stunned that Finn had the gall to be so obvious about it, but he did not say a word, and did not allow his expression to reveal his thoughts about it. He felt a sudden irrational anger toward Riley, and immediately wondered why. What did it matter to him if the wanker was unfaithful to the Slayer? It wasn’t as if he was even *friends* with the bint; quite the opposite, in fact.

So why did the sight of the tears she brushed from her eyes as she turned away make him want to tear Finn to pieces right then and there?

Quickly composing herself, Buffy turned around to face him again. Sooner than she had predicted, the nostalgic whimsy that had led her to make this purchase had vanished. But it was not, as she had expected, due to Spike’s personality; rather it had been swallowed up by hurt at her husband’s behavior. She felt certain now that she had made a foolish mistake in bringing Spike here at all.

Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. In the morning, she would have to find something for him to do; leaving him idle would be inviting Riley’s wrath down upon him. But for tonight, she was just too exhausted to think anymore, drained of her energy by the pain and uncertainty Riley was causing her. She would just get Spike settled in the servants’ quarters and go to bed.

Alone.

Spike was really not sure how he should act towards Buffy, now that he quite literally belonged to her. Buffy had not seemed nearly so concerned with his keeping a respectful, subservient demeanor towards her as had her husband, and Riley was nowhere to be seen. But Buffy seemed to go along with whatever Riley said, for some reason. He made a quick decision that for now, caution seemed to be the order of the day.

When Buffy stepped toward him, pulling lightly on the chain as she did, he obediently stepped forward to meet her, careful not to lift his gaze to meet hers, although he found himself wanting to, badly.

She stood a bare foot or so away from him, and he noticed that her hands were trembling as she took they key his former master had given her and reached to unlock the chain around his neck.

Her voice was calm but strained as she spoke, as if she was teetering precariously on the edge of breaking down, just barely managing to keep her tears in check. “Don’t try to get away,” she said, her voice carefully even, yet still somehow revealing the depth of emotion she was trying to hide. “You can’t, even if you did, we can track you through your chip. And when Riley caught up with you, he’d be furious, and…” She paused, drawing in a deep, shaky breath as the chain fell away from his throat into her hands. “…and neither one of us wants that,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her tears were beginning to win the battle for control.

“I won’t,” he assured her simply, his voice soft and low.

“Turn around,” she ordered softly, and he did as she told him. “You’re probably wondering about this,” she went on, her voice quiet and even, with only a slight tremble in it. “But I don’t intend to hurt you, Spike.”

*Good to know,* he thought as the wide iron cuffs that bound his hands behind his back were removed, and he slowly brought his hands around to rub his aching wrists.

“Don’t do anything to make me change my mind,” she added, and her tone was warning without being openly threatening. Still, he knew that she was serious as she walked around to face him.

“I won’t, love,” he replied without thinking about it, then glanced up at her and quickly corrected himself. “I – I mean…” he hesitated, then stopped altogether. It felt very strange to him to call Buffy “mistress”, as Riley had commanded.

Buffy did not press the issue, which really wasn’t all that important to her. She looked at him for a moment without speaking, then finally said in a dark, warning tone, “Don’t ever let Riley hear you call me that.”

He noted with surprise that she did not say, “Don’t ever call me that,” but rather just warned him against saying it in front of *Riley*.

“Yes, Mistress,” he forced himself to speak the words. He supposed he was going to have to get used to it.

“Just do as you’re told and everything will be okay. Okay?” she said, her own eyes averted uncomfortably. The formal term of address bothered her as much as it did him.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight,” Buffy said in a tired voice full of defeat. “Follow me.”

She was like a stranger to him. She hardly seemed like the same vital, confident girl he had known before at all. He had so many questions for her, that he dared not ask her, as they walked in silence through the wide halls of the vast house, and down a winding staircase that opened onto a long hallway, with rows of doors on either side.

She led him down the hallway, and he followed, to the first open door, and led him into a tiny room. The room had a twin bed with a thin mattress and a single cover. The only other furnishing in the tiny room was a small dresser with only two drawers.

“We’ll get you some decent clothes tomorrow,” she told him quietly. “The servants’ bathroom is at the end of the hall if you want to get cleaned up a little. There’s a little kitchenette down there too, with blood in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

He nodded wordlessly, still feeling the situation out, unsure of how to respond to this completely transformed version of the Slayer. The mood seemed so heavy and hushed between them. He wanted to be able to just *talk* to her, to somehow find out what had happened to make her this way. But he had no idea what to say, and did not think that her reaction to the questions he had for her would be a positive one, anyway.

In that quiet moment, they heard the sounds of voices coming from the next room, one female, and the other quite clearly the voice of Mr. Finn. The female voice let out a slightly muffled squeal of laughter, followed by a sort of thudding sound, and Riley’s laughter joined hers.

It sounded as if he was having a very good time getting his new slave settled.

Buffy struggled to hold back the fresh tears that rose to her eyes. He had to have known that she would be bringing Spike down here; did he not care at *all* if she knew what he was doing? And to have someone else present to hear it, to know what was going on between Riley and his slaves, even if it *was* only Spike – it was humiliating.

Buffy turned away quickly when she found that she could not hold back her tears anymore, hurrying toward the door.

“*Buffy*.” Spike spoke her name quietly, urgently, and something in his tone stopped her. She closed her eyes and stood there, waiting for him to speak.

Spike wasn’t sure himself what it was he wanted to say, but he found himself encouraged by the fact that she had actually stopped to hear it. He stepped slowly toward her, trying to put into words what he was thinking. All he really knew was that what had once been a beautiful, confident – if infuriating – woman was being slowly broken down by a man who treated her like garbage – a man who didn’t deserve her.

When he didn’t speak, she turned to face him, her eyebrows raised expectantly over tear-filled emerald eyes, her expression tight and angry. “What is it?” she snapped, defensive, expecting his old mockery at the revelation of how pathetic she had become. But her voice broke over the words when she saw the sadness, the compassion in his eyes.

He took a few more cautious steps toward her, his eyes focused on her despite Riley’s orders. The pain in her eyes, sparkling with tears, was so intense that it took his breath away; and although at one time he would have relished it, savored it, and attempted to increase it – all he wanted now was to make it go away.

As he neared her, she looked down, unable to meet his piercing, perceptive blue eyes. The tears that streaked her face flowed harder as he reached a tentative hand to gently wipe one away.

“The man’s a stupid git,” he said softly. “Being in there with a coupla whorish trollops – when there’s a strong, beautiful woman like you right here, hurting for loving him.” A part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, to back off before he got himself into all sorts of trouble, but he just couldn’t seem to stop himself. Without even really knowing what he was doing, he reached out cautiously to put his hands on her arms in a comforting way.

The compassion, the tenderness with which he was speaking to her, overwhelmed Buffy with a fresh flood of emotion. She could not remember the last time Riley had seemed to care about her feelings, or touched her in a desire to comfort her – to fulfill a need of *hers*. And of all people, *Spike*, to be showing such concern for her, such kindness!

Her lonely heart ached for the comfort in his voice and his touch, and she found herself wanting to sink into his arms and let him hold her. With a jolt, she suddenly realized all at once the direction her thoughts had been taking – and it terrified her.

*No!* her inner voice shouted in panic. *He’s a vampire! You’re a married woman! Get away!* It was time to take control of the situation in a big way, before it got completely out of hand, she realized. *You ARE in control, here, Buffy,* she reminded herself. *He’s the slave…you’re the mistress…so *take control*!*

Spike was startled when she suddenly looked up at him sharply, her eyes blazing with a defensive anger, and she jerked away from him, throwing her arms out to break his hold on them. Instinctively he took a step back, sensing that he had crossed a line.

“Don’t try to tell me what I feel!” she snapped in a voice trembling with fury born of her pain, advancing immediately into the space he had just relinquished by backing up.

What was he thinking? he wondered, berating himself inwardly for acting so impulsively, so foolishly. He had been in slavery long enough to know better than to make such a move on his *owner* of all people – even if it *was* Buffy. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied quickly, quietly, his eyes downcast again. “I’m sorry.”

He took another step back as she stepped forward aggressively, ordering in a low, furious voice full of tears. “Don’t *ever* touch me again! Do you understand me, Spike? Don’t *ever* touch me!”

To his relief, she seemed to be deliberately keeping her voice low to avoid being heard through the thin wall into the next room. So apparently she didn’t intend to tell her husband about his presumption.

He nodded quickly. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied immediately. He could see that in her precarious emotional state, the Slayer was dangerous close to losing her temper and simply venting her pain on the nearest available person – who was not necessarily the one responsible for it. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, keeping his voice low and his eyes down.

His calm, even tone, had a settling effect on Buffy, and as she began to regain control of her emotions, she felt a sudden wave of shame at her own behavior. She looked up at Spike, and saw that he was in retreat-mode, making it clear by his demeanor that he was being submissive to her, obviously afraid that she was going to lose control completely and break the assurance she had given him only minutes before, not to hurt him.

“God, this was a mistake,” she muttered, shaking her head as she exhaled heavily, feeling guilty and ashamed…and then angry, because she *shouldn’t* feel guilty! He was a *vampire*, and a vampire who belonged to her at that! If she wanted to stake him right then, on a whim, it was her right, so she shouldn’t feel bad about merely scaring him.

That was Riley’s version of truth.

So why did it feel so wrong to her?

She looked up at Spike again, who had tentatively raised his eyes to gauge her expression, but now dropped his gaze again when her eyes fell on him.

“Spike,” she said, sounding tired and sad, her voice now much quieter, subdued. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, his blue eyes not revealing any emotion. His expression was carefully calm, patient and expectant.

“It’s been a *very* long night,” she began, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m tired. I’m in a *very* bad mood. I think we should just go to bed now and start things off on a better note tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied evenly, and she winced inwardly at the word she was quickly growing to hate.

She paused for a moment, then added in a voice that was quiet but firm, “My relationship with Riley is absolutely none of your business. Do not interfere in it again. Is that clear?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head slightly in dismissal. “Look…I know this is just too weird…we know each other and all…but we are in no way friends, Spike,” she informed him, her voice soft but authoritative. “Whatever happened before – it’s so far in the past, it doesn’t matter anymore. I *own* you,” she went on, hesitating a little over the word that still sounded so strange to her. “and you will do what I tell you to do, and stay out of my personal life. That’s all.” Her tone made it clear that there was to be no further discussion.

He nodded again. “Yes, Mistress.”

“I told you that my intention is not to hurt you, and I meant it,” she assured him, as she turned and headed toward the door. “Just remember your place in this household – and I’ll remember that.” Without waiting for a response, she started to leave.

“Mis – may I…” he began suddenly, hesitating over his wording before he said, “I – have a question.”

She stopped without turning. “Yes.”

He paused, unsure still of whether or not it was wise to ask it. Finally he said, “What exactly *is* your intention…Slayer?”

She turned her head and gave him a weak half-smile, her green eyes sad and a little bewildered as she replied in a voice barely over a whisper.

“I’ll let you know when I find out.”

Buffy woke up the next morning with a vague sense of unease – as if she knew that something was wrong but could not quite remember what it was. Then all at once it came back to her, and she laid back in her bed with a groan, closing her eyes tight.

*Spike.*

And more specifically, what was she going to *do* with Spike?

She had been vaguely aware at some point the night before when Riley had come to bed. He was not here now, which was quite ordinary. It was 9:30; he would already have been at work for a couple of hours by now. She got out of bed and got dressed, thinking over again the confusing events of the night before, cringing at the memory of her behavior – wrong in so many ways.

Not only had she allowed herself to break down in front of Spike, allowing him to see just how miserable and weak she had become, but she had allowed him far too close before she had stopped his unexpected advances.

*Not very mistress-like, Buffy,* she lectured herself. *Got to be firm…got to maintain a certain distance. Like it or not, you made the choice to buy him, so now you have to live with it. He’s your slave…not your friend….not your shoulder to cry on.*

And what was up with that, anyway? she wondered. In her emotional state of fthe night before, she had not thought to notice how odd it was that Spike should be trying to comfort her at all. Now, however, in the light of day and a calmer frame of mind, she was amazed that he had done it at all. The last time she had seen him before the auction, he had wanted nothing more than to kill her.

So why was he…?

Her eyes widened, suspicion rising in her. He probably thought that he could play on her emotions, act like he cared and get her to trust him and confide in him, as a means of somehow managing to hurt her…or at the very least, as a means of self-protection. She wouldn’t be as likely to hurt him if she actually cared about him, would she?

Her expression softened a bit with sympathy at that thought.

If the latter was indeed his reason, she really could not blame him. He had to be very much afraid of what his fate might be, here as a slave in the household of his mortal enemy. She tried to imagine what she would feel if their roles were reversed – and knew that she would be terrified.

*That’s because he’s an evil, soulless killer, Buffy!* she reminded herself. *Anyone would be terrified to be at the mercy of an evil, soulless killer. If your roles were reversed, you’d be dead already! Stop sympathizing with him, he doesn’t deserve it! He doesn’t feel like humans do, anyway. He’s not a person, he’s a cold, evil, undead thing!*

But then, unbidden, the memory of the feel of his hands on her, tenderly trying to ease the pain that had been caused by someone who had once claimed to *love* her, came to her mind.

How tender and understanding he had been with her, not berating her for her weakness or belittling her tears, as Riley did so frequently! A little voice in her head reminded her that Spike did not have the option of berating or belittling her, but the fact was that she could not remember the last time anyone – besides her sister, of course – had made her feel like her feelings mattered. She couldn’t remember the last time a *man* had made her feel…

*Not a man, not a man!* her inner voice chanted. *Stop this, Buffy, or you’re going to end up just like Riley, sleeping with some disgusting thing that’s not even human, just because he’s got *really* pretty eyes, and unbelievable abs, and…”

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock at the turn her thoughts were taking. Even her rational inner voice was turning against her, she thought with frustration. She did not need to think about how attractive Spike was – but why had she never noticed it before? she wondered. For the next few moments she waged an internal war with herself in her confusing, conflicting thoughts.

*You’re a married woman, stop thinking this way about a vampire slave!*

*That’s never stopped *Riley*! Spike is yours now, you can do whatever you want!*

“No!” she said aloud, softly, and glanced around, glad that no one was around to hear her talking to herself. That was all she needed, for Riley to hear from his vampire whores that his wife was losing her mind. * You’re only thinking this way because he caught you at a vulnerable moment,* she told herself silently. *He’s not a man, he’s a vampire, and he’s your slave. Nothing more.*

She shook her head, trying to put the troubling thoughts from her mind and just finish getting ready for the day. She would have to show Spike around the house today, get him familiar with where everything was, and find him some work to do.

But as she put on her clothes and headed downstairs, a single question occurred to her. *If he’s not a man,* she wondered, her sense of unease deepening at the thought. *Then why do I feel more like a woman this morning than I have in months?*


Spike awoke with a start in the tiny, dark basement room, feeling disoriented and confused. Where was he? He suddenly remembered as it all came back to him – the auction…the Slayer…Finn…*the Slayer*!

He sat up in the bed, cringing at the memory of his behavior the night before. Now, with a little distance between himself and the events of the night before, he could not believe that he had let his sympathy for the obviously hurting Slayer take such control of him, as to make him do such a foolish and potentially dangerous thing as he had done. And why should he feel sympathy for her at all? he wondered. She was his enemy! She had nearly killed him many times, and now she had bought him and was keeping him here as a slave! Why should he feel anything for her but hatred?

And why could he feel nothing for her but compassion?

He glanced around the dark room as his enhanced vision became adjusted to the darkness. There was no light in the room at all – perhaps Finn’s extensive studies into vampire attributes had convinced them that it was unnecessary. There were no windows, which would obviously be of the good during daylight.

But it made it next to impossible to have any idea what time it was. Since becoming a slave, he had adjusted himself to the schedule of a human, as all of his previous masters had required. His internal clock was telling him that it was probably morning, but he had no idea what time. Was he required to be up and about by a certain time?

He was reminded again with an uneasy feeling that he had absolutely no idea what was going to be expected of him here. He rose from the bed and went to the door, turning the smooth handle – no locks on the doors of the slaves – and walking out into the dimly lit hallway, which was already abuzz with activity.

Fifteen or twenty slaves were bustling about, in various stages of getting ready for the day. He felt a little self-conscious for some strange reason, very aware of his utter lack of decent clothing. All he had was the single worn pair of jeans he wore. Buffy had promised to get him some clothes today, but as of yet he had nothing.

He stood there outside the door to his little room for a few moments, watching the activity before him. He reached out and caught the arm of a female vampire who was walking quickly past him toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

She spun around to face him, smoothly slipping out of his hold on her arm and giving him a questioning look, eyebrows raised. He noticed immediately that she was very attractive. She had long, silky dark hair and large dark eyes that drew a man in if he wasn’t careful. He could only imagine the men that must have literally fallen for her, victims under her spell, in the days before her slavery.

In some ways she reminded him of Drusilla, except with more attitude, and a *lot* more make-up, and…well…not insane.

“Can I help you?” she asked slowly, meeting his eyes with a direct, bold gaze.

He gave her a patented disarming smile that tended to work with almost all females he came into contact with. “Just a bit new here, love,” he shrugged. “Was wondering what I’m s’posed to be doing right about now?”

She smirked as she looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed. She laughed softly, “Well, well. Looks like Mistress Finn’s finally decided to try and beat him at his own game, huh?”

His eyes widened as he realized just what she was saying, and his mind went back to the events of the night before. He had not really intended at that moment to make any actual sexual advances on his mistress, had only wanted to comfort her, but either way, Buffy had made it perfectly clear that she would *not* have been interested at all.

“Don’t worry about what you’re supposed to be doing, cutie,” she remarked, looking him over again, a little more appreciatively this time. “I’m pretty sure *she’ll* find *you*. What’s your name, honey?”

“Spike.”

“Spike?” she repeated, laughing. “No…*really*?” she gave him an apologetic grimace, the laugh still there in her voice.

Irritated, he said dryly, “Really. And what should I call you? Quick now, love, before I come up with something of my own.”

A slow smile spread across her face at the annoyance she could see behind his smirk. “Velvet.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Velvet. And you’re laughing at *my* name, when yours sounds like he bought you straight out of a bleedin’ whorehouse!”

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she still smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, well…wasn’t my idea,” she replied. “Master likes to pick out his own names for his…girls. Got a great imagination, too,” she added with obvious sarcasm, leaning back against the wall beside him. She looked back at him with a smirk of her own, “And I wouldn’t talk, *Spike*,” she went on, glancing suggestively at the front of his well-worn jeans. “Did she pick that out, too?”

“No, it’s not like that, love,” he laughed, a bit awkwardly. “Trust me, it’s not like that at all. See…she hates me,” he explained matter-of-factly. “In fact…don’t get too used to seeing me around, pet. I’ll probably be dust before long, if I keep up the way I’ve been going.”

Velvet shrugged. “Not likely, honey. She hates *him*…and she hasn’t killed him yet.”

“She does?” he replied, glancing at her and trying not to show his interest in what she was saying. Why *was* he interested in what she was saying, anyway?

“Yep. That marriage is a joke,” she informed him, lowering her voice a little as she met his gaze. “He hardly touches her, they hardly ever talk. He’s down here all the time. Or you know,” she shrugged carelessly. “We’re up there. Either way. And she knows all about it, but he doesn’t think she does. I don’t think it’d bother him if he did, though. Bastard,” she muttered, and though her tone was calm and unconcerned, he could hear the underlying hatred in her tone. “Wish she *would* kill him.”

He shrugged slightly, looking down but watching her out of the corner of his eye as he said in a quiet, even voice, “Doesn’t sound like you’ve got it so bad, love.” He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going, and he wanted to find out as much as he could about the dynamics of this household.

Knowledge was power…and he could use whatever little bit of that he could get.

She laughed, a soft, bitter sound as she gave him a sneer, disbelief in her eyes. “No. Doesn’t *sound* that bad, does it? I’m even a favorite of his, if you can believe that.”

He nodded slowly, looking at her. “I can,” he replied with a small, encouraging smile.

“Problem is,” Velvet went on, looking away from him but maintaining her cool expression and tone. “Finn has quite the…um…appetite. And I guess you could say he’s pretty generous,” she shrugged with a sarcastic smile. “He gets off on making a girl scream…” she paused, her smile fading. “One way or another. And you’d better be grateful, too,” she added, bitterness creeping into her tone. She finally looked at him again, and her dark eyes were chillingly expressionless over her brittle smile. “It’s quite an honor to be one of his favorites.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, meeting her gaze firmly, his deep blue eyes searching hers, and suddenly she looked away again.

It didn’t matter. His mind was racing. He thought that he was beginning to understand. “Soddin’ wanker couldn’t do things like that to Buffy,” he commented, mostly to himself, not really aware of whether or not Velvet was hearing him. “She would never have let him. So he had to turn elsewhere to satisfy his little kinks.”

“Looks that way,” she replied flatly. Suddenly, she moved away from the wall, turning to face him, her arms crossed over her chest defensively as she met his eyes boldly.

He could see instantly that she regretted her openness, was already feeling foolish and vulnerable for having told him so much so quickly, and she intended to strike first before he could use the information against her.

He had read her well in a matter of moments, and it was clear that while Velvet tried to put on a tough front, tried to make herself invulnerable in the painful situation she had found herself in…it was all a façade. She was not-so-secretly tender and vulnerable, far too open and needy for her own good.

She gave him a challenging look as she said, “She might feel a little differently now, though.” She took a step closer to him, a smirk coming over her face as she spoke slowly, “All that repressed anger and sexual tension, just building and building, month after month…*years*, actually.”

Her voice was soft, almost mesmerizing as she leaned in closer. “And then here *you* come along…” she went on, giving him another suggestive look. “Sexy little number like you,” she went on. “Completely in her power…to do whatever she wants with…”

In spite of himself, her words were beginning a little sick, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his eyes widened a little as he considered what she was saying.

Her smile widened in amusement at his reaction, and she went on with a slow nod, “Bet she’s got some issues to work out. Might wanna take it out of a sexy vamp so she doesn’t end up killing her own husband.” She nodded again, looking away thoughtfully for a moment, before looking back up at him with a falsely bright smile.

“Yeah. You’re probably right. You’ll be dust in a week.” She stepped back with a satisfied look, leaning back against the wall again.

“Hey, now!” he protested, frowning as he advanced toward her. “Just a minute, there, love! I don’t think the Slayer’s like that at all!”

“And you know her well enough already to decide that?” Velvet countered, crossing her arms again and raising her eyebrows challengingly.

“I bloody well do!” he snapped, stepping closer to her until he was right in her face. Though her back was to the wall, she kept smiling, kept holding his gaze, didn’t even flinch. “I’ve spent plenty of time around the Slayer in my day, and I’m not afraid of *her*!” he informed her in a contemptuous voice.

“You’re not?” Velvet said, all wide-eyed innocence, still holding his gaze.

He gave a derisive little snort of laughter. “Not a bit! Why, Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes couldn’t lay a hand on me when I first got the chip, before all this even happened! I certainly don’t think she’s going to now. And if she tries…well, I know how to handle *her*.” He didn’t feel nearly as confident in what he was saying as he was trying to appear.

“You do?” Velvet prompted him, her lips turning upward in just the hint of a smile.

“I know her well enough to know how to push her buttons, pet. She might want to dust me now…but before I’m done I’ll be the one *telling* her what she wants! I’ll have her right where I want her!” He didn’t actually believe a word he was saying; he was scared out of his mind and knew it, but he wasn’t about to let *her* see that.

His mouth often expressed a bravery that he did not really feel, and this was no exception.

“You will?” Velvet replied, and he was just beginning to register the oddness of her sudden change in behavior, just keeping her own mouth shut for the first time since he had met her, and leading *him* to keep on talking…

Velvet suddenly glanced over his shoulder at something – or someone – behind him, and the sick feeling returned with a vengeance.

*Oh, bollocks.*

He turned slowly away from Velvet’s cruel smile of self-satisfaction…to face Buffy, standing directly behind him, her own arms crossed over her chest, her lips pursed in an expression of controlled anger, her eyebrows raised as she gave him a cool, questioning look.

She did not look pleased.

Buffy had been coming down the stairs, the new clothes that she had brought down for Spike folded over her arm, trying to steel herself for what would surely be a very uncomfortable meeting, when she had heard the sounds of raised voices coming from the hallway. As she got nearer, she realized that it was actually a single raised voice – and it was *Spike’s* raised voice.

When she came into view of the scene, she saw that Spike had one of the female servants backed up against the wall, and was not exactly yelling, but speaking very emphatically right into her face. She frowned, and was about to step in, irritated in spite of the fact that she pretty much despised all of the female household slaves, and this one in particular.

What was he doing, anyway? This was only his first morning here, and he was already attempting to bully his way into…what? fear and respect, a better position among the other slaves?

It was at that moment that she had noticed two things that had stopped her in her tracks. The first was that the girl he was talking to did not look the least bit intimidated; in fact, she was smiling, apparently amused by whatever he was saying.

The second was *what* he was saying.

As she listened and realized that he was talking about her, talking about how little he thought of her and how easily he could make her do what he wanted, bend her to his wishes, she felt a cold anger rising up in her. She thought back on the night before, his tender, gentle behavior toward her when she had unexpectedly broken down before him, and it only increased the steadily building rage in her.

*So I was right,* she thought, with an odd sense of disappointment and betrayal mingling with her anger. *It *was* all just an act…trying to play on my emotions to get something from me. Well, he’ll get something from me, all right!*

When he suddenly stopped talking, however, obviously finally catching on to the fact that she was standing there, behind him, turning to face her with a wide-eyed, trapped expression on his face, she felt her anger and resolve waver a bit at the fear he tried to hide.

The slaves in the Finn household all did as Buffy said, obeying her without question and completely – but it was not so much for fear of *her*, as for fear of her husband. They should have feared her – after all she *was* the Slayer, and they all knew it – but she had never been a cruel person, and rarely hurt any of the household slaves.

As far as she was concerned, staking was one thing. The beatings and tortures that Riley seemed so disturbingly fond of were another thing completely – and a thing that she wanted nothing to do with.

She found herself torn. This was Spike; she *knew* him. It didn’t seem right to her to hurt him, when he was powerless like this, unable to defend himself. Yet, the mocking smile on the face of the girl slave behind him, that contemptuous look that was not only directed at Spike, drove her to do something to firmly establish her authority, to *both* of them.

It was only too clear to her that if she allowed Spike to brag about how easily he could escape punishment at her hands, how easily he could manipulate her, right in front of her, and then did nothing to him for it…well, it would only make it look as if he was right, and make any other slave who witnessed it have even less respect for her than they already did.

And she got enough sly, knowing looks behind her back from Riley’s female slaves as it was.

No. No matter how difficult it was for her to do, she was going to have to put Spike in his place, and she was going to have to let Velvet see her do it.

Spike just stood there, staring helplessly into the face of a very angry Buffy. Her expression was calm, but there was a controlled fire in her emerald eyes as they bored into his, and he could see the violent rage building there.

All traces of the broken, fragile girl of the night before had vanished completely, and in her place was a confident woman who exuded power in every aspect of her being – her expression, her carriage – every part of her now appeared almost regal in her authority.

It appeared that the Slayer he remembered had returned with a vengeance, and if it was a front, it was a very convincing one.

Spike cast an accusing look over his shoulder at Velvet, who just smirked at him, obviously pleased with herself and the situation she had gotten him into, before leaning back against the wall again with an interested expression on her face, waiting to see how the little scene would play out.

His attention was quickly drawn away from her and back to his mistress as she stepped smoothly, purposefully toward him, and he forced himself not to back down, still wanting deep down to hold on to as much of his pride as he could manage. Still, he could not force himself to meet her gaze, lowering his eyes automatically from the fury he saw in hers.

“Some things never change, do they, Spike?” Buffy said softly, coming another couple of steps closer to him, until she was standing very, very near to him.

He swallowed back a hard lump of fear that had risen in his throat, opening his mouth hesitantly to speak, unsure if he was supposed to respond or not.

Suddenly she drew back her hand and struck him hard across the face, hard enough to send him staggering back into the wall only a couple of feet behind him. Still, as the stinging pain of the blow gradually faded, Spike realized something that surprised him.

Either the Slayer’s physical strength had been fading with her emotional strength…or she had held back. At any rate, though it had hurt, that slap had not by any means been as forceful as he remembered her blows to be.

But he barely had time to think about it, before she was right in his face again, and instinctively he drew back this time, his bare back to the chill stone of the wall behind him.

“So you’re not scared of me, Spike?” Buffy went on in a soft, speculative tone, her slightly smirking face inches from his, and the sound of that soft, controlled voice, his natural instinct that screamed at him that here was grave danger, sent chills down his spine. The night before he had *wanted* the old Slayer to return, but now he found himself wishing for the frightened girl of the night before who had shied away from his touch.

This was one of those questions that clearly had no correct answer. To answer that he *was* afraid of her would be to face the humiliation of losing face in front of not only her, but Velvet, and the other two or three slaves who were lingering in the hall, pretending to have something to do there, but really just wanting to see the show.

To answer that he was not afraid of her would be to challenge her, and she was furious with him, and he had no means whatsoever of fighting back.

There was no possible way that that could end well.

“I – that’s not what I…I mean…” he struggled to find some arrangement of words that could possibly spare him from both unpleasant results, with no success.

“Yes or no?” she interrupted, her hand rising to fist in a handful of his blonde curls, pulling his head back slightly, not painfully, in a gesture meant to show her dominance over him. Though she was not hurting him – yet – he did not miss the harder note that crept into her voice, though it remained low and calm.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment before admitting quietly, “Yes.”

Her smile widened in satisfaction. “Good,” she replied, her voice still soft and almost gentle. “You should be.” What she did not reveal was the sudden, surprising pang she felt at his admission of being afraid of her. Why should that bother her? she wondered with bewildered frustration.

She was *trying* to make him afraid right now! She *wanted* him to be afraid of her. Didn’t she?

So why did it almost hurt her to hear that he was?

Spike held his breath, which he didn’t need anyway, as he waited for her to make the next move. There was no denying that she could quite reasonably punish him severely for the rash, disrespectful words she had heard him say. And she was clearly angered by what she had heard. She was calm and in control, but that by no means meant that she wasn’t going to hurt him.

She had told him that she wouldn’t…as long as he didn’t give her a reason to.

*Bloody bolloxed *that* right up, didn’t you, mate?*

Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes fell on Velvet, still leaning up against the wall a few feet away from them, unabashedly watching the scene with clear interest. The Slayer’s eyes narrowed on the girl, and she released her grip on Spike’s hair, stepping away from him and toward the other slave.

Surprised, Spike breathed out a sigh of relief at the loss of the fearful tension the Slayer’s nearness had caused him, as he watched her approach the girl who had caused this whole scene in the first place. Velvet didn’t move – didn’t dare, considering the unusually authoritative demeanor of her mistress – but he saw her tense in anticipation as Buffy drew near to her.

“Don’t you have something you should be doing?” Buffy asked her sharply, the expression she turned on her much more severe than the one she had given him, Spike noticed. “Is there any reason why you’re standing her watching something that’s clearly none of your business, slave?”

Buffy didn’t usually fall back on Riley’s practice of referring to the slaves by their title, something he did to emphasize their low position and remind them of his power over them. But she was not stupid, and though Spike had spoken the words himself that had gotten him into trouble with her, Buffy had not missed the fact that this girl had deliberately provoked him into it. This was one slave that she *did* want to put in her place.

And also…she could not remember the girl’s name.

Velvet dropped her gaze, through sheer habit. She had been a slave to a cruel master for long enough to have broken the natural pride that made her want to defy Buffy. “No, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress,” she replied immediately, her voice quiet and submissive.

“Then I think you’d best get to your chores, don’t you?” Buffy snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, Mistress,” Velvet replied, and turned to head down the hallway.

Buffy maintained the harsh tone and raised her voice loud enough to be sure that the girl heard her next words as she turned back to Spike, who flinched just slightly as she returned to her intimidating stance in front of him. “And as for you, Spike…don’t think I’m finished with you yet!” she informed him in a softly threatening tone.

She thrust the folded clothes over her arm, which he had not noticed until that moment, toward him, and he automatically reached out to take them from her, still not daring to look up at her. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied softly.

“Put these on and get presentable. You remember where the living room is, right?” she asked him.

He nodded slowly, not saying a word. *So she *does* still call it a living room,* he noted randomly, not really sure why that irrelevant fact sprang to his mind in the midst of this rather frightening situation.

“I want you there in fifteen minutes,” she instructed.

“Yes, Mistress,” came the soft response, before she turned and walked away.

As she made her way back up the stairs, she closed her eyes for a moment and let out a deep, shaking breath. She hated this. She hated the idea of owning something that, if not an actual person, certainly did a very good job of impersonating human emotions. She hated the fear she had seen in Spike’s eyes as she had deliberately reminded him of her power over him. She hated the submission that was so unlike him, obviously trained into him through the years of his slavery.

*Not trained into him very well,* she reminded herself, remembering again the words she had heard him speaking to the slave girl downstairs.

Despite the sense of guilt she felt at her own power over him, it was quite clear that he still felt that he could manipulate her into giving him his way on some counts – and she simply could not allow him to think that, no matter how difficult it was for her. For him to keep that sort of attitude would only result in worlds of trouble for both of them, if Riley were to see it.

She steeled herself as she walked into the huge living room ten minutes later, preparing herself for what she was going to have to do.

She was going to have to put her slave in his place.


Spike dressed quickly, trying to steady his shaking hands, ending up having to unbutton and re-button the plain black button-down shirt Buffy had provided him with several times before he got it right.

*Stupid, idiotic *wanker*!* he berated himself mentally as he prepared for the meeting with his mistress upstairs. *Had to open your big mouth, didn’t you? Had to make her think you’re all mister high and mighty, needs taking down a notch or two!*

He had no idea what the Slayer had planned for him, what she had meant by her comment… “I’m not finished with you yet”…but it certainly did not sound like a good thing for him.

He had no choice. He had five minutes to get upstairs to the living room and face her. He stepped out into the hallway, and found himself face to face once more with Velvet, who was walking down the hallway when he opened the door.

They both stopped, just looking at each other for a moment, before she smirked at him. “Have fun,” she said sarcastically. “I know *she’s* gonna!”

Fury overwhelmed him at this insufferable little bint who had deliberately put him in such a position, and before either of them knew it he had grabbed her by the arms and slammed her back, hard against the wall, snarling in her face.

“You bloody bitch!” he snarled menacingly. “I’m gonna rip your bloody throat out!”

She infuriated him further by just laughing up at him, not in the least afraid. “You touch me,” she told him boldly, meeting his eyes with no fear in her own, “and Finn will make you *beg* to be dusted.”

He stood there for a moment, trying to reign in his overwhelming anger, realizing in some part of his mind that she was right. This was a favorite of the person in this household that probably wished him more harm than anyone else in the world. All Finn would need would be such an excuse to unleash his sadistic vengeance upon him.

Reluctantly, he released his grip on her arms, pushing her back slightly as he stepped back away from her. “Yeah,” she smirked, turning to walk away. “You were so right about the getting dusted thing. It’s been nice knowing you.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, his own smirk falling into place as he stood and watched her retreat. “Being dusted is actually better than *some* things, love.” Ordinarily, even he would not have been so cruel, but he felt that Velvet deserved it. “At least I’m not playing the whore every night to some bloody sadistic human!”

Velvet stopped for a moment, then turned back toward him, her eyes full of hurt and anger, but her smile wide and victorious

“Not yet, honey,” she corrected him in a sneer, her voice trembling with anger and triumph all at once. “Not yet!”

Spike tried to put Velvet’s disturbing comments out of his mind as he made his way on shaking legs up the stairs and back to the room where Buffy had directed him to meet her. He realized that he was breathing, quick shallow breaths that were unnecessary for any other reason than simply to steady him – and they were failing at that.

He thought over the entire situation again and again as he made his way to the living room, and realized with a sinking feeling that nothing he could say was going to make this any better – not at the moment. His mind replayed the words that Buffy had heard him say, and he cringed at his own foolishness.

He had outright declared that he was not afraid of her, that he could manipulate her into doing anything he wanted – and though his fearful mind had no idea what exactly she had planned for him, he knew beyond all doubt that she planned to firmly convince him otherwise.

*I’m bloody convinced already!* he thought ruefully. *Not likely that *she’ll* believe that, though!*

Her tone, her demeanor, everything about her in the basement had spoken of barely bridled fury. He knew that she had just barely managed to keep her anger in check. The question was…why had she bothered to control it at all? He was her slave. She could legitimately do whatever she wanted with him, and no one would correct her or say a word about it.

He found himself confused, because she had clearly wanted to make a point to him and to Velvet that she was the one in control, and yet he knew beyond all doubt that when she had struck him, she had not used her full strength. She had deliberately held back some of her Slayer strength.

The question was, why?

He reached the living room, and took a deep breath before entering, closing his eyes for a moment and fighting back a sick feeling of fear that had risen in his throat.

*It’s just Buffy,* he told himself. *Just Buffy. She wouldn’t really hurt you.*

He stepped into the room, keeping his eyes down as he had learned to do during the course of his slavery, and immediately could sense her there, her Slayer essence putting off an unmistakable sense of power and authority to such an extreme level that it sent his demon screaming for cover.

The rest of him desperately wanted to follow.

He chanced a hesitant glance up to her…and froze at the breathtaking and terrifying image that met his eyes. Buffy stood straight and proud, with no trace of the insecurity and self-consciousness that had plagued her the night before. Her piercing eyes of jade were cold as they fell on him, and her expression was hard, merciless, as she regarded her rebellious slave dispassionately.

It seemed that the Slayer had remembered who she was.

He looked down quickly from that intimidating gaze, and his stomach did a little flip as his eye locked onto the object in her hands – a thin, hard leather riding crop.


Buffy’s heart was pounding with mingled dread and anticipation as she waited for Spike to show up. She glanced anxiously at her watch, and noted with dismay that it had been twenty minutes since she had left the basement. What was keeping him? And should she make an issue of his lateness? Would that small concession somehow lessen her authority?

She really had no idea what she was doing, she realized again, staring down wide-eyed at the distasteful object in her hand.

When she had left the basement, she had really had no idea what to do to Spike, only that she had to do *something* to establish her dominance to him – and she highly doubted that mere words were going to do the trick. But as she had looked through the various weapons that Riley kept on hand for punishing his slaves, searching for something she could use, the thought of actually hurting him made her feel terribly uneasy – almost sick.

It was not as if she had never struck one of the household slaves before. Many times in the past, if one of them had mouthed off to her, or deliberately disobeyed her, she had exerted her authority to put them back in their place, so to speak, although that certainly didn’t mean that it was an easy thing for her to do. In some ways, she had adjusted to life as a wealthy, powerful slave owner.

In other ways, she never would.

*You’re the Slayer, Buffy,* she reminded herself. *Vampires are *supposed* to tremble in fear before you.* She steeled herself, drawing upon her true nature to shut out the traitorous sympathy that she felt for Spike, in spite of herself. *Whatever you do is your right,* she insisted in her mind. *You own him. You just have to make him understand that.*

*It would help if *I* understood that first,* a second inner voice whispered a moment later.

Buffy closed her eyes and forced back the softer emotions that weakened her. Spike did not deserve her sympathy. He had played on her hurt and vulnerability the night before, and had obviously fully intended to continue to do so, to get whatever he wanted to make the best of his new life as her slave. She had to make him see that he would *not* be able to use and manipulate her like that. She had made the mistake of allowing him to see her vulnerability.

It was something she was determined that he would never see again.


Spike wrestled with the fear that came over him at the sight of the weapon in her hand. The fragile assurance he had tried to hold onto that Buffy did not have it in her to hurt him, fled at the sight of the crop, held in unyielding hands of iron, far stronger than their deceptively soft appearance.

*Get a hold of yourself, mate,* he urged himself as he stepped hesitantly a few steps closer to her, stopping a respectful distance away from her. *Don’t let her see your fear.*

*Oh, bloody hell. Too late for that.*

“You’re late.”

Just the sound of her voice, much colder and harder than he had expected it to be, intensified the sick feeling in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He knew any excuse he could come up with would be useless, and probably only succeed in making things worse for him.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him.

Finally she spoke, her voice calm but commanding. “Come here.”

He swallowed hard, and forced himself to walk a few steps closer to her. As he did, she stepped steadily nearer to him until only a couple of paces separated them. Breathless, having no idea what to expect he waited for her to speak.

“Do you think you can play me, Spike?” she demanded, her voice soft. “Do you think you can play mind games with me and fool me into doing whatever it is that you want?”

Another question with no right answer. “No” would make him a liar. “Yes” would make him dead.

“No” seemed the lesser of the two evils.

He shook his head slightly, not looking at her. “No, Mistress…I didn’t…”

A sudden, unexpected slap, harder than the one she had dealt him earlier, rocked him backward a few steps. “Do not lie to me,” she ordered, her voice still calm and even. She paused before she said, in a voice a little softer, “I didn’t want to have to do this. I told you I didn’t. But you’ve left me no choice. I’m going to have to teach you what trying to manipulate me will get you. Is that clear?”

He knew he was innocent of the offense she was accusing him of. He also knew that to protest to that effect would only make matters worse. He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak at that moment.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered in a voice of quiet resignation, and he was a little surprised by the command. *Of course,* he realized with grim understanding. *Wouldn’t do to ruin the brand new clothes right off.* He wondered, however, why she had instructed him to put the thing on in the first place, only to make him take it off again mere minutes later.

Then it struck him…perhaps that *was* the point. Just another little display of her power. He would do what she told him, when she told him, whether it made sense to him or not – simply because she told him to do it. He was her slave, and he was to obey without question.

And he did obey her, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled with the buttons but finally managed to take off the new black shirt, folding it carefully and laying it over the back of the chair beside him.

“Just stand still and don’t move,” she ordered him, her hard, angry eyes meeting his boldly, almost defiantly.

And why should *she* look at *him* with defiance? Wasn’t she the one in control? he wondered suddenly.

“You may think that you can get away with things because you think you know me,” she went on, and he could hear a bit of her anger – and perhaps a little hurt – creeping into her voice in spite of her otherwise emotionless demeanor. “But you can’t, Spike. Whatever’s happened between us in the past is just that – past. And I’m not going to let it effect my judgment now. I can see through your little games, and I’m not going to put up with them! I’m not gonna let you make a fool of me, Spike!”

By the time she had finished, her voice was trembling slightly, and her anger was obvious. He winced inwardly. Her anger getting the better of her at a moment like this hardly boded well for him.

She walked around behind him, slowly, with measured, even steps, and he forced himself to keep perfectly still, knowing that she was about to begin, and willing himself not to move, not to flinch. He had felt the strength that the Slayer possessed during countless fights between them, and knew that she had the power to do him serious harm if she wanted to.

There was silence for a moment; he could sense her gearing up to strike, braced himself for the blow, for the searing pain of the crop across his back. And then – nothing. He froze, every muscle in his body tensed in dreadful anticipation of the blow that did not fall.

“You think I can let you get away with talking about me like that to *her* of all people, Spike?” Buffy continued unexpectedly, apparently not even trying to hide her anger now. He could not see her face, but he could hear her dangerous emotional state in her trembling, tearful voice. “You think I can allow anything else to happen in this house to make them disrespect me even more? I can’t do that, Spike! I can’t let you get away with that, because if I do…”

Her voice trailed off, and he could hear her sniffing back tears. “I can’t. I have to do this, Spike,” she said, and he realized suddenly that she was not really talking to him. She was trying to convince herself.

He heard the slight whipping sound of the weapon cutting through the air as she drew it back swiftly for a powerful blow, and he braced himself for the impact. A beat later than he expected it to, the crop fell across his back. It was a stinging blow…but nothing like he had expected. A normal blow with even a fraction of her Slayer strength behind it would have left him bleeding, possibly knocked him to the floor – but her blow did not draw blood, did not even move him.

“I *have* to!” she gasped, and her voice sounded weak and strangled, almost desperate, as he heard her draw back the crop a second time.

As the second, ridiculously weak blow fell, he could hear the sound of a soft sob behind him. He was stunned, and felt the overwhelming, unexplainable urge to turn and offer his comfort – but he did not dare. He heard her draw back the crop again…but the third blow never landed, and in the next moment he heard the hated weapon drop with a soft thud to the floor, and the muffled sound of the Slayer’s sobs into the hand she held up across her mouth.

“Damn it, Spike!” she sobbed brokenly in frustrated confusion and pain, burying her face in her hands and stepping back away from him.

Tentatively, he turned just slightly toward her, turning anxious blue eyes full of a concern he did not understand on this woman who should have held so much power over him, but had broken *herself* in her attempt to wield it.

“Bu…Mistress,” he began cautiously, correcting himself at the last second. His voice was barely over a whisper, as he turned fully to face her. This time, against instincts that should have seemed unnatural to him, he did not dare to touch her. “Are you – are you all right, love?” he finally asked, softly, hesitantly, not willing to set off her anger again, but wanting to offer what little help he could. He was not even aware of the pet name that had slipped past his lips, coming so naturally to him.

She looked up at him suddenly, as if just seeing him for the first time, and he watched as her eyes widened in a sort of shock, turning to horror as she looked between him and the discarded weapon at her feet.

“I…” he tried again, stepping closer to her, telling himself firmly that this was not going to be like the last time. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to…”

“Go,” she whispered in a voice of defeat, looking down and away from him, trying to hide the pain in her eyes.

He gave her a questioning look. “A-are you su…”

“Just *go*!” she snapped through her tears, glaring up at him through tear-filled, shining emerald eyes, full of so many mingled intense emotions that neither of them could have identified.

He paused for a moment, wanting to stay, but knowing that the choice was not really his to make. He was hers to command. After a moment, he replied softly, “Yes, Mistress,” and turned to slowly walk away.

"So how are things going with your new slave?"

Riley's question drew Buffy out of a pensive reverie, and she looked up at him blankly, startled, across the large oak dining room table. It was too wide, she thought randomly, looking back down at it. She had always felt like it kept them seated too far apart, like she could hardly talk to him across the vast distance between them.

Riley did not seem to mind it.

"Oh," she began, distracted. "Um...fine, I guess."

"I saw him downstairs in the servants' quarters a little while ago," Riley went on, oblivious to the little flinch she tried to hide at his mention of yet another visit to the basement. "I see you've already had to put him in his place, huh?"

Buffy winced inwardly at the reminder of the scene earlier that morning, wondering how Riley could have known anything about what had gone on between her and Spike. She realized with a sudden sense of guilt that one of her blows to Spike's face must have left a mark. The guilt was immediately followed by anger and frustration at herself for feeling guilty at all.

*God, this is so confusing! I should never have bought him!*

"Yeah. It wasn't a big thing, really. You know Spike. Never could keep his mouth shut," Buffy shrugged, forcing a laugh. If she allowed Riley to see how much it bothered her, she would end up having to suffer through another one of his endless lectures about how vampries were not people and had no rights, and how it did not matter what humans did to them.

"Well, he'll have to *learn* to keep it shut!" Riley remarked darkly, looking down to take a bite of his steak, and Buffy felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. "So what are you planning to do with him, exactly?"

The casual question caught her off guard. *I only wish I knew.*

"Um...I don't know for sure," she replied slowly. "I hadn't really thought about it. He *does* need something to do."

Riley shrugged. "It's about what *you* need, Buffy," he reminded her. "I guess it's harder for you to think of it that way. Well, I guess you really wouldn't know any better, since you keep yourself so distanced from my work and my colleagues," he went on in a tone of obvious disapproval. "But a society lady like you ought to have a personal attendant. Most won't even appear in public without one."

"Personal attendant?" Buffy frowned, not sure what he meant by the term.

"You know," he explained. "A slave that's there just to -- to *be* there and do whatever you happen to need at the moment. You shouldn't have to do much for yourself, Buffy. Especially now that you've got a slave that's all your own."

Buffy didn't say anything for a moment, as she tried to digest his words. Riley *had* suggested the idea before, she remembered, a long time ago. But she had rejected all of the slaves he had suggested for the position, partly because she thought that her Slayer-self would go insane from the constant presence of a vampire, following her around, shadowing her every move -- even if it *was* just to serve her.

Mostly, though, she just could not stomach the idea of constantly being with one of Riley's little whores, who would dutifully see that her mistress had everything she needed each and every day, and then each and every night climb into bed with her mistress's husband.

*Well, that's one thing you wouldn't have to worry about with Spike,* she thought with a smile of bitter humor.

She thought over the idea of Spike being her personal attendant, waiting on her hand and foot, and felt an odd sense of embarrassment at the idea. It just seemed so strange to her to think of someone that she had known before all of this, before she had become the important, respected Mrs. Riley Finn, serving her every whim, treating her like a queen.

She felt as if she were hiding behind a very thin disguise, and that anyone who knew her from before would immediately recognize it, and leave her facade in shreds.

Somehow, that thought made the idea *more* appealing to her instead of less.

She remembered the somewhat vague reasons she had had for purchasing Spike in the first place. All the changes that had taken place in her life over the past few years, which had on the surface appeared to be *good* changes, had in reality only served to make her feel gradually more and more out of place and less and less sure of herself. The confident, aggressive Slayer she had once been seemed to have vanished, hidden away in the meek, dutiful wife she had become.

Seeing Spike at the auction -- so like he had always been, cocky and arrogant and defiant, despite his hopeless circumstances – had served to remind her of much happier days, a past in which she was not hiding uncertainly in someone’s shadow, but confident and powerful in her own right.

She realized that some part of her had decided in that moment that it might be nice to have someone else around who remembered that girl, to recall those times with her and help her find a way to maybe, somehow, bring them back.

Even if that someone *had* been her mortal enemy at the time.
But then, she remembered the scene that morning that had occurred between her and Spike, and cringed. She honestly was not sure how she was going to be able to face him at all after that. She had tried to exert her authority as his mistress, to show him who was in control, and had ended up instead not being able to give him even one decent blow without dissolving into tears like a child.

*Yeah, Buffy,* she thought wryly. *Very intimidating. He’ll think twice before disrespecting *you* again.*

But she realized with a sense of resignation that no matter what she decided to do with Spike, she couldn’t very well avoid having to face him, no matter how embarrassed she felt. He was her slave, and she was going to have to talk to him at some point, if only to instruct him in what it was that she wanted him to do.

Oh, yeah. It would help if she *knew* what it was that she wanted him to do.

Maybe having him as a personal attendant, keeping him close most of the time, would at least keep him from having the opportunity to talk and scheme behind her back. It would definitely make it easier for her to keep an eye on him, and therefore for her to keep him under control.

She looked uncertainly up at Riley. “I don’t know,” she said. “I sort of thought that my personal attendant should be…female.”

“Not necessarily,” he smirked with a soft little laugh. “A lot of ladies…well, they don’t exactly pick their attendants for their cooking and cleaning abilities, if you know what I mean.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, surprised at what Riley was saying. “Well, I’m not…” she began hastily. “I mean…I don’t want…”

Riley laughed aloud this time, smiling up at her. “Buffy, I trust you,” he assured her, and the cruel irony of those words spoken by her unfaithful husband made Buffy feel sick. “It’s not gonna bother me if you have a male attendant. I mean, come on!” he scoffed after a pause, giving her a knowing look. “It’s *Spike*.”

As if that was all there was to it. As if Spike was so utterly repulsive and pathetic that Riley didn’t have a moment’s concern about his spending hours upon hours with his wife, completely assured that nothing inappropriate would happen between the mistress and her slave.

Or perhaps not caring if it did, she corrected, swallowing back an involuntary sob that rose in her throat.

Well, if he didn’t care, then she didn’t care either, she decided resentfully. She had hesitated to give Spike that rather close position to her, for fear of offending or upsetting Riley, and it was hurtful to her to realize just how little he even thought about her at all, that the idea of another male, even if he wasn’t human, spending much more time with his wife than he did, did not bother him in the slightest.

Well, fine, then, she decided. If Riley didn’t care, then neither did she. Her decision made, she excused herself from the table to go and find her new personal attendant.


Spike had spent the greater part of the day feeling bored, and more than a little lost, as he simply wandered about the house, trying to get a feel for where everything was, while not looking too idle in the process. He got the distinct feeling that there wasn’t much loyalty among the slaves in this house; it seemed to be pretty much every vamp for himself, if Velvet’s behavior was any indication.

As he returned to the tiny room that was now his, not having anything else to do, he thought over again the events of that morning. He had gone into his meeting with Buffy a little nervous – okay, terrified, if he was honest with himself – knowing that it was in her power to make him suffer, not just for his rash, insulting words – which were enough in and of themselves to merit a severe beating – but also for every other offense he had ever committed against her.

When he had seen her standing there, her face set in steel and holding the riding crop in her hand, he had been certain that the Slayer was about to take her revenge for the many times over their long, complex history that he had tried to kill her, attacked her and her friends, lied to her and insulted her and just generally been a pain in her ass. He had known beyond all doubt that, having had several years for build up, this was going to be the most severe, painful beating he had ever received.

Thus it was that he had been absolutely astonished, disbelieving, when the Slayer had not even managed a single solid strike with the weapon, and had fallen apart before his eyes only moments after the attempt. No matter how many times he thought it through, he really could not understand it.

Of course, it made sense to him that the girl was hurting over the idiotic actions of her wanker husband, gadding about with his female slaves and ignoring his very attractive, but very lonely, wife. But to his way of thinking, that would have made for *more* pain aimed his direction, rather than less. He would have understood if the Slayer had taken the opportunity to vent her frustrations at her unfaithful spouse on the helpless vampire that was so conveniently at her disposal.

But instead, the act of attempting to hurt him had almost seemed to hurt the Slayer more than it did him – and he simply could not wrap his mind around it, could not comprehend the reasons why.

After all, she’d never had a problem with hitting him *before*.

His wondering was cut short by a soft rustle at the door, and he looked up with surprise to see Buffy standing there, watching him calmly.

He immediately rose from the edge of the bed, standing at a sort of attention before her, his eyes down, waiting to see what it was that she wanted. He did not understand at all the reasons why she had failed to actually hurt him earlier – and therefore he could not assume that she would fail to again, if he should anger her.

“What have you been doing today?” she asked him quietly.

He paused, hesitant. The truth – absolutely nothing – would probably not be very impressive to her. “Well…” he began with caution. “I wasn’t really sure…what I should be doing, Mistress. I didn’t really – I mean…”

“I dismissed you without telling you what to do,” she broke in, her relenting tone and words relieving his anxiety, as she took responsibility for the situation. “It’s not your fault.” She paused, her mouth opening to speak, then closing again as she thought better of it.

Then she changed her mind again and said, “Spike…”

When she did not go on after a moment, he chanced a look up at her, deep blue eyes searching hers. Her expression was firm, authoritative, but he could see regret in her eyes, and compassion – and sadness. That ever-present sadness that had been so foreign to the girl that he remembered.

“I’m a little new at this. This whole…mistress…slave…thing,” she waved her hand in an uncertain gesture as she tried awkwardly to explain what it was that she meant. “This all just feels kind of weird. Because of…well, everything…us…knowing each other and all. And to be honest with you,” she admitted, lowering her eyes for a moment before meeting his again. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really used to the idea of hitting you when I know that you can’t hit me back.”

Encouraged by her openness, and by her actual words which were far from what he had expected, Spike dared a slight smirk. “No need to apologize, really,” he quipped. “Can’t say that I mind.”

Buffy did not even crack a smile. “I can *get* used to it,” she went on as if he had not spoken, her voice and eyes hardening slightly. “If I have to.” She paused, before adding, “I don’t want to have to.” The honesty of her words was clear in her piercing emerald eyes as they bored into his, and he knew that she meant every word just as she had spoken it.

“You won’t,” he assured her quietly, dropping his gaze again in an attempt to show her that he would submit. Despite her good intentions, he was well aware that Buffy was potentially the most dangerous owner he had had since becoming a slave.

He had had others who had been of crueler natures, more violent and inclined to hurt him…but they had not had the actual power to do so. Not really.

As much as she did not appear to be at the moment, Buffy was the Slayer. She apparently did not intend to hurt him, but he was well aware that if at any point she *did* want to, she was capable of inflicting some serious damage.

She looked at him for a moment, as if gauging his sincerity, before she nodded slowly. “Good,” she replied, and he could hear the note of satisfaction in her soft voice. “I hope not.” She paused again, before going on.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to start your new job. You will be my personal attendant,” she informed him.

He looked up at her sharply, well aware of the implications of that term of which she was not aware. In his experience and the experiences of others he had seen, “personal attendant” roughly translated into “sex slave with benefits”. The personal attendants of his former owners had been subjected to all sorts of degradations – whatever the owner happened to fancy – as well as being required to wait on their masters hand and foot, meeting all sorts of other demands as well.

He had only actually *been* a personal attendant to one owner before – and it was an experience he tried hard to forget.

One look in Buffy’s eyes, however, told him that she knew none of this, and did not mean the term in the way that he had come to understand it. Just how she *did* mean it – he had yet to find out.

He looked down again, replying, “Yes, Mistress.”

“I want you to come to my room at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll go from there. Okay?” she instructed.

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“It’ll be your first day, and we’ll just kind of take it as it comes, you’ll just kind of get an idea of my routine and what I’ll need from you,” she went on, her voice even, but still sounding more than a little uncomfortable with the arrangement. “I’ll be patient,” she assured him. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot to learn.”

As she turned to go, she muttered something under her breath which he knew she had not thought that he would hear. However, she had forgotten that he had the benefit of enhanced vampire senses, and could hear the faint whisper of her words clearly.

“We both do.”

“And so it begins.”

Spike stopped just outside the door from his room, closing his eyes momentarily and forcing a sarcastic smile to his lips as he tried to rein in his anger at the unwelcome voice behind him.

After taking a moment, he turned to give the girl a very obviously fake smile. “Morning, love. Was hoping I’d see *your* lovely face first thing this morning. Right refreshing, it is. Right up there with a nice, brisk holy water shower.”

She only smiled back at his sarcasm, ignoring his insults. “So. Your first day as Mrs. Finn’s personal attendant.” She gave him a slow, suggestive once-over look before adding dryly, “Wonder what she’ll find for you to help her with.”

Spike gritted his teeth behind his smile as he ground out, “It’s not like that, pet. Sorry to disappoint you, but the whole world isn’t condemned to *your* sorry fate. I know that would make you feel better, but,” he shrugged. “oh, well.”

Her eyes narrowed in anger at his words, which struck a bit too close to home for her comfort. She merely shrugged. “Maybe it’s not,” she conceded indifferently. “Maybe not right now. But the poor girl’s going through a hard time, Sweetie. Being ignored by her man. I bet she’s really lonely. Not to mention angry. Probably wishes she had someone she could take it out on.”

She paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Oh, wait…she *does*!” she sneered. “And you two are going to be spending a *lot* of time together.” She was silent for a moment, her widening smile an indication of the triumph she felt at his slowly fading smirk. “It won’t take her long to figure out what she *really* wants you to do for her.”

A part of him was sickened and a little frightened by her words, wondering if she could be right. After all, Buffy was carrying around a lot of repressed emotions of several different kinds. Sure, her intentions were to treat him well and not to harm him. But he knew from experience that good intentions were often forgotten in the midst of powerful, painful emotions like the Slayer was dealing with.

It was not that the thought of being with Buffy was even all that bad. After all, she was a very attractive girl; if he had to be a sex slave, he thought, he could be in a lot worse positions than this one.

What bothered him was the idea that he would have no choice in the matter. If Buffy *did* decide that she wanted to beat her husband at his own game, there would be no option as far as he was concerned. She owned him, and had the power to do whatever she wanted with him, regardless of how he felt about it.

And *that* was the thought that both sickened and frightened him.

Not really having a response to Velvet’s taunting, too caught up in the worries she had provoked to put the energy into a response, he simply turned away from her with a dismissive sneer and headed toward the stairs – and whatever fate awaited him in Buffy’s bedroom.


Spike stood outside the door for a long moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob uncertainly. That morning we had woken up he had been so optimistic! And here he was a bundle of nerves, terrified of walking into that room and facing the Slayer – something that had never terrified him before, when she had been much more than the subdued, weakened shell that she was now.

*Soddin’ vicious little bint,* he thought resentfully of the slave girl who had so expertly resurrected the fears that he had tentatively laid to rest after his rather encouraging meeting with Buffy the night before. The fact that she had made the attempt to make things better between them allowed him to begin to think that maybe everything would be all right.

So far, she had not been too hard on him. He had received a couple of minor blows for an offense that he was certain would have earned him a severe whipping under anyone else’s ownership. Although he had initially thought that Buffy had bought him for the sole purpose of punishing him, he was beginning to believe that she honestly did not want to hurt him.

And then Velvet had to push her way into the picture, with her suggestions and speculations, and set his mind to worrying again.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall in the hallway, and noticed with dismay that it was ten minutes after nine. *Late again,* he thought with a slight wince. *Well, she *said* she was going to be patient.* He had no time left; there was nothing for it but to just force himself to go in there, in spite of his fears.

He turned the knob and walked softly inside, surprising himself again by how terribly nervous he was. Once again, he had to fight off the surreal feeling of the situation, reminding himself, *It’s just *Buffy*!*

He had felt many things for Buffy over the course of his strange, complex relationship with the tiny blonde Slayer with the big attitude, the only one whom he had never been able to truly defeat. Her sarcasm and wit, her boldness and strength, had both infuriated him and drawn him to her from the moment he had met her.

Dru had recognized it for what it was, first, long before he had brought himself to face the truth. She had seen it, and that was why she had left him. Because she knew, in spite of his continued affection, in spite of his catering to her as he always had – his heart was no longer hers.

When they had fled Sunnydale that day in his beat up old DeSoto…he had left it behind.

As hard as he tried to deny it at the time, he had been captivated by the fiery and fierce warrior who had proven herself far more intelligent and resourceful than any other opponent he had ever faced. And when Dru had realized it and began to look elsewhere, where had he turned to find solace in his heartbreak?

Sunnydale.

Again and again, he had returned to the place where he had seen the most trouble and defeat, never admitting to himself exactly why. He could not bring himself to face the truth of what – or who – it was that continually drew him back there.

It was only after his descent into the slavery of the past few years, during his total separation from her, and under the supposed safety of believing that he would never see her again, that he had allowed his mind to process the truth of how he *really* felt about the Slayer.

His obsession with her had been about much more than killing her.

To have been bought and brought here, into her home, now that she was wealthy and powerful and held complete control over his unlife, had been infinitely confusing to him. He had accepted the fact that he had developed feelings for her, only because he had thought that he would never again have an opportunity to have to face her or those feelings.

Now, he was going to have to face her. Every day. All day.

Only, he thought as he silently observed the pensive girl, standing by the window gazing through the gap in the drawn curtains…this did not even seem to be the same person. He studied the fine lines of her face, illuminated by the glow of the sunlight on her skin. Physically, everything was the same; she was perhaps a bit thinner.

And everything else was different.

The power, the vitality that had animated her and held him fascinated with her from the moment he had first seen her, dancing in the Bronze nearly eight years before, had vanished. That happy, carefree girl, so sure of herself and her abilities, who had managed to kill two master vampires and cripple a third – namely him – seemed to have vanished.

In her place was a fading, listless creature who was quiet and submissive…and very, very sad.

He found himself once again longing for the return of the Slayer he had known, wishing that Buffy could somehow find again the confidence that had been ripped away from her, shredded to bits and stomped under the feet of her calloused, cold husband. He realized with surprise that he would actually prefer Buffy angry and violent to Buffy wounded and damaged.

The only glimpse of her former self that he had seen since he had been here was in the moments when he had thought she was about to punish him – in the moments before she had broken down.

She looked up suddenly, startled, having just realized that he was in the room with her, and he found himself feeling utterly self-conscious and nervous – and not just nervous in the sense of hoping that his powerful mistress didn’t decide to stake him in place of her cheating husband.

Nervous in the sense of hoping desperately that he looked halfway decent and didn’t do or say anything stupid because she was looking at him right then, and...

*Bloody hell,* he thought as those deep, emerald eyes met his. *She’s so bloody beautiful.*

Immediately he cursed himself for the thought. He had come to terms long ago with the fact that he had feelings for the Slayer, and in her absence had managed to push those feelings aside, understanding that they could never be fulfilled in any way, to forget them in a sense.

Now would not be a good time to remember.

“Hey,” she said softly, much more familiarity in her tone than a mistress should have held for her slave. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He shrugged slightly, holding her gaze with his piercing sapphire eyes – eyes that seemed to see so much more than she wanted anyone to know. “Vampire,” he replied matter-of-factly.

She just looked at him for a moment, her sad, serious expression not changing, and he wondered what she had been thinking about. “Shouldn’t matter. Not with me,” she pointed out, her voice low and quiet, and he knew that she was right. The Slayer should have been able to sense a vampire’s presence, without having to see or hear him.

She lowered her eyes, and he found his own gaze drawn downward to a small object she held in her hands. It was a small silver picture frame, and he was suddenly terribly curious to see the picture it held. Hesitantly, raising his eyes to hers in a question, he took a step toward her.

“Are you…are you all right, love?” he asked her gently, seeking her eyes, heedless of the impropriety of it and the pet name that he could not help but use. *Sod G.I. Git and his bloody orders!*

Buffy looked back up at him, a sort of puzzled, confused expression in her green eyes, shining with unshed tears, as if she was trying to decide something. Finally, she looked back down at the picture in her hands, and he thought that she had shut him out…until she spoke.

“I wonder what they’re doing right now,” she said softly, staring at the picture as a single tear slid down her cheek and landed on the glass, and she absently rubbed it away with her thumb, leaving a faint smudge in its place.

Cautiously, still fearful of overstepping his bounds, Spike drew closer to her, holding out a tentative hand toward the picture. He was rewarded when Buffy held it out to him, glancing up at him as he studied the image reflected there – an image from her history, that might as well have been from his as well, for the memories it brought back to him.

It was the Slayer, younger and happier, laughing at some then moments old joke, her eyes turned away from the camera, toward Xander, who was caught in the moment of speaking, his dark eyes dancing with some shared joke. Buffy’s arm was slung casually around her other best friend at the time, Willow, the cute little redhead who had always been so sweet and kind, even when he had been threatening her.

Well, except for that bit where she hit him with the lamp. But that was understandable.

Spike looked back up at Buffy, his eyes large and solemn. “What happened to them?” he asked softly, almost reverently, in respect for the pain she was obviously feeling. Although the Slayer had been strengthened by her friends, Spike had always thought that eventually, her choosing to have them so close to her slaying would have consequences. He only wondered what sort of evil had claimed their lives.

Buffy stared at the picture for a moment, blinking back tears, sniffling. “I don’t know,” she replied with a helpless shrug. “We – we don’t speak anymore.”

He frowned, confused, looking back at the picture. Suddenly, with a flash of realization, he looked back up at her, wide-eyed, and took an apprehensive step away from her before asking his next question.

“Was it – was it *my* fault, pet?”

“What?” Buffy looked up at him, confused herself for a moment before she understood what he was talking about. “Oh, that,” she dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, laughing a little through her tears. “No, we got over that before we stormed the Initiative. It’d take…” She paused, her shaky half-smile fading, and her lower lip trembling with the onset of more tears, “it *took* more than that to split us up.”

He was quiet for a moment, trying to decide what was his best course of action. He had clearly caught Buffy in a vulnerable moment, lonely and aching for her lost friends. It only stood to reason that she would want to talk, and he was only too willing to allow her to do it.

Provided she didn’t stake him for it later, when her emotions were back under control.

He was well aware that behaving in such a personal manner with his mistress could get him into serious trouble. Buffy was already suspicious of his motives – thanks to his brilliant little speech to Velvet in the basement. He looked back up at her, searching her eyes intently for some clue as to the best course of action.

In an instant, he made up his mind. The feelings he had grudgingly admitted years ago seemed to have returned full force, and he simply could not bear to see her pain and not attempt to do *something* about it.

“What *did*?” he asked quietly, cautiously. “Split you up?”

She looked back up at him, an odd light in her eyes, as if seeing something in him that puzzled her, and trying to figure it out. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he saw her eyes harden, and she took the picture frame back from his hand, turning away from him and straightening her shoulders as she replaced it on her dresser.

“It was a long time ago,” she said shortly, steeling her trembling voice as she swiped roughly at her tears. “I don’t really want to talk about it. And frankly, it’s none of your business.”

He was quiet, afraid to speak now, with her sudden shift in demeanor, and just stood there, waiting for her command.

She turned back toward him, her jaw set in desperate determination, as she met his eyes again, with that same odd sense of defiance, as if *he* held some power over *her* that she should defy – when reality was quite the opposite.

He was terribly torn, sensing that she had been on the verge of actually opening up to him, actually talking to him about her pain, and had shut down because of…what?

Fear?

Pride?

All he knew was that, really, the best thing for her would have been to go ahead and talk about the painful past that clearly still haunted her. Yet, fighting not to do speak up and surely get himself punished, he stood there in silence as she went on.

“Your place is not to ask me personal questions about private matters. Your place is not to sit here and pretend to care and act like some kind of shrink for me, okay?” she snapped, anger beginning in her eyes, anger that he knew stemmed from her realization of just how vulnerable she had allowed herself to be in front of him, even if only for a few moments. “Your place,” she went on firmly. “is to be here to do what I need. That’s all.”

He stood there for a moment in silence, engaged in a secret inner battle. Finally, he looked suddenly up at her, blue eyes blazing into hers as he replied in a voice of quiet surety.

“What if that *is* what you need?”

Buffy was stunned almost as much by the fact that he had dared utter the question as she was by the question itself. She turned slowly to look at him, her red-rimmed eyes wide and her trembling mouth open a little in disbelief. After all that had happened between them already, in spite of her failure to actually beat him the day before, she was still surprised that he had the nerve to argue or talk back to her at all.

And angry that he was quite possibly right in doing so.

“What did you say?” she demanded, taking a threatening step toward him, her voice angry, her eyes narrowed.

Spike did not back down.

“I asked you,” he said, his voice soft but his tone unrelenting as he met her eyes bravely and went on. “What if that *is* what you need? What if you just need someone to be here and listen while you talk about all this? I’m here to serve your needs, right? Whatever you need? And you clearly need to deal with this, because it’s bloody tearing you up inside!”

His deep, expressive blue eyes were earnest and pleading as they searched hers, and suddenly she felt that he saw straight through her façade of strength and power that had protected the Slayer from so much pain, straight through to the broken, needy girl beneath it that still felt every single hurt.

And it infuriated her.

“How dare you try to tell me what I need?” she replied, her voice low and trembling with pain and rage, as she swiftly closed the distance between them, her fists clenched at her sides and her green eyes blazing with fury. “You don’t know a *thing* about me or my life, Spike!”

“I may not know much,” he said softly, his eyes downcast now under the power of her advance, his tone and demeanor more cautious now, although he valiantly pressed on. “But I know that those two in that picture meant everything to you, and the girl I knew before wouldn’t have let *anything* come between her and them.” He paused, before venturing on, “I think…”

His words were cut off by a powerful backhand slap across his face, that rocked him back a couple of steps.

“What you *think*,” Buffy seethed, quickly moving into the space his movement had created between them, “does *not* matter! I don’t need you to psycho-analyze me and tell me what’s wrong with my life, Spike! Look at yours! I *don’t* need you, Spike! I *never* need you!”

She stood there, right in his face, her eyes gleaming with angry tears, trembling uncontrollably with the release of her rage. His words had struck too close to home for her comfort, and a part of her that was tired of holding back her painful emotions refused to let him continue. *Him*, she *could* keep from hurting her!

Spike just stood there for a few moments, not moving an inch, not even daring to turn his head back around to face her. His mind was screaming at him for caution, retreat, not to push her any further. Here was the repressed rage that he had feared would cause Buffy to break her determination as to how she intended to treat him – and she already had. That last slap had been no token blow to demonstrate her authority; she was simply furious.

He knew that her anger was not really directed at him. Really, even his words, though not really his “place” to speak, were nothing that should have upset her so deeply. No, the fury she was displaying was aimed at someone much closer to her, someone who had hurt her more deeply than he ever had.

And that made his situation of the moment just that much more dangerous. A wiser man would have just shut up right then and went into damage-control mode, trying to calm her and somehow ride out this storm of his own creation with as little actual pain as possible.

Spike had never been a very wise man.

“Then why am I here?” The softly but intently spoken question took Buffy aback a little.

She stood there for a moment, staring at him in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing several times as she tried and failed to come up with an answer. Then, suddenly, her defenses were in place again, with a vengeance, and she leaned in closer to him, her eyes narrowed dangerously, as she drew nearer to him in an intimidating way.

His voice little more than a whisper, his downcast eyes not seeing the dangerous light in her eyes, Spike added, “What do you want me to do?”

She was close enough to him to clearly hear his words, and the gentle compassion in his soft, low voice – and for a moment she wondered if he could be sincere. Could he possibly really care about the hurt and vulnerability she had foolishly allowed him to see?

*No,* she told herself firmly, fighting back her surprising desire to believe him, as the memory of his mocking words in the basement came back to her with a fresh wave of indignant anger. *It’s just an act. A very good – convincing – act that makes me want to throw myself into his arms right now – but an evil, conniving *act*. That’s all.*

Well, she would teach him right now, once and for all, not to play games with her.

She was in a position to always win.

“What do you want *me* to do, Spike?” she threw the question back at him, and though her suddenly softer tone was distracting, he did not miss the way she avoided answering it herself. As she spoke she gave him a taunting, hard little push, backing him up a few steps, then closing in to repeat the action as she went on, her tone sarcastic and mocking, “Do you want me to break down in tears and sob and pour out my whole heart to you? Tell you all about my terrible, unfaithful husband who’d rather be with cheap, vampire whores than with me?”

Her final shove put his back in contact with the wall, and he glanced up anxiously at her for a moment, wondering if she was aware of the tears that had begun to streak down her face again as she spoke. But he did not dare hold her gaze for long, looking down again and keeping his silence. He could tell that she was far from finished, and not really expecting an answer from him – yet.

She shoved him back against the wall again, hard, her soft but strong hands on his arms pinning him there as she went on with a cold, bitter smile through her tears, “You want me to turn to you for comfort in my time of need? Let you in, Spike? Let you see all my dirty little secrets and all my weaknesses, where all the sore spots are so you can just turn around and use them all against me again? Is that what you want?” she demanded, finally pausing this time to allow him to answer.

“No,” he insisted softly, an urgency in his tone. “No, that’s not what I want, Buffy…”

She slapped him again viciously, snarling in his face, “*Mistress*!”

Suddenly, he understood his mistake. Although the term of authority had seemed to bother her the day before, this little scene was about her emphasizing the distance between them – the mistake it had been for him to attempt to relate to her on a much more personal level.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, keeping his voice quiet and respectful. “I wasn’t trying to – I don’t want…”

“Why not, Spike?” she spat out the words, interrupting him so sharply that he flinched a little, pressing nearer to him in a very unsettling way, designed once again to intimidate him and remind him of her position over him – and working remarkably well, he admitted with extreme discomfort.

“You know how to ‘push all my buttons’, right?” she went on, mocking him in a tone that he recognized from a time long before this. “How to ‘get me right where you want me’?”

“I didn’t mean it like…”

Another slap silenced him, cutting off his statement before he could explain about Velvet and her goading, and suddenly all thoughts of anything else fled his mind as she pressed herself closer to him, her hand leaving his arm to rest on his hip suggestively.

“Where is it exactly that you *want* me, Spike?” she demanded, her voice lower and with a harshly triumphant note to it – as if *she* indeed had him where *she* wanted him, and had figured him out completely.

He wondered for a moment if she was not right, on both counts.

“I – I *don’t*!” he gasped, fighting his body’s natural reaction to her intimate nearness and touch, knowing that it would likely get him killed. “I mean – I wasn’t trying to – to hurt you, Bu – Mistress,” he insisted. “I swear it, I never intended to…”

“Shut up!” she commanded roughly, her tone making it clear that she did not believe a word he was saying, and he quickly obeyed.

“What do you think, Spike?” she persisted, her voice softening as her hand slowly drifted lower. “You think you can get the poor, wounded little Slayer to open herself up to you – turn to you for comfort from the pain…” She paused, her invasive hand at his hip sliding around just a little to the front as she met his eyes challengingly and went on, “Maybe get yourself a special ‘position’ in my house…to protect you…from…what, Spike? From this?”

She suddenly hit him again, without warning, then again as she repeated. “From this? Or maybe you think if you can work your way into my affections and my bed, get through my defenses, then I’ll keep *Riley* from hurting you? Is that it? Cause you know he wants to!”

“*No*!” he pleaded desperately, her vicious, relentless tone getting to him. “No, it’s not like that at all, I swear it!” He looked up into her tearful eyes, blazing with vengeful fury as she held her hand pulled back in preparation for another blow.

And suddenly, he understood just where she was coming from, as all of her words clicked into place in his mind.

This particular rant was not meant for him, as he had suspected, but it was not really meant for Riley, either. She was accusing him of all the things she thought that Riley’s girls were guilty of – using their charms to get into the affections of their master, thereby securing a certain level of safety, in spite of the fact that the exchange was to endure his unwelcome advances. Did she really think that of him? he wondered, with an oddly hurt feeling.

Did she really think that he would be willing to become her enslaved whore to escape punishment at her hands or the hands of her husband? Did she really believe that his concern for her was just an attempt to get into her good graces and serve his own best interests, achieve some level of protection in this unpleasant situation he had found himself in?

*Of course she does, mate,* he reminded himself, feeling suddenly quite disgusted with himself, as he realized how his foolish behavior the day before, his attempt to shut Velvet up, had placed him in this dangerous position now. *She heard it out of your own mouth, you bloody wanker, why *wouldn’t* she believe it?*

“What’s it like, then, Spike? Explain it to me!” Buffy ordered sharply, her invasive hand tightening on his leg, drawing his attention forcefully out of his thoughts and back to the present. She was glaring at him furiously, the accusation in her eyes deepening when she saw his gasp in reaction to her touch.

“I didn’t mean what I said!” he told her, fighting for control. “Those things I said to Velvet – I didn’t mean it at all. I was just trying to – I just wanted…” He hesitated, suddenly not even sure that he wanted to tell Buffy how Velvet had contributed to the situation – for several reasons.

To tell Buffy what Velvet had used to shake him up – the threat of being sexually dominated by Buffy herself, the threat that seemed so very real at this particular moment – might shock her out of this fit she had worked herself into, might save him from the direction things seemed to be headed.

Or it might infuriate her further, and result in the situation just spinning further out of control.

Then there was also the ever-present, though mostly in the background, threat of Riley. If Velvet was truly his favorite, as she had claimed, Spike did not think it would be wise to go running to Buffy with accusations against her. After all, Velvet had plenty of little offenses of *his* that she had witnessed, that she could easily take to *her* master – and certainly would, in retaliation, if he took this opportunity to get her into trouble.

“I just wanted to – to make her – to…” he tried again, but stopped, unable to find a safe explanation. “I didn’t want her to think…” He hesitated again, and then gave up, looking apprehensively up at his mistress for her reaction to his failed attempt at explanation.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, Buffy’s eyes softened a little, welling up with fresh tears, and she withdrew slightly, taking her hands off of him and taking a step backward, as a sudden understanding dawned in her eyes.

She turned away a little with a soft, sad laugh. “You were just shooting off your mouth,” she realized, shaking her head with a derisive little sound. She looked back at him, the corner of her mouth turning up in a little half-smirk that did not touch the misery in her eyes. “You were just being you. Right.” The last word was a question, though she stated it flatly – already sure of the answer.

Surprised and cautiously relieved at her sudden shift in demeanor, he let out a deep breath that he had not even realized he was holding. “Right. I s’pose I was,” he admitted quietly. In a way it was completely true.

“Like you ever *really* knew me well enough to make me do anything I didn’t want to do,” she scoffed, and though her tone was not exactly pleasant, it was softer, and he could feel the tension easing from the situation, as she took a couple of steps away from him.

The mockery in her tone was irritating to him, considering that he knew he really *had* been able to twist situations and make her behave as he had wanted, in at least one situation that he could recall – the fight with her friends right before their battle with Adam.

“Right. Certainly not. I was *never* able to manipulate you or push your buttons in *any* way,” he added, unable to keep the slight sarcasm from his tone, wondering even as he spoke why he hadn’t just kept his mouth shut instead of reminding her of the one time when he *had* done just that.

*Now you’ve done it,* he chided himself, closing his eyes and grimacing slightly as she slowly turned her head to look at him again, her eyes wide and surprised. *Just when she was calming down…you’ve set her off again.*

When he did not hear her respond, did not sense her move, for a long moment, he finally ventured to look back up at her cautiously. She was still staring at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving at his continued nerve. Her mouth opened slightly, and he was sure that she was about to launch into another round. And then, a funny thing happened – a thing he would never have expected at that moment.

Buffy laughed. A sound that started off soft and hoarse, sounding almost foreign and misplaced from her sob-ravaged throat, in the midst of her confusion and pain. But then it grew stronger, and became a fuller, richer sound, that was a tremendous relief to him to hear.

“God, you are such a smart ass!” she finally said in a voice of gentle amusement, shaking her head as she looked at him in wonder. “Doesn’t matter what anybody does to you…that never changes.” Oddly enough, there was no anger or frustration in her tone. In fact, he rather thought that he imagined a certain nostalgic affection in her voice, and her eyes as they softened on him.

And then, her words confirmed his suspicion, as she spoke again in a soft voice, surprised by her own words as she spoke them, as if she could scarcely believe herself that they were true.

“Spike…I think I’ve *missed* you!”

Spike was struck speechless with surprise – and that was saying a lot, for him. He was also tremendously relieved by the Slayer’s unexpected reaction to what he now realized was a very foolish sarcastic comment. The moment he had realized what he had said, he had fully expected her to light into him again, or at the very least, launch into another verbal assault.

Never had he imagined hearing the words that she had actually spoken.

She had *missed* him? They had never been friends, even before all of this, and after the intense confrontation they had just had, her reaction was to realize that she had *missed* him? It seemed that for once, his natural cockiness and smart mouth that had a tendency to get him into so much trouble had actually served to remind the Slayer of a better time in her life, a time when she was no doubt infinitely happier than she was now.

“I don’t know,” Buffy sniffled, smiling through her tears as she sighed. “I guess I’m just getting a little nostalgic.”

Suddenly, he began to understand just why she had brought him here in the first place.

“Thought so,” he nodded with a hint of a smirk. “From the very familiar feeling of your fist connecting with my face. Just like old times, eh, pet?” *Except for the part where I can’t hit you back anymore,* he added in his mind with more than a little resentment. He had the feeling that a bit more of his old humor and sarcasm might have a positive effect on the severely depressed Slayer, but felt that that last bit might be taking it too far.

As her smile immediately faded at his words, he wondered if maybe he had gone too far already – until she looked at him, and he saw the regret in her eyes. He could see her eyes moving over his battered face, his lip split and several dark bruises already forming. She opened her mouth to speak, and he had the odd, wondering feeling that she was actually about to apologize.

But then, she shut her mouth again as she made her decision, and just smiled at his joke instead of saying whatever it was she had been about to say. “Just like old times,” she repeated, her voice heavy with weariness and defeat. She looked back up at him with a smile that was both sad and amused at the same time. “The good old days, when all we had to worry about was which one of us was gonna win.”

He returned her smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes as he replied softly, “Think you’ve about got that little contest won, pet.”

Buffy looked troubled by his words. She walked back to the desk where she had set the picture she had been examining a little while ago, studying it with a morose expression. “It all feels like a lifetime ago…you know?”

He smiled, but his tone was soft and serious as he nodded. “I do.”

Buffy was silent, just staring at the picture, becoming lost in her thoughts again.

Spike took a cautious step toward her, opening his mouth to speak, but hesitating. The last time he had attempted to reach out to her – mere minutes earlier – had almost ended very badly, and had resulted in the rapidly darkening bruises on his face, and the blood he could taste as he nervously worried his lower lip.

*Just let it go, mate,* he warned himself, yet took a couple more steps toward her.

“Mistress,” he spoke quietly, careful to address her with the respect she had required a few minutes ago. “I know I’m only here to do as you say. I’m not trying to put anything over on you, I swear it. I only asked about them because…because…” His earnest voice broke off, as he realized what he had been about to say – and how very badly it could be taken.

As much as her mood seemed to have improved, he did not think that it would be helped by his admitting that he had feelings for her.

She looked up at him questioningly when he did not finish, and he was relieved that there was no anger in her eyes anymore. “You’re curious?” she suggested. She smiled teasingly, thinking she knew what he had been thinking. “You wonder about them? You know, it doesn’t make you look soft to wonder about what happened to them.” She shrugged and added, “It’s not like *I’m* gonna tell them that the Big Bad actually cared.” She was still smiling, but the mirth had left her voice.

“Right,” he replied with a nervous little laugh, relieved at her assumption of what he had been about to say. There was a moment’s silence before he cautiously ventured, “So… what *did* happen, love?”

He realized in the next moment what he had called her, cringing inwardly in expectation of her wrath, but she did not react at all – in fact, did not even seem to notice. She was quiet for such a long time that he thought she did not intend to answer at all – and he was certainly not going to push it again.

“I guess we just sort of…outgrew them,” she finally spoke, her voice soft and calm, quiet but clear in the stillness of the room – and she did not sound the least bit convinced of what she was saying. “As Riley and I got closer, and he began to get more and more involved with – with all of this,” she waved her hand in a vague sort of gesture, as she sat slowly down on the edge of her bed. “It just seemed like we had – less and less to talk about.”

She paused, and he wisely kept his silence, waiting for her to go on. Her eyes were on the floor, focused on some point not in that time, seeing not what she was looking at, but events of the past.

“Riley said they – they could never understand. We were going places, and they – they were happy to just stay where they were.” The sad, wistful note in her voice told him that *she* would have been more than happy to stay where they were, too. “He’d get annoyed with them so easy,” she remembered, her eyes widening with a troubled expression, as she shook her head slowly at the memory. “They came over here a lot for a while, when we first got married. But Riley – well – my friends weren’t stupid.”

There was a slightly bitter note in her voice as she went on. “He made a point of looking polite, but they knew how he felt. Like he was -- *better* than them. Like they were nobodies and he was *somebody*. You know?”

Spike knew. Oh, boy, did he know! He nodded without a word, his wide, serious gaze still focused on her haunted emerald eyes.

“Gradually they just – stopped coming. Riley was relieved. He was glad to be rid of them,” Buffy went on, her voice lowering in a vain effort to conceal the tears that had begun again in her voice. One escaped, sliding slowly down her cheek unheeded as she went on with her story. “They never agreed with what he does. They’re against…all of this,” she said vaguely, but he knew what she was talking about. “Riley said they never understood it.”

He fought not to ask the dangerous question that her uncertain tone raised in him. *Do *you* understand it? Do you agree with it?*

“It’s been – two years. Since I’ve talked to Willow or Xander,” she admitted, in a voice that was two even, a desperate attempt at not allowing her pain to take over. “When I stopped calling, they kept on. For a little while. But eventually, they gave up, I guess.” She paused, with a listless little shrug. “Riley’s happy. It’s what he wanted.”

Buffy had nothing else to say. She just stared at the floor, feeling drained, taking a strange, sad comfort in the stillness around them.

That stillness was finally broken by the soft, certain voice of her slave. “If you miss them so much,” he suggested quietly. “You should call them. Who cares what Riley wants? He’s all about whatever pleases *him*, isn’t he? What about what *you* want? Don’t – don’t *you* deserve to be happy?”

She looked up at him suddenly, surprised by his honesty, as well as by the concern – and anger -- in his voice. She studied his expression for a long moment, and suddenly found her breath stolen away by his wide, impossibly blue eyes, blazing with indignation on *her* behalf. In that moment, she could clearly see that this was no act; Spike was genuinely sorrowful for her, and her pain – and furious with Riley whom he blamed for causing it.

A small, puzzled frown on her face, she looked up at him from where she sat on the bed. She was quiet for a moment before she asked softly, without spite, in total sincerity, “Why do you care?”

She watched in bemusement as Spike suddenly looked down at the floor, self-consciously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, a sardonic smirk on his downcast face, some private self-mockery. He took in a deep breath as if to reply, then let it out slowly before looking back up at her, with a self-deprecating little smile.

“Sort of my job description…in’nit?” he pointed out softly, meeting her eyes with an openness and vulnerability in his that once again took her breath. “Give you what you want? Make you happy?” His voice was low and questioning as he searched her eyes for…what?

If she didn’t know any better, Buffy would almost think that he…

*No!* she told herself firmly, dismissing the thought as too preposterous – and troubling – to even consider. *He doesn’t – he couldn’t…*

And then the thought was stolen away as he stepped nearer to her, those fathomless blue eyes focused on her intently – and suddenly, the question of what *Spike* was feeling was suddenly powerfully eclipsed by the confusion of her *own* emotions.

“What *can* I do, Buffy?” he said, his voice soft, earnest and inviting. “What can I do to make you happy?”

The gentle entreaty in his voice sent a warm little shudder through her, and she was stunned by her physical reaction to his nearness, his voice, his eyes… Why had she never noticed before what gorgeous eyes he had? she wondered suddenly – then immediately dismissed that question as silly.

When a guy was making it his life’s ambition to kill you, his incredibly pretty eyes would be the last thing on a girl’s mind.

But at the moment, he was *not* trying to kill her. He was standing here before her, those deep, expressive eyes gazing into hers, asking in unison with his rich, warm-honey voice, what he could do to please her – offering himself to her – in what way, exactly? she suddenly wondered, fighting off an odd sense of panic as her emotions began to spin out of control, and she lost track of exactly what it was she was feeling.

*In any way you want,* a seductive voice in her head reminded her, and her eyes widened a little with the realization – and at the sudden rush of desire she felt at the thought.

It was true, she realized. Regardless of what his intentions might be as he stood here before her, asking her will and seeming so anxious to please her…Spike belonged to her. In whatever way she wanted him, he was hers to do with as she pleased.

*It’s about what *you* want, Buffy,* Riley’s words suddenly echoed in her head.

The thought both excited and sickened her.

*No, Buffy,* she told herself firmly, and the voice of reason in her head sounded strangely panicked. *No! You’re only thinking this way because you’re hurt over Riley! Spike is a vampire, and he’s your slave, and it’s just – just *wrong*! You’re just vulnerable and emotional right now and wanting someone -- *anyone* -- to be close to, and…*

Her thoughts cut off when she noticed Spike’s eyes widen just slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he suddenly became aware of something that surprised him. She wondered with that same sense of panic again if he could possibly have guessed at her thoughts.

*Time to stop this before it goes any farther,* she sternly ordered herself, trying not to think about the gorgeous vampire who was gazing at her so intently, searching her eyes again for the answer to some unspoken question, so clear in his impossibly expressive eyes.

She stood up, and winced a little when he instinctively stepped back with a brief flash of fear in his eyes.

*I put that there,* she realized with a sense of shame, and again had the impulse to apologize. But she was not quite ready to do that yet. To apologize would be to imply that she had not had the right to do what she had done – and she did…didn’t she?

*What would Riley think?* she reminded herself, putting the idea of apology out of her head.

Recalling his question of what he could do for her, she gave him a smile that she hoped was reassuring in spite of her own nervousness. “You’ve already done it, Spike,” she told him gently. “You’re right. I – I need to call them.” She had only been meaning to shift the focus of the rapidly intensifying encounter, but realized as she spoke the words that she really, *really* wanted to.

*If Riley doesn’t care about how *I* feel, why should I give up my friends for him?* she thought defiantly, momentarily distracted from the rising attraction she was feeling to her slave. And that was of the good, she thought, and decided to stay on that topic for a bit.

She gave Spike an anxious look as a thought occurred to her. “What if they don’t wanna talk to me?”

Spike thought back over the devotion Willow and Xander had always displayed for Buffy -- *always* -- and knew without a doubt that any distance they had placed between her and them was because they thought she wanted it.

“They’ll wanna talk to you,” he assured her gently, and Buffy thought she saw a look of relief pass over his face at the change of subject. “I’m sure they’ve been missing you as badly as you’ve been missing them, love.”

“What will Riley say?” she wondered, her eyes widening in dismay as she gave a little grimace at the thought, in spite of her determination moments earlier that her husband’s opinion did not matter.

“Sod Riley,” Spike muttered in disgust – then suddenly looked sharply up at her, his eyes wide with apprehension.

Buffy’s own eyes widened in surprise, once again, at the nerve of this slave who would never truly be one at heart. Then she laughed, shaking her head and looking down. Suddenly, her expression grew serious and she drew a couple of steps closer to him.

“Don’t ever say that again,” she ordered quietly, and he was surprised that there was no anger, no demand in her voice – but rather a concern that he had never heard there before.

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied in a humble tone of submission, grateful and relieved that she was not any more upset.

“Spike,” she said in a low, urgent voice, and he looked up at her. Her green eyes met his, dark and solemn as she explained in a slow, clear voice, “He would *hurt* you. Bad. Don’t ever…*ever*…let him hear you say something like that. Okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, a little frightened in spite of himself and his utter despisal of all things pertaining to Riley Finn. “Okay,” he agreed, and felt a sudden rush of warmth at the realization that this particular command was out of a concern for his safety.

Buffy nodded, satisfied that he understood the gravity of her order, and walked past him toward the door, gesturing with her hand for him to follow. It was time for her personal attendant to begin his training.

She paused in the doorway – one step away from leaving this private moment that they had somehow managed to find, and turned partly back toward him, her mouth opened, hesitant over the words she wanted to say. Then, she decided, and almost hurriedly turned to face him fully, a warm, if slightly shy, smile coming over her face as she met his eyes.

“Thank you.”

And without another word, she turned and led the way out of her bedroom.

Throughout the rest of that first day, Spike found himself becoming more and more comfortable and at ease with Buffy, as she showed him around the house, and he basically just kept her company, performing any minor tasks she required of him as needed.

Her mood seemed to improve as the day wore on. Every now and then, she would mention some small incident from the past, some memory that his presence had returned to her, wondering if he remembered it, too.

He did remember. Every single one.

He wondered now how he could have been unaware of his feelings for the Slayer for so long, when every moment he had ever spent in her presence was indelibly recorded in his memory.

He was careful throughout the course of the day to maintain a respectful distance, even as her manner became more casual and open. He did not want to risk crossing that uncertain line again and incurring her anger. He made sure that he kept his voice low, his eyes averted, his manner subservient, as was befitting a slave with his mistress.

It was a fine line he was walking, aware that his mistress wanted him there because of his familiarity, because he was a reminder of a better time in her life – and yet also aware, from painful experience, that to behave in too familiar a manner with her would be to risk her anger, and violent punishment.

A couple of times, though, he did dare a sarcastic comment, a small joke – all of which were, fortunately, met with laughter or at least a smile from Buffy.

He got the impression that it had been a long time since she had had something to laugh about.

Buffy was considered a “lady of leisure”, but Spike soon realized that that term translated loosely to “bored out of her mind”, as she really had very little to do. After the tour she gave him of the mansion – which killed about an hour – she had no real responsibilities to accomplish, to work to be done.

And no friends with which to have fun.

Yet, for some reason, she was putting off making the phone call she had decided that morning to make.

Late that afternoon, Buffy had decided to pass some time in the library – a place he could not have imagined her *choosing* to visit before, another sure sign of the extent of her boredom. It was a small, cozy little room with a fireplace and shelves upon shelves of books, some old and rare volumes, but most of them more current editions, such as new novels and best sellers.

Buffy had chosen a novel and sank into a huge, puffy leather armchair that seemed to swallow her up, settling down in comfort to read for a little while, to pass the time. She had grown very comfortable with the mostly quiet presence of her slave that had so disconcerted her before. She was beginning to find it almost comforting to have Spike there with her, shadowing her – a familiar figure from a past that was beckoning to her to return, after a painfully long absence.

He was watching her from another chair near hers, as her deep green eyes moved over the lines of the pages in her hands, seemingly intent on the book she was reading. He was struck again by how very beautiful she was. Her honey-blonde hair fell smooth and shiny around her shoulders, and the small frown of concentration that creased the perfectly bronzed skin of her forehead only served to make her more fascinating to him.

Suddenly she looked up at him, her emerald eyes intent and piercing, and he quickly looked down, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at her.

“Do you really think I should call them?” she asked him, her voice small and anxious, and when he realized that she had not noticed his inappropriate attention to her, he relaxed a little and chanced a brief glance up to her eyes.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I do.”

She let out a weary sigh, as if she had hoped that his answer would be different, and leaned her head back against the back of the chair with a pitiful little moan. “But what if they hate me?” she said, looking back at him again, her eyes wide and fearful. “I completely blew them off – my very best friends for five years, through so much – and I just turned my back on them like they were nothing to me! I mean, what if they’re mad at me?”

The unbelievably obvious question, and the slight childish whine in which it was spoken brought a small, amused smirk to his lips. “I’m sure they are,” he pointed out, glancing up at her again to gauge her reaction.

Buffy frowned slightly, her eyes troubled, and her perfect lips forming a worried little pout. “That’s not very helpful,” she commented.

“You asked me what I thought,” he reminded her, his eyes downcast again. “I’m simply telling you. I mean – wouldn’t you be, pet? Mad?” He had a momentary twinge of worry at the endearment that had slipped out yet again, out of sheer habit; but it was certainly not the first slip he had made that day, and she hadn’t mentioned it once, so he supposed he was fairly safe.

Buffy sighed again, looking away from him, lost in her troubled thoughts. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I’d be pretty pissed off. I probably…” She paused, then looked back up at him again fearfully as she finished, “…probably wouldn’t even speak to them for a while! Oh, Spike! I can’t do this! It’s too hard!”

“This, on the other hand,” he said quietly, with a wave of his hand to indicate her general situation. “Going it alone without the people who were most important in your life for so long…*so* much easier. Right, love?” The mild sarcasm in his voice was not mocking or offensive, simply a means of proving his point.

She just gave him a pouting look for a moment before she muttered petulantly, “Shut up.” But there was no anger in her tone, and he realized with surprise that she had said it in the same tone she would have used with one of her friends a few years back, if they were telling her something she did not want to hear.

In fact, this whole conversation had a comfortable feel to it that spoke much more of friendship than of the true nature of their relationship.

As if she had just noticed the same thing, and it made her uncomfortable, Buffy looked away from him suddenly, standing up quickly and moving to put the book away. He rose from his chair expectantly, wanting to appear ready for her next command, whatever it might be.

She turned back toward him, her eyes troubled as they met his.

“Riley’s gonna be home soon,” she informed him.

“Thanks for the warning,” he muttered, rolling his eyes in irritation at the thought of the pompous, self-centered soldier.

“Spike,” she said, a little sharply, and he grew silent and still, staring at the floor between them. Her voice softened a little, as she added, “This is serious.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, almost automatically, and she was surprised by how much the term that she had required him to use earlier bothered her now, after an afternoon of his curious British pet names for her that came so naturally to him, and just seemed so comfortable and familiar and right.

*He’s not supposed to be comfortable with you,* she reminded herself. *He’s supposed to speak to you with respect.* Putting out of her mind the traitorous thought of how much those words in her head sounded like Riley, and how sickened she was by that thought, Buffy focused on her slave with serious eyes.

She was very much aware that Spike’s easy manner with her and tendency toward smart remarks could get him seriously hurt, and that was something that she meant to avoid.

“You need to be very careful what you say, how you act, in front of Riley, Spike,” she told him firmly. “He is very…strict, with his slaves. He requires absolute respect, and absolute obedience. You must refer to him as master or sir, and me as mistress, in front of him at all times. Don’t speak without being spoken to. Obey anything either of us says immediately and without question. Do you understand?”

Spike swallowed back his anger and pride at the thought of submitting to the man that he despised, more for his treatment of his wife than for any other reason, and nodded slowly. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied in a voice of quiet resignation.

He knew what Buffy was not saying. The relatively relaxed atmosphere that had existed between them throughout this day was about to vanish with the arrival of Riley, home from work. While Buffy might be lenient in some ways, allowing small improprieties without punishment, he knew that Riley would tolerate nothing from him.

He had not missed the hatred in the man’s eyes that first night, the cruel triumph in his smile at Spike’s being made a slave in his home. He knew that Riley would be looking for any small offense he could find to give him an excuse to punish him.

Echoing his thoughts, Buffy added bluntly, her voice soft and even, “Riley doesn’t like you, Spike. He’s going to be watching you closely. I just can’t tell you enough how… how *careful* you need to be. Okay?”

He was struck by the concern in her voice. It sent a warm little thrill to him to think that she cared at all for him, enough to worry about him like this. “Okay,” he repeated, determining in that moment to prove himself worthy of that concern. Despite his pride, despite his every instinct that protested the very idea of submitting himself to the man for whom he held nothing but contempt, he would do his best to obey her command.

He would not let Buffy down.


As Buffy and Riley finished their dinner, in the usual awkward silence, broken only by the occasional polite conversational questions that one or the other would remember to ask, Spike waited by the wall, standing at attention in case he should be needed by his mistress, his eyes downcast, silent and respectful.

The meal was finished, and they were about to get up, when Riley smirked over at him, then looked back at Buffy, shaking his head slightly. “He give you more trouble today, Honey?” he asked, nodding toward Spike.

“What?” Buffy looked up at him with a slightly trapped expression, startled out of her thoughts by the unexpected question.

Riley looked at Spike again, and Buffy followed his gaze, realizing in dismay what he was talking about. Her slave still bore the marks from the beating she had given him that morning, though they had already healed to a great degree due to his accelerated healing. Buffy felt a wave of guilt wash over her, and felt a little sick at the memory of how she had completely lost her temper, attacking the helpless vampire with a fury that even she knew, now, had not really been meant for him.

“Oh,” she began, sounding very uncomfortable. “N-no, no, Riley, it was no big thing. I just…lost my temper. He – he really didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyes were focused on Spike as she softly spoke the words, and he sensed that she was speaking as much to him as she was to Riley.

It was probably the closest thing to an apology that he would receive for that particular incident.

Riley glanced between them for a few moments, his amused smirk fading into a hard line as he said quietly, “You’re too patient, Buffy. Rebellious slaves like him only learn one way, Honey. You’re gonna have to learn that.”

Spike did not miss the slightly contemptuous note in the man’s voice for his wife, and he found it infuriating. Riley spoke to Buffy as if he knew so much more than she did about everything, as if he was merely putting up with what he saw as her unbearable ignorance.

“Really, Riley,” Buffy insisted, but her voice was softer, and Spike could hear the hurt note in her voice at the tone he had taken with her. “It was me…I…”

“Spike,” Riley’s voice was suddenly directed at the vampire standing by the wall, in a sharp, commanding tone. “Get over here.”

Willing himself to keep his anger under control, not so much for his own safety as because Buffy had asked him to, Spike immediately obeyed, going to stand in front of Riley, his eyes carefully averted.

“You’ve got a problem with authority…don’t you…*hostile*,” Riley said coldly. It was a statement, not a question, but Spike knew that he was required to respond.

If he could only think of a response that would not get him beaten senseless.

“No, Sir,” he replied softly.

“You don’t?” Riley’s tone was taunting. “How do you explain this, then?” he demanded in a mocking tone, reaching up from his seat to lightly slap at Spike’s bruised cheek a couple of times, in a gesture that was meant to humiliate him, not to hurt him, drawing attention to what Riley perceived as evidence of his disobedience.

Spike closed his eyes for a moment, opening his mouth to respond, and Buffy cringed inwardly, every muscle in her body tensing, as she was suddenly certain that he was going to say something to anger Riley.

And why did it make her so fearful to think of it? she wondered suddenly. Why did the thought of Riley’s becoming violent with Spike make her feel so frightened and sick inside?

“Riley,” she said softly, placatingly, trying to distract him from his little game.

But he would not be distracted. In fact, as she spoke, he rose from his chair, towering over the much smaller man menacingly, his eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, Spike,” he said coldly. “If you’re so obedient…if you haven’t got a problem with authority…then what happened to your face?”

Spike was fighting not to just go off on the arrogant man, both for the humiliation of the moment, and for his cruel disregard for his wife. Answering the question truthfully was out of the question. What was he to say to the man?

*Your wife is hurt and angry because you’re a cheating, lying bastard, so she took it out on me?*

Tempting…but no.

“I believe,” Spike began, his voice quiet and even, his eyes still downcast. “I believe the lady already answered that question.”

Buffy could see the fury building in her husband as he drew his hulking frame up straighter, his fists clenching as he took a step toward the slave standing before him.

“Riley, *don’t*!” she gasped, a moment too late, as Riley’s massive fist swept down across Spike’s face, knocking him a couple of steps backward.

“Well, why don’t you tell me again,” Riley said with a nasty smile, “I didn’t really *ask* her, so I wasn’t really listening!” The contemptuous dismissal in his voice for his wife fed Spike’s anger.

Shaking his head a little as he recovered from the blow, standing back up straight, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, Spike met Riley’s eyes boldly, his blue eyes blazing with fury.

“Maybe that’s your problem,” he said, his voice trembling with anger. “Maybe if you bloody listened to her a little more…”

Riley’s eyes darkened with rage and he drew back his fist for another blow.

Buffy leapt to her feet. “Riley…Riley, *stop*!” she said urgently, the beginnings of tears in her voice as she stepped in between her husband and her slave, her emerald eyes shining as she gave him a pleading look. “Just – just calm down…”

“Get out of the way, Buffy!” Riley snarled, and Spike was shocked by the threat in his voice, even when directed at Buffy.

“You told me you were going to let me handle this my way,” Buffy went on, her voice trembling, but her expression firm. “So please…just let me handle this, okay?”

“I said, *get out of the way*!” Riley yelled at her, stepping toward her in anger, his fist at his side partially raised.

Spike was stunned when Buffy flinched a little, fearfully, at Riley’s actions…and in the next moment he was flooded with fury as the implications of that tiny motion sank into his mind.

“You bloody wanker,” he said, his voice low with rising rage. “Don’t you dare touch her!” He started forward, heedless of the chip that made any attempt at fighting Riley hopeless.

Buffy suddenly turned on him, her tears brimming over to spill down her cheeks, her eyes furious with anger and pain, and to his utter shock, she struck him, hard, across the face… effectively stopping his advance toward the man who would certainly have hurt him much worse.

“Spike,” she ordered quietly but severely. “Go to your room and wait for me there.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Riley declared, grabbing Buffy’s arm roughly and trying to push her out of the way, but she employed her Slayer-strength, lessened from disuse, but still enough to momentarily keep him from getting to Spike.

“Buffy…” Spike protested in a gasp, still reeling from her unexpected blow, surprised himself at the intensity of the betrayal he felt from it, worse than the physical pain.

“*Go*!” she ordered sharply, and he suddenly was aware of the urgency in her voice. It was for his own protection that she wanted him gone. “I’ll deal with you later!” she snapped, but the sudden understanding of her motives took the sting from the words. “Do as I say, *now*!”

Spike did not want to leave her there with her furious husband, but reason reminded him that Buffy was the Slayer, and was fully capable of defending herself against a mere mortal man – whereas he was incapable of defending her, no matter how badly he wanted to.

“Buffy, I know what I’m doing!” Riley snapped, still trying to get past her.

“*Now*, Spike!” Buffy’s insistent, commanding voice cut through his thoughts, and against his every instinct, against his powerful desire to do otherwise, he obeyed her order and retreated to his room, to anxiously wait for Buffy to meet him there.

Furious as he watched Spike walk away, Riley tried again to shove past Buffy and get to him, but she managed to hold him back, although it was more difficult for her than it would have been a few years ago. She had allowed her strength to diminish from lack of exercising it, and Riley had become stronger.

They had never talked about why – as they rarely talked about anything – but Buffy suspected that it had some connection to his research on the experimental drugs the old Initiative had given him without his knowledge. A couple of years ago, Riley had mentioned to Buffy that he wanted to develop safer versions of those drugs, medications that could be used to increase strength and stamina without the nasty side effects.

Buffy had realized when her husband’s strength became inexplicably greater each day – he must have accomplished his goal.

Now, she regretted allowing herself to become so weak in comparison to Riley, as he shoved her back roughly to try to get to Spike, who had just disappeared down the stairs. She staggered a couple of steps, thrown a little off balance by the forceful push, but she recovered quickly. She wasn’t sure why it was so important to her; she only knew one thing.

She *could not* let Riley get to Spike!

“Riley, stop!” she cried out, grabbing his arm and exerting as much force as she could muster to spin him back around to face her.

The vindictive fury in his eyes stunned her, and her eyes widened with surprised realization of what was about to happen…in the moment before her husband raised his fist and brought it down hard across her face.

He had acted in anger and without thinking of what he was doing, and the blow had carried nearly his full strength behind it. A normal woman would have been at the very least knocked unconscious by the impact – possibly worse. But Buffy was not just a normal woman.

In spite of everything…she was still the Slayer. Even if she did not remember that.

The punch rocked her back a few steps, bent over to the side, her hand flying to her already bruising cheek. She stayed like that for a moment, not even moving, not even righting herself to face him, too utterly shocked by the fact that he had actually struck her to even react at all.

Riley seemed just as shocked as she was, just standing there, his eyes wide with the growing realization of what he had just done. His intense desire to punish the insolent slave vanished in an instant as he stared in shock at his wife, both of them hardly able to believe what had just happened.

As she slowly stood up straight, turning wide, stricken, tearful eyes on her husband, her trembling lips slightly parted in disbelief, under the slowly darkening bruise on her cheek, Riley shook his head slightly, a horrified expression on his face.

He had never struck her before. Yelling, screaming, hurtful words hurled at her – he was guilty of all of those things. And this incident was not the first time that he had unthinkingly pushed her out of his way, or acted in an intimidating way such as he had done tonight.

But never, ever had he actually hurt her.

“Buffy…” he whispered, shaking his head. “Buffy, I’m – I’m so sorry…” He moved forward, his hands extended to take her arms and pull her close to him. His hushed, intensely shamed tone told her that he at least partially understood the terrible gravity of the offense he had just committed.

It did not matter.

She shook off his touch, stepping rapidly backward, wide green eyes focused on his in painful accusation. “Don’t,” she said, her voice low and trembling with rage and pain. “Don’t – don’t touch me!”

“Please, Buffy – I don’t know why – I don’t know what came over me,” Riley insisted, his voice desperate and pleading as he moved toward her again, his hands open in a non-threatening gesture in front of him. “Please, Honey…please…”

Buffy just stared up at him, still disbelieving, such an intensity of pain and betrayal in her eyes that it almost hurt him to look at it. It forced him to see what he had done, what he had become.

And he could not face it.

“Honey…if you had just listened to me,” he began. “I just – I just got so mad…if you hadn’t – you know, *undermined* me…in front of Spike, like that…”

She just stared at him, hardly able to comprehend his fumbling, desperate attempts to place the responsibility for his violence on her shoulders. A part of her saw it for what it was – the abuser’s attempt to manipulate his victim, making excuses, giving her reasons why *her* behavior had inevitably led to his, making it her fault instead of his. That part of her saw clearly through Riley’s awkward excuses and apologies.

Another part of her wondered if he could possibly be right. Maybe if she had…what? Allowed what would certainly have turned into a vicious beating, on a creature utterly incapable of defending himself against Riley? Just sat back and said nothing, when she knew that what he was doing was wrong?

Wasn’t it? According to Riley – according to the society that had slowly arisen around them – Riley was completely within his rights to hit Spike, for speaking to him the way her had. For any reason at all, really. Just because he felt like it. After all, Spike was not human. He *had* no rights.

The image of clear, expressive blue eyes meeting hers with a compassion and concern for her pain, in spite of the miserable condition he was in due to her, in spite of her brutality with him only moments before, filled her mind. Even after she had beaten Spike cruelly, taking out her frustrations with Riley on him, his main concern had been *her* pain.

That image stood in sharp contrast to the savage, out-of-control violence her husband had displayed moments before, and Buffy found herself wondering which of the two – her powerful, respected husband, or her willful slave – was really more human.

“Buffy…Buffy, please just talk to me,” Riley insisted, his gentle pleading voice now in sharp contrast to his raging, out-of-control yelling of only moments earlier. “I’m so, so *sorry*, Honey.”

Confused and unsure, Buffy stood there, allowing him to approach her as she stared at the floor at his feet, trying to make sense of her swirling thoughts. Gently, cautiously, Riley reached out and took her arms in his hands again, seeking her eyes with his own anxious, pleading gaze.

“Buffy? Honey? Please…say something,” he begged her softly.

She stared at the floor, lost in her own thoughts, barely even hearing his plea. *You can’t put up with this, Buffy,* she insisted to herself, though she felt lost and unsure of anything. *This is abuse.*

Suddenly, her flashing emerald eyes shot up to his, with an electric jolt of fury and conviction. She didn’t move, didn’t pull away from him, but he felt her body tense under his touch as she drew herself up straight, mustering every ounce of pride that had nearly been driven from her over the past few years.

“Take your hands off me,” she ordered, her words resounding with the natural authority that came with her calling, her head raised high as she met his eyes with defiant fury in her own – that masked the pain and confusion still just beneath the surface.

There was no question, under the power of her tone and expression, and Riley immediately removed his hands from her arms, taking a single step backward. “Buffy…” he began again, hesitantly.

“No,” she cut him off, her voice trembling with anger, but a righteous, assured anger. She paused for a moment, staring at him with something resembling disgust – but also an intense pain and betrayal -- in her eyes. “You need help, Riley. You are out of control.”

“Buffy,” he tried again, reaching toward her with one hand.

“I can’t live like this, Riley,” she broke in again, her voice softer, sadder now, but still firm and sure as she held his gaze. “You can’t treat me like this.”

“Buffy,” he pleaded softly. “I can do better. I can make this right.”

A part of her was surprised that he even seemed to care so much. Lately her husband had seemed so indifferent to her, practically ignoring her and making her desperate for his attention and affection. Now, he seemed to have been shocked out of his apathy by the impact of what had just happened between them.

God, how long it had been since she had seen that passionate, desperate look in his eyes as he looked at her – as if she were the most precious thing in his world, and he would do anything it took to keep her.

Almost against her will, she could feel her resolve weakening under the soft, pleading look in his pained, guilt-stricken eyes. “Please, Buffy. Please, you have to forgive me. I swear to you, Buffy. It will never….*never*…happen again. Please, *please* give me another chance.”

She looked away from him, confused and uncertain again. She had been married to Riley for five years now, and they *had* had some good times – though those times seemed so far away at this point that she could hardly remember them.

Up until the moment when she had realized with a sense of shocked betrayal that he was about to hit her, she had been desperate to make things work between them, in spite of their recent problems, in spite of Riley’s infidelities. She had somehow come to view all of their problems as somehow *her* fault. If she was more attractive…if she showed more of an interest in Riley’s work…if she was more cooperative with him…

Even now, that nagging little voice was whispering in her head, ways in which she could have handled the situation differently, to have prevented Riley’s explosion. Was one little mistake – one time when he lost his temper – enough to give up completely? To refuse to forgive him and throw away their marriage?

An image flashed into her mind again, of that morning, and her own fury, as her own powerful fist had slammed into the face of someone utterly at her mercy, unable to fight back – for no offense, really. For no other reason than that *she* had failed to control her temper.

As Riley had done just now.

“Buffy…I’ll do anything,” Riley was pleading. “I’ll do anything to make this up to you. Please…forgive me.”

Buffy looked back up at him, most of the fire fading from her eyes, leaving only the hurt and sorrow again. “Riley…you have to control your temper,” she told him, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes welling with tears. “You get so – so *angry*, and – and you’re too hard on…on everyone.”

Riley nodded almost eagerly, and she was uncomfortably aware that his reaction would have been the same no matter what she said. He was just desperate to please her at that moment, and would say anything he had to to accomplish that. “I know, Buffy, and I’m sorry. Look…forget about the whole thing with Spike,” he told her. “You handle it your way. I’ll stay out of it. You’re right. I’ll do better, Buffy, I swear!”

Buffy did not say anything for a moment, searching his eyes with an aching longing, hoping to see a sincerity there that she just could not find. Still, she lowered her eyes and nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll try.”

And then, much to her shock and dismay – Riley broke down. At her implicit permission, he moved forward again to pull her close to him, bending down so that his head was almost level with hers, sobbing softly as his hands clutched her closer. “God, I’m so sorry, Buffy!” he repeated. “I’m so sorry! I can’t – I can’t lose you!”

Buffy still felt detached…numb…unsure of what exactly she felt. No tears fell from her wide, still disbelieving eyes, as one hand rose to absently stroke through Riley’s hair in a token gesture of comfort. She could scarcely comprehend what had just happened here… and the fact that she had just accepted it so easily – so quickly giving in to Riley’s pleas and forgiving him for his crime.

A part of her knew that she had just made a foolish mistake – that one allowed abuse often leads to another, and that she had just given Riley subconscious permission to commit the same offense again, the next time his temper got out of control.

But another part of her, the girl who had been so broken and degraded by the emotional cruelty and disregard of her cold, unfaithful husband, simply accepted this as she had accepted everything else that had happened over the past few years.

And all the while, the slowly building rage at her mistreatment that she had to work harder and harder to hide, boiled and seethed just below the surface, screaming for an outlet.

“It’s okay,” she whispered to her husband, in spite of her conflicted emotions. “It’s okay, Honey.”

When Riley had regained his composure, he pulled away from her, smiling at her hopefully though his tears. “Things are gonna be better, Honey,” he promised. “You’ll see.”

She nodded, forcing a smile to her lips, her mind still preoccupied with the wild vortex of her swirling thoughts. She still could not make sense of it all; how it had all happened. One moment things had seemed to be going on as usual, and the next they had been spinning out of control in a violent eruption of anger.

She knew that, as she had done that morning, Riley had struck out at the nearest person to him, rather than the true object of his wrath. He had been furious with Spike, and all she had wanted to do was protect him, knowing that if Riley got started in on Spike, he would not stop until he had done some serious damage.

Why had she wanted so badly to protect her slave?

And why now, in the aftermath of the traumatic experience she had just had, was seeing him the only thing she wanted to do?

She *had* told him to wait for her in the basement, that she would be down there shortly to “deal with him”, she remembered.

Riley was saying something to her, murmuring low and suggestive, asking her if she wanted to go to bed…and she found herself mildly surprised by it. It had been weeks or more since there had been any kind of intimacy between them…and now, immediately in the wake of his violent outburst? Was that his way of attempting to make it up to her? she wondered incredulously, still feeling hurt and bewildered by the whole thing.

Still, she nodded a little distractedly, saying something vaguely about having something she had to do first, that she would meet him upstairs in a little while. Once he had disappeared in the general direction of their bedroom, she turned, facing the basement stairs.

After only a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward and headed resolutely down to her slave’s room.

Spike sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed in his tiny room, waiting anxiously for the Slayer to come down as she had said that she would. He wondered for the hundredth time since leaving the dining room if he should have stayed upstairs with her, regardless of her orders, to try to protect her from her furious husband.

*Protect her?* he mocked his own intentions. *You can't touch the git without nearly passing out in pain! There's an idea, mate! Get the soddin' stuffing kicked out of you by Finn...and *then* by the Slayer for disobeying her orders. Great plan, there, mate.*

Still, he could hardly stand the idea of leaving Buffy down there with her violently angry husband. Finn had obviously been out of control. Buffy's almost imperceptible flinch of fear had told him that for some reason, she was at least a little afraid of the man's temper, and the thought that Riley might actually hurt her simply infuriated him.

And even more infuriating was his utter inability to do anything about it. He was well aware that he was in a very dangerous position here in the Slayer's house, his developing feelings for her placing him in the middle of the conflict between her and her husband -- and possibly putting his own life at risk.

Although he desperately wanted to help Buffy, who was obviously hurting so badly from Riley's emotional abuse and infidelity, he knew that there was a very strong chance that she would not appreciate his assistance, or return his sentiments in any way.

And Riley would certainly not be pleased.

He wondered uneasily just how long Buffy would be able to keep him and Riley separated.

And then another troubling thought came back to his mind suddenly. That morning, after Buffy had calmed down and they had actually had a conversation -- when he had offered, humbly and sincerely, to do whatever she needed him to do to make her happy -- there had been no mistaking the look of desire that had arisen in her eyes.

And then, for his sensitive vampire senses, there had been no mistaking her desire, *period*.

The realization of her arousal, her attraction to him, had been rather alarming at the time.
After all, she had, only moments before, given him a vicious beating, not to mention the suggestively threatening way in which she had touched him, insinuating what they both knew to be an unspoken fact.

She could do whatever she wanted with him. Whenever she wanted. Consent was not even a factor in the equation.

All of that, combined with his growing understanding that the Slayer was not in a particularly emotionally stable place right then, made him very apprehensive about her intentions.

He was very attracted to her himself, and his feelings for her were growing stronger with every moment that he spent in her presence – but that did not mean that he fancied being used as her toy to ease her frustration over being ignored by her husband or to get back at him. And he certainly did not fancy the idea of being forced into anything against his will, as she certainly could if she chose to.

But then, just when he started to become afraid that that was exactly what was about to happen, the Slayer had apparently decided that that was not what she wanted, after all, much to his relief. And the tension and fear of that moment had been lost as they spent the afternoon together, growing more and more comfortable and at ease with each other.

He could hardly believe that she had actually been asking him for his advice on her situation with her friends, speaking to him easily and openly, as a friend – two things that she had never done when they had known each other before.

But then, she had changed in a heartbeat, going back to mistress-mode, as if she thought that she was allowing him to get *too* comfortable with her, and he had thought it wise to go back to the careful respect he had treated her with to begin with.

Then, in the dining room, she had defended him against Riley, making a very obvious effort to protect him from his violent anger.

Only to hit him herself – even if it *was* just to get him to listen to her and leave the room.

It was all just so bloody confusing!

Suddenly, a shadow fell across him from the doorway, and he looked up quickly, standing up at the same time in order to be prepared, half expecting Riley to have won the argument and come down to the basement to continue their confrontation.

It was Buffy.

She stood in the doorway to the room, very still and silent. She had a dazed look of shock on her face, and her eyes were red from crying. Then, she slowly stepped nearer to him, out of the dim hallway and into the path of the lamp on the dresser – and a sense of shock coursed through him at the sight of her red, slightly swollen cheek, the beginnings of a dark purple bruise appearing just beneath the surface of her flawless golden skin.

The wanker had hit her!

“What did he do to you?” he demanded, an irrationally – not to mention dangerously – possessive anger rising up in him, making him forget that he was a slave and this was his mistress, that he was supposed to keep to his place.

All he knew was that Riley Finn had taken his beautiful, amazing wife, for whom he had nowhere near the respect and love that she deserved, and dared to show her the disrespect, the insult, to have struck her across the face – and he was not going to get away with it.

Buffy looked up into his furiously blazing sapphire eyes, a stunned expression in her own, as if she still could not quite comprehend the traumatic events of the past hour.

She spoke softly, in an oddly calm voice, “I told you not to talk back to him.” Her voice was not angry or threatening, just a matter-of-fact “I told you so” sort of tone. “I told you this would happen.”

“He hit you,” Spike said, shaking his head in quiet disbelief, as he ventured a cautious step toward her. She seemed so lost, so disoriented, that his anger at Riley was quickly taking a backseat to his concern for her. There would be plenty of time later to think of a way to make sure that Riley never dared to hurt Buffy again.

Right now, the Slayer needed help.

“Are you – are you all right, love?” he asked her, his voice low and heavy with concern, reaching out a hand tentatively as he drew slowly nearer to her.

She nodded slowly, almost automatically, not speaking, her eyes lowered again, staring unseeing at the wall beyond him.

He continued his slow, careful path toward her, watching closely as she visibly tried to hold back her tears, her lips trembling as she choked back the sobs that rose in her throat. He suddenly noticed with alarm that her whole body was trembling violently, and she appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

“Bloody hell, love, you can barely stand!” he exclaimed, closing the rest of the distance between them unthinkingly, placing a gentle hand under her elbow and guiding her toward the bed, thinking in some small part of his mind that it was a risky move.

But Buffy did not appear offended or angered in the least. She barely even seemed aware of it at all, he noticed with an uneasy feeling. She just listlessly allowed him to lead her to the bed, sitting down with her onto the side of it. His hand remained under her arm, and without thinking of the consequences, he put his other hand on her arm to turn her gently to face him, his wide, deep blue eyes searching hers anxiously, seeking for some response.

At that moment, he thought that even if her response was to slap him across the face and order him to get his hands off of her – it would be better than the vacant, lost expression in her unusually dull green eyes.

“Are you all right, pet?” he asked again, his voice hushed and fearful.

Finally, she turned her face from its point of focus on the wall beyond him and met his eyes with wonder and confusion, as if just noticing that he was there.

“Spike?” she whispered, the words a question that he could not understand.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmured, the words coming to his mind and out his lips without thought, just as his hand rose from her arm to tenderly push her disheveled hair back from her forehead. “Right here.”

Buffy’s wide green eyes took him in, wondering at the gentleness with which he was treating her, especially after the cruelty she had shown him that day. She could not quite wrap her mind around what had just happened between her and her husband.

Riley thought that he could somehow make up for what he had done, the ultimate betrayal of trust, with the physical affection he had withheld from her for so long. He expected her to go upstairs to their room and get into their bed with him and pretend that nothing had ever happened.

She was absolutely love-starved, desperately lonely and bereft of any affection from anyone for so long. And here she was, receiving that tenderness and care she had longed for for so long – from one she had abused and taken out her frustrations on unfairly, that very day.

She noticed suddenly that Spike bore a bruise, high across his cheekbone – not unlike the one she now had.

And she had given it to him.

And here he sat with her, one gentle hand still supporting her, without even realizing he was doing it, his other tenderly running through her hair in a silent gesture of comfort.

Why was her slave so concerned with her feelings, with her pain? After the pain she had caused him?

And suddenly, she felt a wave of warmth and affection toward this creature that she had never imagined she would feel anything more positive than mild annoyance for. She gazed up into the fathomless blue depths that had drawn her in that morning, and felt again the magnetic pull toward her slave that she had resisted earlier.

There was such an open emotion, that she dared not seek words for – not just yet – in those wide, expressive blue eyes.

*Innocent* was the word that sprang to mind as she gazed at the vulnerable, open expression on his face, though she knew that the words was far from appropriate. At any other moment, that thought alone would have been enough to halt the progress of the feelings that were steadily overtaking her, spinning out of control.

Tonight…she did not care.

She did not even realize it as her hands moved out to run gently up his arms toward his shoulders, and she unconsciously leaned in eagerly toward those perfect, parted, slightly trembling lips.

Spike’s eyes widened, his unnecessary breath quickening as he realized what she was about to do – and wondered if *she* realized it. Once again, he could tell that she wanted him desperately, though a rational part of his mind told him that she would not, if not for the events of the evening, and the terribly vulnerable state of her battered heart at that moment.

He knew that what she wanted in that moment was not real, not the love that he wished for – only consolation for the hurts deeper than the bruise on her face.

That morning, it had seemed like a terrible insult, a degradation, to think of being used for her comfort, used by her because her husband would not fulfill her needs. He remembered thinking, with adamant resolve, that if he could not have her completely, he did not want any part of her.

Tonight…he did not care.

Buffy saw the acceptance in his eyes, without even consciously realizing she had seen it, and moved forward with a hunger in her own, urgently capturing his lips with hers, her tongue pressing forward with a desperate intensity, claiming him with her mouth.

He both yielded to her kiss and returned it, first tentatively, and then bolder, his hand at her elbow sliding down to her waist and around behind her to move slowly across her back, the other hand moving to the back of her head, fingers running through her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

His gentle touch, the desire with which he held her to him, fed an aching hunger, a desperate need that had gone unfulfilled in her for far too long, and she could feel her desire heightening to an almost desperate level. Her hands on his arms moved up to his shoulders and pushed him down onto the bed beneath her, and his hand at the small of her back slipped lower.

She gasped at his touch, drawing in the breath the kiss had stolen from her, thrusting her body toward him unconsciously, suddenly desperate to find in him the fulfillment for the emptiness that tormented her.

She could feel his body respond to hers, his growing desire against her, as he released a low moan at the unexpected contact.

“Buffy…oh sweet…Buffy…” he gasped out, his hands moving in her hair and on her bottom, pulling her closer to him.

There was something so enticing, that quickened her heartbeat and intensified her desire, in his low, rich voice, whispering her name in that desperate, almost reverent need…a need that Riley had not displayed in nearly a year or more.

*Riley!*

Buffy gasped in shock, as the impact of what she was doing suddenly hit her, suddenly raising herself up off him a little, staring at him with wide, almost panicked eyes. Her husband was upstairs in their bed, waiting for her – and she was down in the slaves’ quarters, on the bed with Spike, moments away from…

“Oh, God,” she moaned, scrambling back off of him, standing up off the bed, hastily, guiltily straightening her rumpled shirt without even thinking about it. “Oh, no…”

He could hear the fear, the confusion in her trembling voice, and quickly rose from the bed with her. “Buffy,” he began cautiously, his breath coming hard and quick, trying to control the desire she had awakened so strongly in him. “Buffy, love…”

She shook her head emphatically, backing a couple of steps away from them, her eyes wide as she tried to process what she had just done. “No,” she whispered. “No, I – I can’t do this!”

“It’s all right,” he whispered, edging closer to her cautiously. He was aware that this was one of those moments that could lead to serious pain if he was not extremely careful. But he could not let her leave like this, distraught and horrified by what they had done.

And that hurt. He tried to push it back and not think about it, but that hurt, bad.

“No,” she interrupted, her voice sharper. “No, it’s *not* all right!” She took another step away from him when she noticed that he was coming toward her. “Stop!” she ordered, anger beginning in her voice.

He immediately froze, watching her carefully, waiting to see what she would do next. He had obviously come to the limits of the control she would allow him in this situation.

“Just…just stay back,” she said, her voice softer, but still trembling with a intense confusion of emotions that she could not quite define. “This – this was a mistake!”

“I – I’m sorry, love,” he told her quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Just – just leave it alone,” Buffy interrupted again, a little edge back in her voice. She paused, obviously trying to get control of her emotions, enough to get control of the situation.

Finally she spoke, her voice softer, but still trembling a little. “This was not your fault,” she said slowly. “I made a mistake. I – I’m upset, and – and emotional, and – and I let things get out of hand.”

He felt his heart sink with the hurt and disappointment of those words.

“It was a mistake, and it will never happen again,” she said firmly. “Riley can never know about this.” For the first time, a note of a threat crept into her voice. “*Never*. You are not to speak a word about this to anyone. Do you understand?”

That imperious, authoritative tone, the one that gave him that cold, distant feeling that he felt so much more sharply in the wake of their unfulfilled connection that had almost happened, was back again.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said quietly but clearly, unable to keep a slight edge from his own voice as he carefully pronounced the title.

He felt slightly gratified when Buffy flinched a little – and then he felt bad, for causing her more distress on this terrible night.

“This, too,” she said suddenly, and he glanced up to see her gesture vaguely toward her face, her eyes averted, not meeting his. “This is between me and Riley. You are never to speak of it.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, though he felt a surge of anger at the thought of simply letting Riley’s violence slide, and he determined then and there that his obedience to Buffy would only go so far.

Sooner or later, he would make Riley pay for what he had done to her.

Buffy looked at him closely, anxiously for a moment, as if trying to be sure that he would obey her. Seeming satisfied, she turned toward the door. “Good night,” she said quietly, in that same distant, official sounding tone that was like a blade through his heart.

She stopped in the doorway, turning slightly, hesitantly. Then she whispered, so quiet that no one but him would have heard her, “I’m sorry.”

And with that she was gone, out of his arms and back into the bed of her husband.

Over the next several days, Riley seemed to turn into the perfect husband – at least on the surface. Buffy could not remember the last time he had treated her with such affection and concern. He was attentive to her every need, eager to please her, for the first time in months.

The day after the incident in the dining room, he came home early from work, greeting her with a tender kiss and a gorgeous bouquet, with a beautiful card attached.

It read, “Buffy – the best thing in my life. I love you, and I can’t live without you. Please give me the chance to show you. All my love, Riley.”

It was just the sort of simple, straight forward sentiment that appealed to her, and Buffy allowed herself to begin to hope that maybe he really was sincere – maybe he was actually going to make an effort to change. For the next few weeks, he did not go down to the basement to visit his slaves at all, and actually stayed the entire night in their bed. He even came home from work earlier than usual, every day.

And he let the issue with Spike go – at least for the moment. He did not say a word about it to Buffy again. Whenever he and Spike were in the same room, he pretty much ignored the vampire, focusing instead, for once, on his neglected wife. He did not press Buffy to be harder on her slave, and he ignored the hate-filled glances the vampire cast his way when Buffy was not looking.

Spike found it just barely possible to restrain himself from attacking Riley, on the occasions when he was forced to be in the same room with him – which were much more numerous, now that Riley had determined to be such a dutiful husband. He wanted nothing more than to rip the man’s throat out, and cursed the chip which prevented it.

He was, of course, a man – more or less – and it was clear to him, if not to Buffy, that Riley was just doing what he thought he had to do to get back into her good graces. Once he felt that he had earned her forgiveness, Spike knew that Riley would revert to his same old careless treatment of the precious treasure he did not deserve to possess.

He half expected Riley to try to find some time in which Spike was not with Buffy to continue the “conversation” they had left unfinished in the dining room. He did not miss the anger that was still present in the larger man’s ice blue eyes, every time he happened to look at him, and he knew that if he wanted to subject Riley to a bloody, agonizing death – Riley certainly returned the sentiment.

But apparently, Riley was determined to hold up the charade in its entirety, and knew that if he hurt Spike too badly, Buffy would soon know about it, and would definitely not be pleased…and he would be right back where he had started with her.

Buffy was rather distant with Spike after the incident in his bedroom. They were almost constantly together, but she would not really let herself slip back into the casual comfort they had achieved that first afternoon. She was probably afraid that if she did, it would lead to more of what had happened that night.

Spike did not think that would be such a bad thing.

That intense, wonderful, intoxicating kiss had left him thrilled and disappointed and terrified and hopeful and…well, just confused about *what* exactly he was feeling.

He reminded himself that Buffy would not have kissed him at all if she had not been in so much emotional turmoil and pain from Riley’s abuse. She had been vulnerable and needy and had turned to the only source of comfort, quite literally, at her command.

And then, when she had called a sudden halt to the whole thing, it was clear in her expression, her demeanor, just what a terrible mistake she saw the whole thing as. Her horror and fear afterwards had been more painful to Spike than any blow she had dealt him since he had been here.

And the worst part of it all was that in the single moment of that breathtaking kiss…he had fallen in love.

At first, he had tried to talk to her about what had happened – cautiously, tentatively, not wanting to provoke her anger again. Each time, she had sharply, quickly shut him down, reminding him of her order not to mention the incident again. She seemed to want nothing more than to continue her reconciliation with her husband, and for her relationship with her slave to go back to just that – a mistress and slave relationship.

When he realized that, he found himself obeying her every command quickly and willingly, and even trying to anticipate her needs and desires before she asked him, desperate to please her in the only small ways that she would allow him to. If he saw something to do that he knew she would like, he would often do it without even being asked, just because he wanted so badly to make her happy.

If he had wanted her, been attracted to her, before he knew what it was like to actually hold her in his arms, to touch her, taste her…now that he had experienced that tiny, tantalizing piece of what he had wanted for so long, only to have it ripped suddenly away – he was utterly enthralled with her.

He caught himself watching her in quiet moments, and many times had to quickly look away to keep her from seeing the hunger he held for her in his eyes. Openly, however, he maintained the respectful distance that Buffy seemed to want now…simply because she wanted it.

He had become enslaved to her in more ways than one.


Buffy should have been happy. She should have been thrilled at the turn that her marriage seemed to be taking, she thought with frustration, as she got dressed one morning several weeks later. Riley had become more like the boy she had first met so many years ago, affectionate and sweet with her, going out of his way to do little things to please her. For months now she had longed for just that.

So why wasn’t she happy?

As she prepared to leave the room, her eyes fell on the picture on her dresser, the one that had led to so much drama in this very room, a few weeks back. She stopped, picking it up in her hands, remembering the conversation she had had with Spike about calling her friends. She had known then that he was right.

She still had not done it.

She frowned, troubled by the memory of the genuine concern Spike had shown for her… and other memories, as well. She had not failed to notice how anxious Spike was to please her lately, how attentive he was to her every need. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, in the instant before he averted his gaze.

He wanted her.

But what was more troubling than the looks he gave her, the unconscious tenderness he showed to her in every little movement, was her reaction to it. In those instants when she caught him staring at her with that smoldering desire in her eyes, she was only lucky that he turned quickly away – too quickly for him to see the need those looks awakened in her own.

She wanted him, too.

*You’re insane, Buffy,* she told herself. *Just now…when Riley is finally starting to care again…when your marriage is on its way back to what it should be…*now* you decide to develop feelings for someone else? Someone else who happens to be a vampire and your slave?*

Over and over, though she tried to keep the images out of her mind, she remembered that one fleeting kiss that they had shared, that one moment in his bedroom in which she had found the comfort and tenderness that she craved so desperately – if only for a moment. The memory sent a shudder down her spine.

It was not an entirely bad shudder.

*Yes! Yes it is bad!* she reprimanded herself sternly – and a little desperately. *Very, very bad Buffy! Stop thinking about Spike! Think about anything but Spike and those looks he gives you and the feel of his skin and those eyes that I could get lost in and…*

“Oh, God,” Buffy moaned softly, sitting down on the edge of her bed, the picture still in her hands but turned over and all but forgotten for the moment. *I am in so much trouble,* she realized.

She had been so confused and lost and lonely to begin with, and a part of her told her that that was the cause of these new, more confusing thoughts and feelings. But thinking about Spike and everything that had gone on between them since she had made that fateful decision to bring him here just made her feel more and more confused. She didn’t understand it, and she just couldn’t seem to make sense of it, no matter how hard she tried.

She needed someone to talk to.

Neither of the two people with whom she spent most of her time was an actual option to be a sounding board for this particular worry.

*I need Willow,* she realized suddenly, with a fresh wave of sorrow washing over her at the thought of her best friend, who had always been so supportive and understanding with her, even when she was making bad decisions and doing stupid things – who would tell her what she thought honestly while still being kind and compassionate toward her situation.

*Yep,* she thought, frowning down at the picture as she turned it face up again in her lap and stared at it pensively. *I definitely need Willow.*

She rose from her bed with a new determination, reaching for the phone on her nightstand. She needed to do this right away, before she lost her nerve, and she had no need to find the phone number.

She still knew it by heart.


At that moment, Spike was just leaving his own bedroom, and heading down the hall, preparing to begin another day of service to his mistress. He rounded the corner to the stairs…and was stopped short by Velvet, who was just coming *down* the stairs at the exact same moment.

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he pointedly stepped past her onto the first step. He had managed to go several weeks without having to see the girl, a feat that was easier than he had thought it would be due to the immense size of the house and their various duties to their owners.

It appeared his luck ran out here.

“So I see it’s started.” Her soft yet smug voice stopped him on the first stair.

He slowly turned to face her, his eyes narrowed in anger, but a cold smile on his lips. He took a deep breath and let it slowly out, before looking at her and asking in a patient tone, “What’s started, pet?”

“What we talked about,” she replied, her own lips turning up in a smirk as she stepped toward him. “I promise, I should have made a bet on that prediction,” she shook her head in mock regret, still smiling. “I am *so* good.”

“Perhaps there’s a flaw in my logic somewhere, love,” he remarked sarcastically. “But I’m still not following you.”

“I knew it’d only be a matter of time before Mistress Finn couldn’t control herself.” Velvet’s smile grew harder, her eyes cruelly triumphant as she moved yet closer to him. “I knew sooner or later, she’d have to *take* what she could get from her slave, since she’s not getting any from her husband!”

Unthinking, Spike drew back his hand to slap her, infuriated by her words. She stared at him boldly, absolutely unafraid, and did not flinch or move an inch. He remembered at the last moment her threat from the last time he had almost become violent with her, and stopped himself.

The next moment, she gave voice to his thoughts as she pointed out, “I don’t think you need to give the master any more reason to hate you, Spike. Do you?”

He swallowed back his anger, fighting for control as he glared at her and said nothing.

“I mean – he already has it in for you. In a very bad way,” she smirked, and he could tell by the look on her face that she was not just guessing. Finn must have said something to the girl. Velvet’s expression became thoughtful and she looked away for a moment with a tiny shrug before meeting his eyes again. “I wonder what he’d think if he knew.”

In spite of himself a little chill of fear went down his spine at the thought of what Finn would do if he found out about that kiss, not only to him – but to Buffy. And whatever he would do, Spike would be powerless to stop him.

“But I was right,” she smiled as she drew the conversation back to the original topic. “Guess you’ll find out what it’s like to be a whore after all.” There was a bitter triumph to her voice that let him know that she had not forgotten his cruel words the day they had met.

He did not regret them.

“It’s not like that,” he objected quickly. “I – I *wanted*…”

“Yeah,” Velvet interrupted him with a sneer. “You *wanted* it.” Her cold eyes shone with malice as she spoke again softly before turning away.

“But would it have mattered if you didn’t?”

*Ring.*

*Oh, God! I can’t do this! I need to hang up!*

*Ring.*

*No, Buffy! Don’t wimp out! If you don’t do this now you never will!*

*Ring.*

*Oh God oh God oh God…I can’t! I can’t do…*

“Hey, this is Willow. I’m not here right now…or maybe I am here but I’m sleeping, or…or can’t get to the phone, but…um, anyway, I can’t answer my phone, so, um, just leave me a message, and I’ll get right back to you. Well, maybe not *right* back to you, it kind of depends on when I get the message and what I’m doing, and…um, never mind, I’ll call you back as soon as I can…um…bye.”

*Beeeeep.*

Buffy froze. Her heart was racing and a huge, hard lump in her throat seemed to prevent intelligible speech. *Say something, you idiot!* she told herself, swallowing back her terror and forcing herself to speak.

“Um…hey, Will…it’s me. I…I know I haven’t…talked to you in a while.” She paused. “I’m – I’m sorry. I just…I just miss you, and – and I wanted to talk to you. Um, I – I’ll understand if you don’t wanna call me back. But – but *please* call me back,” she added, a note of desperation in her voice, which came out small and trembling with the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. “Oh, um…this is Buffy. Sorry,” she added suddenly as an afterthought, thinking that it had been so long that her friend might have forgotten the sound of her voice. She hesitated before adding softly, “I – I love you, Will. Um…bye.”

She hung up the phone, staring at the receiver for a long time, wondering if Willow would call her back when she heard the message, fearing that she already *had* heard the message, had been sitting there listening while Buffy poured out her plea, and had simply not wanted to talk to her.

Buffy glanced up, and jumped when she saw Spike standing in the doorway to her room. Releasing her breath slowly when she realized that it was just him – and not Riley, who would certainly not appreciate the fact that she had called Willow – she relaxed a little, giving him a look of mild annoyance.

“You have *got* to stop doing that!” she muttered, but there was no real anger in her voice. Truth be told, her irritation was at herself for allowing her Slayer senses to become so weak. She should have known he was there.

“Sorry,” he said softly, but she noticed that he was trying to suppress a smile.

Perplexed, Buffy frowned slightly. “What?” she asked, a slightly defensive note in her voice.

“Nothing.” Spike shook his head dismissively, but the smile was no longer suppressed.

“No, really,” Buffy pressed. “What’s funny?” She hated the fact that it mattered to her so much that Spike was secretly laughing at her. She should not feel self-conscious about what her slave thought of her, she reminded herself. It really should not matter to her at all.

But it did.

“Nothing’s funny,” he insisted, looking up to meet her eyes with his sparkling blue gaze that once again, stole her breath. His voice was gentle as he went on, “I’m just – just glad that you called her.”

“Shhh!” Buffy hurriedly hushed him, glancing at the door. “Shut the door!”

He obeyed, and turned to face her with a curious look. He obviously did not understand why she would be so secretive about her phone call.

“I – I don’t want anyone to know I’ve called her. Not yet,” she explained. “I don’t want it to get back to Riley.”

Spike was silent for a moment, those piercing eyes studying hers intently. Then he suddenly dropped his gaze and replied in a pointed tone of clear disappointment, simply, “Oh.”

Once again, Buffy was aware that as his mistress, she should simply ignore the unspoken opinion that she heard in his voice, and refuse to allow him any further entrance into her personal matters. But the same part of her that made her watch him when he wasn’t looking, the part that remembered that stolen kiss that she tried hard to forget, now would not allow her to let it go.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, the defensiveness in her voice much more obvious now.

He looked back up at her again, and the amusement in his eyes was obvious. She found herself both irritated and relieved to realize that the fear he had initially held for her seemed to have vanished, or he would not have allowed her to see the expression on his face that could easily be interpreted as mocking.

“Oh?” he repeated, as if unsure what she meant. “Well, last time I checked, it pretty much just meant…oh.” He shrugged slightly, keeping his eyes downcast as he spoke, but glancing up at her with a teasing smirk that he was only partly trying to hide.

“Ha, ha,” she said sarcastically. “You know what I mean. I know you’re thinking something that you’re not saying.”

“That’s usually a good practice,” he said mildly, his eyes downcast again in a parody of submission that was mocked by the sparkle in his eyes and the smile he now openly wore. “A bloke shouldn’t let everything in his head come out his mouth. No good ever comes of that.”

“I guess you would know,” Buffy laughed quietly, shaking her head a little as she looked at him, her eyes softening on him with affection. Spike had changed a lot during the years of his slavery, but it was the things about him that hadn’t changed – his cocky attitude and quick wit – that were a strange comfort to her.

“But really, Spike. Tell me,” she returned to the original topic. “I wanna know. What were you thinking just then?”

His smile faded a bit, and he opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it and shut it again, still not looking at her.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’m practically having to drag it out of you, I’m not gonna punish you for telling me. I promise.”

Spike was quiet for a moment longer, thinking how best to word his thoughts. Then he finally spoke, quietly, “I just thought he was being Mr. Supportive lately, not…not still telling you who you can and can’t see and all.” He shrugged slightly, his voice even lower as he added, “Didn’t think it would matter if he knew you’d called your friend.”

In spite of her promise, Buffy felt irrationally irritated by his words. She did not want to admit to herself that the reason was that she knew he was right. She should not have to feel like calling someone who had been her best friend for years was some unforgivable offense against her husband.

“It doesn’t matter,” she quickly informed him, a slight edge to her voice. “He wouldn’t be mad or anything. He just…doesn’t care for Willow much, and I don’t want to start anything.”

Spike was quiet for a moment, the tone of her voice a warning to him that he was close to crossing a dangerous line. Especially since that one moment of weakness in his bedroom, Buffy had made it clear that she did not want to hurt him, but her violent loss of control before that was still a vivid memory in his mind. He did not want to push her too far.

He only wanted to push her just enough.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that, pet,” he pointed out quietly. “If calling her’s gonna start something…you’ve already started it.”

Buffy was somewhat sobered by that thought, and the realization that he was right. She had not really thought it through before she made the call, but she realized now that if Willow *did* want to talk to her and called her back, she would certainly want to get together. And then, there would be no hiding from Riley the fact that she was reforging the bonds with her old friends. Not for long.

“Only if she actually calls me back,” Buffy countered. “She might not at all.”

The small, sad sound to her voice sent a pang of sympathy to Spike’s heart. “She will,” he assured her softly.

Buffy did not speak for a moment, silently grateful for his support, his attempts at the meager comfort that she allowed him to offer. Finally, she spoke in a much different tone, obviously attempting to shift the mood that had settled between them, “Well, anyway, if she does, Riley will just have to deal with it. I can talk to whoever I want to. I just – just don’t want to cause any trouble when there might not even be any reason to. She might not call.”

*Ring.*

Once again, Buffy froze, her eyes darting to the telephone, wide and almost desperate.

*Ring.*

Unthinking, she looked up at Spike with a panicked expression in her eyes. “I can’t!” she whispered, shaking her head, forgetting in her momentary distress that she had decided not to let him into her emotional crises anymore.

*Ring.*

Spike gave her a look that was understanding but gently reproving – and how weird was that? she thought distractedly through her fear. Her slave giving her that compassionate but still correcting look?

*Ring.*

Without waiting for instruction, Spike reached for the telephone receiver, as Buffy seemed too petrified to move.

However, when he did, she immediately reached for it, not to answer it, but to stop him. “No!” she hissed in a desperate whisper.

But he just smiled and ignored her, speaking quietly and clearly into the receiver, “Finn residence.”

There was a slight pause, before a familiar voice from the past spoke, hesitant and halting, as usual when caught by surprise. “Um…hi…is…is Buffy there?”

“One moment. Let me check,” he said, his tone calm and even and betraying nothing. He clamped his hand tightly over the mouthpiece and gave her an expectant look, his eyebrows raised in a question.

“Well, pet?” he said softly. “Don’t you suppose you’d better talk to her? I could tell her you’re not here…but she’d just call back.”

The look in Buffy’s eyes was trapped and fearful and angry and excited all at once. She started to answer, then stopped, reached forward for the receiver, and then pulled her hand back, and the anger faded from her eyes as they met his again, automatically seeking the reassurance that only he had provided her lately.

“You can do this, pet,” he said softly. “She called you back. That’s got to count for something.”

Buffy hesitated for a moment, encouraged by his words, but still unsure. Suddenly, before she could change her mind and stop herself, she reached out and snatched the receiver from his hand.

“H-hello?” The timid, fearful sound of her own voice surprised her.

There was a silence on the other end of the line that seemed interminably long to her as she waited for her friend to respond. Finally, the warm, familiar voice that she had missed so desperately over the past two years spoke into her ear, hushed and full of emotion that brought tears to her eyes.

“*Buffy*?”

“Hey, Will,” Buffy said softly. It was the only thing that came to mind, but seemed pitifully simple and inadequate for the circumstances.

“Buffy!” Willow’s voice repeated, sounding thrilled now that she was certain that the tiny, terrified voice on the other line was really her friend. “Oh, my God, Buffy, I’ve missed you!”

And with those sincere, simple words, Buffy’s fears were laid aside. She wanted to break down and cry right then with sheer relief at being so quickly and easily forgiven for the rejection she had committed years ago. But she managed to hold it together, though her voice trembled as she replied, “I’ve missed you, too. So much, Will. I – I want to see you. I want us to get together.”

“Of course, Buffy!” Willow was enthusiastic, sounding very excited at the idea. “When do you want to meet?”

The rest of the call was actually very brief. Most of what Buffy *really* wanted to talk about she did not want to say over the phone – or in front of Spike. She would wait to talk more freely with her friend in person, and in private.

She made plans to meet with Willow at a restaurant for lunch, that very day. Willow asked her if she wanted her to call Xander, but Buffy told her not to. Not yet. Relieved and elated by Willow’s unexpectedly warm reception, Buffy was eager to talk to Xander as well. But first, she wanted to spend some time with Willow, to catch up with what had been going on in her life – and to tell her about her confusing dilemma.

When she hung up the phone, she turned excitedly to look at Spike, who was sitting patiently on the edge of the chair near her bed, just waiting quietly for her to finish her phone call. His eyes were downcast again, but when she put the receiver down, he glanced up at her.

His expression was questioning, a mixture of anxious anticipation to know what Willow had said, and a bit of a chagrined apology at his deliberate disobedience to her last command.

She tried to force a stern expression to her face, aware even as she spoke that it was an utter failure. “I told you not to answer the phone,” she reminded him reprovingly.

“Sorry, love,” he said softly, but he was smiling. Suddenly, he looked back up at her and shrugged slightly, his soft gaze intense as he met her eyes honestly. “Wait…no. I’m not sorry. Not a bit, love,” he corrected himself matter-of-factly, and then waited to see what her reaction would be.

She felt a rush of affection for her slave, who had disobeyed her with nothing but her best interests in mind, and her expression softened to a smile. He had just taken the idea of serving her needs to a new level, doing exactly the opposite of what she told him when he knew that what she was telling him would only hurt her.

Because of him, in a few hours she would have a reunion she had longed for, for years now. And she was truly grateful.

Her voice was gentle and full of affection as she said softly, “Thank you.”

“Oh, God, Spike,” Buffy whimpered miserably, her wide green eyes terrified as she turned away from her open bedroom door to face him. “I don’t think I can do this.”

It was 11:45. She was supposed to meet Willow in fifteen minutes. And she could not seem to force herself to walk out her own door.

“You can,” he assured her, his voice soft but firm with conviction as his solemn blue eyes met her uncertain gaze. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re the bloody Slayer, love. Last time I saw you fight, you took on a demon robot thing ten times your size and ripped his bleedin’ heart out with your bare hands. And here you are scared silly over one little amateur witch?”

Put that way, it *did* sound a little silly, Buffy realized. But there was so much more to it than that. “I couldn’t have killed that particular demon without that ‘little witch’ – and not so much with the amateur,” she reminded him, a soft, sad smile of memory on her lips. “And the others.” Her smile faded. “And then I just turned my back on them.”

“And now you’re turning again,” he pointed out patiently. “And she hasn’t rejected you yet. That’s something, pet.”

Buffy stared at him, wondering with mild amusement how he had managed to once again work his way into her heart, in spite of her determination to shut him out. For weeks now she had been stressing her authority over him, insisting on a respectful distance, frowning on the pet names he so loved to bestow on her and demanding subservience from him.

And in a single morning, he had managed to once again break through her defenses and get her opening up to him, confiding in him, listening to his advice and allowing him to help her through a difficult decision. How had he done it?

But she knew the answer to that, really. In spite of the cold way in which she had treated him, he had still showed a genuine concern for what she was going through, being a friend to her when she needed one most. That was what had broken through the wall again – that kindness and friendship that was so sorely missing from her life lately.

Buffy thought – cautiously – that that might not be such a bad thing, after all. Spike was really quite a good listener, and appeared to have a strong intuitive perception when it came to emotional matters like the situation she found herself in now. And the whole “mistress” thing was still awkward and uncomfortable for her, anyway. She just could not get used to the idea of treating *anyone*, much less someone that she *knew*, as nothing more than a possession.

It would be much easier to get used to the idea of Spike as a *friend*.

And besides – she might find herself in *need* of a friend, if this meeting with Willow did not go as well as she hoped.

“Okay,” she said finally, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out quickly, trying to steady her nerves. “Time to go. I’m gonna do this. I *can* do this.”

Spike nodded and agreed emphatically, “Yes, you can,” as he picked up her handbag from where it lay on her bed and held it out to her.

As she reached to take it from him, her hand brushed against his in just the slightest, feather-light touch…

And suddenly, she remembered why it was a bad idea to let Spike get too close.

That tingling, electric sensation that coursed through her at the brief contact of his cool, smooth skin against hers, bringing back the memory of that night in his bedroom when she had allowed herself to give in to her desires, however briefly, the image still vivid in her mind.

She wanted him. Badly. Now.

*No, Buffy,* she told herself sternly. *One word: married. Step away from the hot-beyond-belief, sex-personified vampire. Now.*

She jerked her hand away, closed around the strap of her purse, as if his touch had burned her, and felt a little pang at his flinch, the surprised hurt in his eyes.

*Stupid, Buffy,” she berated herself, turning away from him to leave. *Very stupid. That’s exactly why you need to keep a little more distance between him and you. Because letting him in even a little bit leads to total confusing badness like this. For *both* of you.*

“I should be back before Riley gets home from work,” she informed him, her tone brisk and distant once more, just wanting to get out the door before anything else could happen.

Confusion and pain in his hesitant voice, he began, “Buffy…”

Suddenly she turned and looked at him sharply, her eyebrows raised expectantly in a no-nonsense expression that told him that she had closed herself to him once more – and he would be wise to back off.

“Yes…Mistress,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast once more, and the defeated resignation in his voice made her feel terribly guilty.

*Shouldn’t feel guilty,* she reminded herself for the hundredth time. *You are well within your rights. No reason to feel guilty.* And without another word, she hurried from the room, and from the house, to make her fateful appointment with her estranged best friend.


When Buffy walked into the chic little deli she had chosen for her reunion with Willow, at around 12:15, she glanced around anxiously for her friend, a part of her afraid that since she was late, Willow might have been there and left.

Or decided not to come at all.

But then, before her heart had time to sink in despair, she caught side of a familiar head of bouncing red hair, attached to a girl, also bouncing slightly in her seat with excitement as she waved a hand eagerly to get Buffy’s attention. She was seated at a small corner table for two, and Buffy appreciated the fact that she had secured a comfortably private corner for their long-overdue conversation, which would likely be very intense.

Buffy hurried across the room to her friend, her fear of Willow’s reaction both eased by the excited light she could see in her friend’s eyes, clear across the room; and overwhelmed by her sudden yearning just to hug her, to talk to her again – to somehow regain what she had so foolishly cast aside.

Willow rose as Buffy reached her, and just stood staring at her for a moment through tear-filled eyes, a small, hesitant smile that was so familiar and warm and – and just so *Willow* -- forming on her face.

“Buffy,” she said, all her affection and acceptance clear in the single, softly spoken word.

Buffy’s resolve not to break down, not to allow this to become her own personal pity party -- *she* was the one who had blown it, after all – melted away, and she felt her lower lip begin to tremble as her eyes welled with tears…

And in the next instant she was enfolded in Willow’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Buffy whispered against her friend’s shoulder as she hugged her, conscious of her greater strength and holding her friend firmly but not too tightly, yet utterly unwilling to let her go. “I’m so sorry!”

“Forget about it, Buffy,” Willow insisted. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

When they finally ended the tearful embrace and took their seats at the table, there was a brief pause before Willow said softly, cautiously, “Is…everything okay, Buffy? Are you all right? I mean…”

She hesitated, and Buffy felt a shameful sensation at the realization that Willow assumed that something must be wrong for Buffy to contact her, since it had been so long. Well, actually the shame was because…Willow’s assumption had been right.

She had missed her friends terribly since the point when she had given in to Riley’s pressure and cast them aside so thoughtlessly. She had wanted many times to defy Riley’s wishes and break down and call. But she had only finally found the nerve to do so, now that she faced something which she could not handle without them.

Buffy drew a deep breath, wondering how to begin. In a way, Willow’s assumption was comforting, she thought ruefully. It only went to prove how very well her friend knew her.

She met Willow’s warm, compassionate eyes, and felt a rush of affection at the loyalty and affection she saw there, in spite of all she had done to destroy those sentiments. She wondered suddenly how she ever could have tossed such devotion aside in favor of a man who preferred the company of undead whores to her own, who stomped her feelings into the ground callously, and even went so far as to dare to strike out at her in his anger.

Willow’s smile faded into a little frown of concern as she noticed the dark, heavy look in Buffy’s eyes, and she asked quietly, “What is it, Buffy? Is it bad?”

“Kind of,” Buffy admitted, wondering as she spoke just how much she wanted to tell her friend. She took another deep breath before beginning slowly, “It’s a really…*really*… long story…”


Spike found that it felt a bit odd to be here at the house while Buffy was out. He had become very accustomed to being with her almost every waking hour of his day, always available to meet whatever need might arise for her. He found that he was restless, bored – and very, very eager for her to be home again.

The thought of her odd behavior in the final moments before she had left was unsettling to him. He had felt it – that instant in which they had touched, so innocently and accidentally – and the cold change in her demeanor that had followed in the wake of that moment.

Had she thought that he was *trying* to touch her? he wondered anxiously. Had she thought that he was trying to maneuver his way into a repeat of that infamous kiss? The thought was terribly troubling to him, as he was honestly trying to do everything in his power to please her, to be obedient and compliant with her commands; and though that kiss was never far from his thoughts – manipulating her into another one was very far indeed.

He was in the living room, idly straightening up a bit, just looking for something to occupy his time while his mistress was gone, when he heard the front door open. He glanced up, a bit too eagerly, thinking that perhaps it was Buffy, home already.

Home already? He frowned; that would not be good. She had only been gone about a half and hour. He expected that with all the time that had passed between them, she and Red would have hours worth of talking to catch up on.

But he was both relieved and disappointed when it was not Buffy, and he felt an unpleasant little sick feeling when he saw who *did* walk through the door.

It was none other than Mr. Finn, carrying a bouquet of twelve red roses, and a brown paper bag that smelled of take out Chinese food. Apparently, he had thought it would be a good source of brownie points to surprise his wife by coming home to share lunch with her.

Riley glanced around the room, his eyes stopping on his wife’s slave, whose eyes were carefully downcast as he busied himself about the already perfectly clean living room. His eyes narrowed in hatred – and then he frowned thoughtfully. It was odd to see Spike upstairs on the main floors of the house, without Buffy nearby.

“Where’s Buffy?” he asked sharply.

Spike hesitated just a moment, considering how much would be wise – and in Buffy’s best interest – to tell Riley. “She went out,” he finally said noncommittally.

“Well, when’s she coming back?” Riley’s voice was irritated and impatient. Obviously he felt that his wife should have been grateful enough for the gesture he was making to have read his mind and been there when he got home.

Spike took pleasure in Riley’s irritation, in knowing that at least one of his little suck-up schemes had been foiled. “Won’t be home for a while,” he replied, his tone not giving anything away. “She said to expect her before you got home this evening, that’s all.”

Riley sighed in exasperation, and he tossed the roses and the food down into an armchair in disgust. Suddenly, he looked up at Spike with a slight smile, the light of an idea in his cruel, ice blue eyes.

“Really,” he said mildly. “Huh.”

The loaded tone of those two simple words made Spike’s stomach drop slightly. If he had not been chipped, had been capable of actually fighting the man, this would have been a golden opportunity for him. He would have relished the chance to get Riley Finn alone and teach him what happened to men who hit women – especially women that Spike cared about.

But he *was* chipped.

So being alone with Riley was not such a good thing.

He stood there, not really having any other choice, as Riley shrugged off his suit jacket and cast it casually over the back of the chair where he had laid the other items, advancing slowly with a measured pace on the slave who had dared to defy him.

“Looks like this might be a good time for me and you to have a little talk,” Riley smirked coldly as he reached the spot where Spike stood – just waiting.

Any attempt at escape would have been futile – not to mention shameful. He might not be able to fight this wanker like he wanted to – but that did not mean he was going to run from him.

He looked up boldly into the larger man’s eyes, unspoken defiance clear in his carriage, his expression. “You know,” he said quietly, his eyebrows raised in a challenge. “she *will* be home. Eventually.”

The implied threat, as well as the suggestion that he would bend to the whims of his wife, infuriated Riley. Still he smiled coldly, remaining calm as he reached out a huge hand to grip the vampire around the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted with a little shrug.

“But you know, all that means?” He paused, drawing back his fist to strike. “Is I better steer clear of the face. Not leave a mark. Not where she’ll see it.” And with that, he slammed his fist into Spike’s stomach brutally, and the vampire doubled over in pain, gasping for breath.

Riley did not give him time to recover before he shifted his grip to seize Spike’ throat, and slam him back forcefully against the wall behind him. “You’re gonna start showing a little respect around here, Spike,” he informed him in a voice of cold menace. “Cause I don’t care what Buffy thinks. I’m not putting up with scum like you talking back to me in my own house.”

His fist struck brutally again, this time in Spike’s chest, and the vampire was sure he both heard and felt his ribs crack with the force of the blow. Finn was much stronger than he had expected him to be.

“And another thing,” Riley went on, his voice softening in deadly rage, as he leaned in closer to him to speak quietly. “You are going to keep your filthy hands off of my wife. If you touch her again, Spike…I don’t care *what* she says…I’m gonna take you apart. You will be begging me to just let you die before I’m through. Don’t ever. Touch. Her. again,” he ordered, emphasizing his words by tightening his grip on Spike’s throat.

Spike was furious that Finn should dare to be so possessive of Buffy when he was as blatantly unfaithful to her as he was. And if he could have drawn breath at the moment, against the man’s crushing grip around his throat, he would have told him so.

It was a fortunate thing that he could not draw breath.

“And, uh,” Riley went on, his tone casual, his words an afterthought. “when Buffy *does* get home…” He paused to deliver two more brutal blows to Spike’s midsection, leaving the helpless vampire gasping and coughing, tasting his own blood in his mouth. “You’re gonna keep your mouth shut about this. Aren’t you?”

Spike did not respond, gritting his teeth to keep from giving in to the wanker and the pain he was inflicting.

Riley hit him again, harder, and snarled menacingly, “Aren’t you, Spike?”

After a brief pause, Spike nodded slowly, hating himself for giving in. But Buffy had told him to do his best to submit to the man, to keep from upsetting him. And the thought had occurred to him that telling Buffy about this incident could possibly result in *her* getting hurt, if she confronted Riley about it.

Riley seemed satisfied, smiling and releasing him roughly, taking a step back. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

Riley glanced casually at his watch, as Spike stood there, gasping for breath, doubled over with an arm across his battered ribcage.

“Well. If Buffy’s not here,” Riley shrugged. “I’ve got some time to kill.” He gave Spike a pointed, malicious smile, deliberately flaunting his power to do whatever he pleased, whenver he pleased, before turning and heading toward the stairs.

To the slave quarters.

Over the course of a couple hours, Buffy gradually filled Willow in on most of the events that had taken place in her life over the past few years, telling her how Riley had pushed and pushed her to cut ties with her old friends, how after that she and Riley had slowly but surely drifted further and further apart, about Riley’s growing interest in his female slaves, until they got more of his attention than she did – but she had not mentioned the fact that Riley had hit her.

And she had not mentioned Spike.

“Buffy, that’s terrible!” Willow was wide-eyed, aghast at the utter disrespect and emotional cruelty that her friend had been tolerating from her husband. “If he’s cheating on you, and talking to you like that, you can’t just put up with it, Buffy!”

“I know,” Buffy admitted in a small, miserable voice. She knew, deep down, that Willow was right. But the thought of actually standing up to Riley, after so long being made to feel so inferior and bowing to his wishes, was a little frightening to her – and very confusing. “But,” she went on, hesitantly. “The thing is – I mean, I think that – Riley thinks…” She hesitated, then stopped.

“What, Buffy?” Willow’s voice was gentle but urgent. “Riley thinks what?”

“Well – if they’re not human – just – just like – possessions, you know? – I don’t think he thinks it’s really cheating. Not like if it was with a human woman. I think he thinks of it like – like using a toy or – or looking at porn or something. You know?”

The disgust and disbelief in Willow’s eyes was all the answer Buffy needed.

“I know he’s wrong,” Buffy conceded quietly, her eyes downcast with shame, though she did not really know why *she* should be ashamed. Riley was the one who had committed the offense. “But I think that’s how he looks at it. He doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong.”

Willow just looked at Buffy for a moment, trying to read the expression on the face of the girl who was so familiar and dear to her, and yet a complete stranger at the same time. Her expression was thoughtful and troubled, and Buffy got the impression that she was debating over whether or not to say what she was thinking.

Finally, she began, softly, “Buffy – he *is* wrong. *Very* wrong. I don’t care if the girls are vampires or human. That doesn’t really matter. They’re still sentient creatures, Buffy, and for all intents and purposes they look and act human. He’s just using the whole ‘not human’ thing as an excuse to do what he wants guilt free. And it’s wrong.”

Her voice was gentle but firm as she went on emphatically, “He’s wrong for cheating on you – and he’s wrong for forcing himself on them. The whole thing is wrong, Buffy – this whole slavery thing. It’s just so – disgusting, and – and ugly, and – I wish there was a way to stop it once and for all.”

Buffy was struck by the depth of passionate fervor in her friend’s voice as she spoke. Suddenly, she thought of Spike, her own slave, and felt very guilty.

“I don’t know, Will,” she said. “I mean – I’m the Slayer. At least – at least I used to be.” She shrugged with a sad, uncertain little smile. “I’m not sure of anything anymore. But – if I could go out night after night for years and destroy these creatures – how can I try to say now that they have the same rights as human beings do? Wouldn’t that make me a murderer?”

“Buffy, there’s a difference in slaying dangerous vampires to protect people – and taking a creature that’s been made completely harmless, and – and forcing it to do what you want, and beating and torturing it, and – and everything else that people do to these vamp slaves, Buffy.” Willow shook her head slowly.

“I don’t like any of this. It’s like – like these people have all this repressed darkness inside them – these impulses that normal human society tells them they have to curb – you know? But once they have one of these vampire slaves – they can feel free to let that darker side of themselves out on the slaves, because they’re technically not ‘human’.”

Buffy frowned, thinking hard as she processed what Willow was saying, and Willow paused for a moment to allow her words to sink in.

“It’s like – for example – say a person struggles with having a violent temper. Our society and morals say they have to learn to control it. Because it’s just not acceptable to go off and hit someone whenever you get mad. But now suddenly – they don’t have to control it anymore! They can just take all that rage out on a slave, because it’s not a real person, so they don’t even have to feel guilty about it!”

Her outrage and indignation over that line of thought was clear in her tone, her blazing green eyes of fire as she concluded almost fiercely, “And it’s just wrong, Buffy. It’s wrong.”

Buffy had no response. The memory flashed into her mind of the beating she had recently administered to her own slave, without thought of controlling her temper, because after all – he was hers, wasn’t her? To do with as she pleased?

Willow might as well have been talking about her the whole time.

Willow let out a heavy sigh. “That’s why I was always so worried about you and Riley to begin with, Buffy,” she admitted softly. “Because he was so involved with all the experiments, and ‘let’s find a way to use the vampires’ crap – and I could sort of see where it would lead.”

“And then he got so involved in the whole slave trade institution,” Buffy added, shaking her head slightly, staring off past her friend as memories filled her mind.

“Buffy…” Willow reminded her, “he *is* the institution! He started the whole thing, almost on his own! And I just hate to think of you having to be involved in something so – well, so wrong, Buffy. And I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but that’s just my opinion.”

A small part of Buffy’s mind that was not consumed with the questions Willow’s words had raised, noticed with admiration how much more confident and self-assured her friend had become in the years since she had seen her. Willow spoke of her convictions and beliefs about the slave trade firmly and plainly, without apologizing or backtracking or attempting to soften her opinion.

And her opinion seemed to be that at the moment, Buffy was siding with the enemy.

She was quiet for a moment, unable to meet her friend’s eyes. Every word she was saying rang true in her heart. But Riley’s words were still there as well. She knew that vampires were not human, were not even alive – and yet – she agreed with Willow that it just did not seem right, to treat them as nothing more than objects to be used.

It was all just so confusing.

An uneasy feeling was rising in her, at the knowledge that she had not yet told her friend everything. If she accepted Willow’s forgiveness and renewed friendship, without confessing her own part in the disgusting practice that Willow so obviously abhorred, it would not be honest, and it would not be a good start to make.

“Will…there’s more,” she admitted quietly.

Willow was silent, just looking at her expectantly, her expression blank and noncommittal. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

“Well…up until just recently,” Buffy began, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t want any slaves of my own. Riley has his, and they generally take care of the household work and all…but I didn’t really want any part of it.”

“But now?” Willow prompted softly, her expression even and non-judgmental, just waiting for her friend to go on.

“Well…at the last auction…I’m still not really sure why…I…bought a slave.” Buffy winced slightly in anticipation of the angry reaction she expected from her friend at those words.

Willow was quiet for a moment before she asked casually, “How’s that working out for ya?”

She was not angry or really upset at all with Buffy; it was clear from every look, every tone Buffy was using that that decision had forced Buffy to reconsider her opinions, and thrown her into a state of confusion and turmoil over the beliefs Riley had convinced her to take as her own.

“Well…first of all…” Buffy took a deep breath, trying to think how to say it, and then finally just blurting it out. “It’s Spike.”

Willow stared at her blankly for a long moment. “*Spike*?” she repeated in disbelief, her eyes widening. “Like…*our* Spike?”

The wording sent a funny feeling through Buffy’s heart, an almost reassuring sense at the realization that Willow would use those particular words.

Buffy was already thinking of Spike as hers…and not just in the sense of his being her slave.

She nodded slowly, looking down again for a moment before meeting Willow’s eyes again. “I guess…I guess I just saw him there,” she tried to explain. “At the auction…and it was like…all those old times just came back to me.” She paused, shaking her head. “I’m really not sure why I did it. I just – just felt like I had to do it. You know?” Her eyes desperately searched her friend’s, looking for understanding and reassurance.

It was there. Willow nodded slowly to indicate that she did indeed understand Buffy’s reasons that she could not quite put into words.

“And then…he’s been so…so *nice* to me. So…gentle, and understanding…and when I’ve been upset about the way Riley’s been acting, he’s – it’s – it’s like he’s trying to be my *friend*, Willow,” she explained. “And…” She looked down again as her eyes welled with tears. “And I’ve needed that so bad.”

Willow did not remind her that the loss of the friendship had been her doing, and no one else’s. She just reached a gentle hand across the table to rest on Buffy’s arm. “You’ve got it,” she said simply. “Now.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered again, her eyes still down, as a tear slipped down her cheek to drop onto the table. “I just – Riley was just so…”

“It’s okay, Buffy,” Willow stopped her, shaking her head. “You don’t have to explain. I was there.” There was a gentle, compassionate humor, with just a trace of a laugh in her voice as she spoke. “He can be very – pushy, sometimes. About what he wants.”

Buffy nodded. “But – but I don’t care what Riley thinks about this anymore!” she said suddenly, in a trembling, defiant voice, as she met Willow’s eyes boldly through her tears. “I’m not gonna give up my friends for him when he can’t even be faithful to me!”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Willow agreed, nodding. She smiled. “I’m glad you’ve decided that, Buffy. I’m glad you finally managed to stand up to him enough to call me.”

Buffy was silent for a moment before admitting softly, “I wouldn’t have. Not without Spike.”

Willow looked surprised. “Really?”

“He’s the one who told me I should. He said – he said that Riley’s opinion shouldn’t matter. That I should do what made me happy,” Buffy’s voice and eyes softened at the memory, as she once again looked past Willow, her mind’s eye envisioning soft, blue eyes shining at her with adoration.

Willow stared at her friend for a moment with growing realization. “Buffy…do you…do you have feelings for Spike?”

Buffy looked startled, trapped, as her eyes shot up to Willow’s. “No!” she answered immediately…then hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe,” she admitted. “It’s just – he’s the first one in so long to be so sweet to me, and – and I know – I know he has feelings for *me*, Will. He hasn’t said anything, but…well, it’s obvious.”

“Are you going to leave Riley?” Willow asked her bluntly, unable to disguise a certain hopeful note in her voice. The fact that the idea of Buffy leaving Riley for a soulless vampire was a good one in Willow’s eyes, made Buffy wonder again about her marriage, and the wisdom of trying to save it.

Buffy was silent for a long moment. “No,” she finally answered. “No, I married him, and I want to work it out. He’s actually been trying lately to make things better.” She looked back up at Willow with a little grimace. “Hence the problem. I’m so stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head in disgust. “I’m a married woman, lusting after my slave who’s not even human. And just now, when Riley’s actually finally trying, Will!” Her tone was anguished. “I just – I just don’t know what to do!”

Willow was quiet for a moment, but a smile had slowly spread across her face. “Well, I never thought I’d say this,” she said. “But I agree with Spike. I think that Riley’s given up his rights to your consideration by cheating on you. I think you should do what makes *you* happy, Buffy.”

Buffy silently took that in, looking back down at the table, before speaking quietly, “I just wish I knew what that was.”


It was several hours later, just a little before 5:00, when Buffy and Willow finally wrapped up their conversation, with promises of getting together that weekend, with the rest of the gang, and Buffy went home.

She realized with some surprise that she was actually very much looking forward to seeing Spike. She knew that he would be excited and interested to hear all about her reunion with Willow, and she found herself eager to tell him the whole story.

With minor revisions, of course.

She walked into her bedroom, where Spike was already waiting for her, standing over by the window, looking pensively out, one hand on the window sill, the other resting across his stomach.

“Hey,” she said softly, and he looked up at her in surprise, not at her presence, but at the affection in her tone.

She felt a little bad that it was so surprising to him. He had been nothing but kind and gentle with her from the first night she had brought him here, and she had repaid him with mixed signals at best, outright abuse at worst. And now, after her conversation with Willow, it did not matter that he was not human, that he was a soulless vampire. She knew that he did not deserve that kind of treatment.

She had taken Willow’s words – and his – to heart. Though she still wanted to try to make her marriage work, especially now that Riley was trying, she knew one thing for sure. Spending time with Spike, talking to him as she had done that morning, made her happy.

So she would have to control her impulses, her attraction to him, in the best interests of her marriage.

That did not mean that they could not be friends.

He smiled at her, but it was a bit forced, and she thought that she detected a weariness about his eyes. “How’d it go, pet?” he asked her quietly, with more reserve than she had expected, but as he turned to face her and give her his full attention, she could see the genuine interest in his eyes.

“It was wonderful, Spike,” she said, beaming at the memory. “It was just like it was yesterday, the last time we talked! And we’re getting together this weekend, and it’s – it’s just so amazing!” She shook her head, rolling her eyes upward, unable to find words to express her joy. When she looked back at him, her smile had softened.

“And I have you to thank for it,” she added.

He found himself suddenly feeling a bit shy under her intense gaze, and he dropped his eyes with a slight shrug. “It was nothing, pet,” he said quietly. “Just doing what I can to help.”

She approached him slowly, seeking his downcast eyes with her own. “That’s what you *always* do,” she reminded him, and her appreciation was clear in her warm, affectionate tone.

He glanced up at her as she came within a couple of feet from him, and the hopeful light shining in his eyes nearly took her breath. She felt bad, knowing that she would not be able to fulfill what he truly hoped for.

But she would give him what she could.

Much to his surprise, she moved forward and put her arms around him in a simple hug, her head resting on his shoulder for a moment. “Thank you,” she murmured softly.

He was elated by the unexpected display of affection, by her kind words and affectionate demeanor, and a smile began on his lips – and was immediately wiped away as her strong arms wrapped around him sent a searing agony through his battered ribcage.

Finn had injured him worse than he had realized at first. He had found it difficult to make his way up the stairs to Buffy’s room, in order to be there when she returned. Already a dark ring of purple bruises circled his stomach and chest, from the brutal beating the man had dealt him.

Before he could stop himself he drew in his breath sharply in pain, flinching at the painful contact.

Buffy drew back immediately, her eyes alarmed, frowning with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked him. “What is it?” She glanced down at his arms, now across his stomach.

He took a couple of backward steps away from her, still gasping for breath. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, forcing a smile as he shook his head. “Just a little sore. Must have pulled a muscle or something.”

She could see the lie in his infinitely expressive blue eyes, and her own narrowed in suspicion. She quickly closed the space between them, asking in low, demanding tone, “What happened?”

He let out a short, strangled laugh, still fighting the pain as she took another step back. “Nothing *happened*, love. Like I said, I just…”

“Spike, do *not* lie to me!” she snapped, anger showing in her voice, but it was clear from the look in her eyes and the tremble in her voice that the anger was born of her concern for him. As she spoke she stepped forward quickly again and gripped his arm, pulling him closer to her, refusing to allow him to escape again.

He winced slightly at the jarring of his injuries caused by the little jerk towards her, and her mouth formed a thin, tight line of anger.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered quietly.

He raised his eyes to hers, hesitant and a little afraid, and saw that she meant business. His hands trembled slightly as he unbuttoned the shirt, his eyes fastened on hers, searching for some sign of a reaction.

Almost as if she was really afraid to see what his shirt was covering, her eyes held his as he slowly obeyed her command. When he went to shrug the shirt backward off his shoulders, he bit back a little cry of pain, grimacing slightly before meeting her eyes in apology.

“I – I can’t…Mistress,” he admitted quietly, and the use of the title told her that her manner was frightening him.

At the moment she did not really care. She had a terrible sense of foreboding about what he was hiding from her, and all she cared about was finding out the truth. Buffy stepped forward again, ignoring his slight flinch at her sudden nearness, and slid the shirt back off of his shoulders with firm but gentle hands, allowing it to drop to the floor behind him.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard as a sick feeling of shame washed over him, as his mistress took a step back to take in the sight of his injuries.

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock at the brutalized condition he was in, the terrible damage that had been done to him. Then her eyes narrowed again, her mouth trembling with repressed rage.

Although she already knew the truth, she had to hear it from his lips. She had so wanted to believe that her husband was genuinely trying to change, had so wanted to try to make things work between them, that a part of her was reluctant to accept what she already knew to be true.

“Who did this?” she asked him, her voice hard and angry.

He did not respond, just kept his eyes closed and his head down.

“Spike,” she lowered her voice, which now held just the hint of a threat. “Who did this to you?”

When he still did not respond, she reached out her hand, and he flinched away from her; but she moved with him and caught his chin, turning his head and forcing him to face her. “Look at me,” she commanded, with clear authority.

He obeyed, and the pain and shame in his eyes nearly took her breath with a stab of pain through her own heart.

“Did Riley do this?” she asked him, her voice barely over a whisper.

Faced with the intense question in her fierce gaze, his resolve crumbled, and he nodded, defeated, lowering his head in shame as she released him.

She was silent for a moment, her eyes moving up and down, taking in his terrible injuries again. When she spoke, it was in a quiet, calm tone that rang out clearly in the stillness of the room.

“Wait for me here. I’ll be right back,” she ordered, before turning her back and leaving the room, heading down the stairs. She knew exactly where to find the person she sought.

She was heading for the slave quarters.

Buffy was surprised herself at the intensity of the protective rage boiling up inside her as she stormed down the stairs from her bedroom, and toward the second staircase that led to the basement, and the slave quarters.

Where she was certain that she would find her husband.

As she started down the basement stairs, she acted on instinct, knowing what she would need, and gripped one of the rails of the wooden banister beside her, yanking hard and pulling away a jagged, broken piece of the wood in her hand. She frowned, a little disturbed at the effort that it had taken. She was still strong enough to break the rail, but it should have torn away from the banister as easily as ripping tissue paper in her hands.

She was sick and tired of feeling so weak!

She stalked down the hallway, hearing the laughter and soft, suggestive voices from several doors down. Was he making no effort whatsoever to hide what he was doing? No, of course not, she realized in anger. Every slave on this floor, in this entire household, knew how Mr. Finn liked to fill his free time.

The only one who had been kept in the dark was her.

Well, not anymore!

She slammed the door open, crashing it into the wall behind it with a bang, and stood in the doorway for a mere instant. That was all it took to take in the emotionally brutal scene that assaulted her eyes.

Her husband, lying on his back on the bed, still wearing his pants, apparently still in the stages of foreplay. And the vampire girl who straddled him, her hips slowly swiveling as Riley moaned in pleasure beneath her.

It took him a moment to register what was happening through the powerful sensations he was feeling. The girl never *did* register what happened to her. In an instant, Riley’s consort was reduced to dust that sifted down over him, choking him as he breathed some of it in. He scrambled hurriedly to his feet, afraid and a bit disoriented, to see who had dusted his chosen lover of the moment.

His wife – the Slayer – stared at him coldly through brilliant eyes of jade, darkened with rage, her stake in one hand, the other resting on her hip.

“Buffy!” he gasped, his expression one of innocent surprise, as he stepped toward her. To her utter amazement, he did not even look guilty. “Honey, what…” As he spoke, he reached out to take her arm, and she jerked away violently.

“How dare you!” she whispered in a voice low and trembling with fury and pain. The other issue for which she was angry with him, the issue of his brutal abuse of her slave, was momentarily forgotten in the face of the ultimate betrayal she had caught him in the act of committing.

He reached for her again, and again she pulled away from him. “Don’t *touch* me!” Her voice came out in a strangled scream of rage and the agony of his betrayal. “How can you do this, Riley? In my own home! How can you touch *that* and then touch me?” she demanded, with an emphatic gesture toward the fine layer of dust that now coated the bed.

His next words stunned her beyond belief, leaving her helpless to respond at all.

“Buffy,” he said, a pleading note in his voice, his eyes wide with confusion as he shook his head slightly. “I thought you *knew*…”

Buffy stared at him, her eyes widening, a stricken expression on her face. When she finally managed to regain enough composure to respond, she whispered, taking a step backward, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger, “You thought I knew…*what*?”

“Buffy…she’s a vampire. She’s not even human. She means nothing!” he insisted, coming toward her again.

She shook her head emphatically, her eyes welling with hurt, angry tears as she stepped back away from him again. “No!” she replied in a low, intense voice. “No, that is *not* ‘nothing’, Riley! You were sleeping with her!”

“Buffy,” he protested again, coming closer to her. “What I did with her…it meant nothing. These girls…they’re not even human. It’s like a fantasy, Buffy. Like reading a sexy story or watching a movie. It’s not real.”

She stepped back again and broke down in anger and frustration when her back hit the wall, and she realized she had nowhere else to go, as he advanced cautiously toward her again, tentatively touching her arm.

“It looked pretty damn real to me, Riley!” she snapped back, jerking away from his touch, slapping weakly at his hand, her voice coming out as a sob of anger and pain. “I don’t care what you want to call it, you were sleeping with her, and that’s cheating, Riley! You were cheating on me with that – that *thing*…”

Her words cut off, as she was overwhelmed again by the painful reality of what she had just witnessed; tears streaked her face as she looked away from him, unable to bear looking at him for another moment.

There was a long silence, in which she could not bring herself to look up at him again. She could not understand why the revelation of his unfaithfulness should make *her* feel ashamed. “Oh, so that’s really how you see it, then,” Riley finally spoke, and the anger in his tone surprised her into looking up at him again. “Is that right.”

Something in his eyes brought a sudden sick feeling of guilt to the pit of her stomach, and she realized all at once…he knew.

“So let me get this straight,” he said in a quiet, hard voice. “When *I* use one of my more attractive slaves for sexual pleasure…” She flinched at the cold, clinical way he referred to what he had done, surely a result of his time working for the Initiative and similar organizations. “…it’s cheating.” He paused, a momentary weighted silence, before he went on, “But when *you* do it…it’s…*not*, somehow? Help me understand this, Buffy, because I *really* don’t see where you’re coming from here!”

Buffy felt ashamed of the kiss that he obviously somehow knew about, and looked away from him again. She cursed her foolishness; that one moment of weakness on her part had stolen away her credibility in this situation. Still…it was nothing compared to what Riley had done.

“I never…” she began, her voice barely over a whisper.

“Buffy…I know you kissed him,” Riley said bluntly, cutting off her attempts at explanation. He did not say anything more for a moment, and when he moved forward to take her arms again, she stiffened under his touch, but did not pull away. He sought her eyes until she finally looked up at him, surprised to see a gentle, indulgent smile on his face.

“And it’s okay!” he insisted, shaking his head a little with a smile that seemed to indicate that her tears, her shame, were silly and unnecessary. “Buffy, he’s your slave! You can do whatever you want with him, you think it matters to me? It doesn’t count! Just like these girls…these *slaves*…” he said pointedly, shaking his head again. “They don’t count.”

Buffy did not agree with him. Not for a moment. She knew in her heart that it did matter. Riley’s passion for these vampire girls, human or not, spoke as clearly of his lack of feeling for her, as her kiss with Spike spoke of her own need.

And both were intensely, painfully *real*…no matter what Riley said.

Suddenly, she remembered her original reason for coming down here, and pulled away from him again, glaring up at him defiantly. “I saw what you did to him,” she snapped at him, her anger clear in her eyes and her tone. “You said you were going to let it go. You said you were going to leave it to me.”

Riley laughed softly, a quiet, bitter sound, and his smile faded as he said, “Yeah. And look where it got you. Letting him take advantage of you.”

“He didn’t…”

“He told me as much himself, Buffy,” Riley interrupted, and she felt her stomach do an odd little twist. “He was bragging about it to me. Like he thought it’d make me jealous or something.”

His cold little smirk, that said how ridiculous the idea of the kiss making him jealous had been, sent another stab of painful rejection through Buffy’s heart.

“It didn’t,” he told her, as if there had been any doubt. “Make me jealous. But it did make me mad. Because he thought he was getting one over on me by kissing you. Thought he could use you to get to me.” He paused, meeting her eyes with sincerity in his own. “That’s why I did it, Buffy. That’s why I hit him.”

Buffy’s stomach turned at the words – but not because she believed him. She did not. She had experienced that kiss, and knew that *she* had been the one to initiate it; Spike had in no way taken advantage of her.

But for some reason, she said nothing, just looked away from him again. For some reason, he held such sway over her. With his smug, patronizing looks and the tone of his voice that said how patient he was being with her ignorance, her foolishness, he always managed to reduce her to utter insecurity and uncertainty, even when she knew in her heart that she was right.

“I did it for you, Buffy,” Riley said softly, his hands moving up and down her arms now, as he leaned in slowly as if to kiss her.

The thought disgusted her. She tried to pull away from his hands, but found with alarm that he was far too strong. Why could she not break his grip, not even budge him? He seemed to be getting stronger by the day.

“Come on, Honey, stop it,” he said, a slight edge creeping into his voice as he leaned down, his lips covering hers.

She pulled her mouth away. She knew already that eventually she would give in, as she always did, and he would have his way. But right now she was far too angry and hurt still to submit to such affection.

But he would not let it go.

“Stop it!” she cried, her tears flowing again, as she weakly struggled against him. “Riley, stop!”

He ignored her, pulling her closer to him, moving in to try again to kiss her.

She managed to pull one hand free, and struck him across the face. She did not have much preparation for the blow, and it was a weak one, but it stung. In an instinct reaction, Riley drew back his fist to return the blow, and Buffy instinctively flinched, knowing that his strength was much greater at this point, and the blow would be a brutal one.

At the last second, he stopped, breathing hard, fury in his eyes, as he barely reigned in his temper and lowered his fist.

“Fine!” he snapped, releasing her with a shove that knocked her painfully back into the wall. “Whatever, Buffy!” He stepped away from her toward the door to the room. He glanced back at her with a disgusted look to add, “And you wonder why I have to turn elsewhere. When you treat me the way you do. Honestly, Buffy, you can be such a bitch!”

The cruel words stung her worse than any blow, and after he walked out, she stood there for a moment, sobs overtaking her, her tears flowing freely down her face at his heartless rejection. After a few moments, she managed to regain control of her emotions, and looked up, as a thought occurred to her. She debated for a moment, her bruised, needy heart arguing with her timid, ravaged spirit.

And then she made her decision, and headed back for the stairs…back up to her room.

She had somewhere else to turn, too.


Spike waited anxiously for Buffy to return, pacing slowly across the floor, glancing toward the door every few moments. He wanted to follow her, but was hesitant to do so. She had ordered him to wait for her here. He had seen the blind fury in her eyes, had known what she was going to do…and he was terribly afraid that she was going to get herself hurt.

Finally, he decided that this was another occasion in which it was better to do what was best for her than to do what she told him. He made up his mind and headed for the door… bumping into her as she returned from her little excursion.

He stopped short, his eyes downcast suddenly, inexplicably nervous. “I – I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“I told you to wait for me,” she said, her voice quiet, but loaded with some unidentifiable emotion, as she stood there, and he could feel her penetrating gaze boring into him.

He looked up at her, wondering at her odd tone. She was looking again at the bruises that covered his torso, and although they had faded nearly completely away since she had left, and the pain was considerably less now, due to his accelerated vampire healing, he could still see the sorrow in her eyes that they were there at all. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” she said simply, in that same soft, loaded tone that was so puzzling to him.

He felt a bit put on the spot, not quite sure how to respond to that. He shrugged slightly, wincing at the painful pull on his bruised ribcage. “Not your fault,” he murmured. “You didn’t…”

He stopped talking suddenly when her gentle hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he looked up at her in surprise and apprehension as she pushed him backward toward the bed, putting one hand behind his back to steady him as she helped him to sit down, careful of his injuries, and then sat down beside him, looking him in the eyes with a calm little smile.

“Buffy…what…?” he began, his voice little more than a whisper, wide, anxious blue eyes searching hers.

“Shhh,” she reproved him softly, placing a finger to his lips, her own eyes seeking, studying every line of his face, as the finger against his lips, slightly parted in wonder at her unprecedented behavior, slowly moved upward to trace the lines of his flawless features.

Her hand moved gently around to the back of his neck, and she leaned in closer to him, her heartbeat quickening at the soft little gasp that escaped his lips.

*Don’t think, Buffy,* she told herself, closing her eyes and plunging forward, pulling him to her as her lips melded to his, her tongue pushing insistently forward, invading his mouth with an urgent intensity.

He returned her kiss with a fervent hunger, his arms sliding around her with much more certainty than they had in their last kiss. He could not understand what had brought about this turn of events; he was only glad to be holding her in his arms, to be allowed this chance to lavish his affection upon her.

Gently, she pushed him backward, down onto the soft pillows of her bed, in an echo of her actions a few weeks before. But this time, she did not pull away. She knew exactly what she was doing from the very start.

Her mouth never left his as his back hit the bed, and her hands moved slowly down his body, one remaining at his hip, the other moving around to softly cup the growing evidence of his desire, swollen against the confining fabric of his black jeans.

He arched his back and let out a soft moan at the contact, and it urged Buffy on to more, as she began to stroke him, still gently, but more firmly through his clothes.

“Oh…Buffy…” he gasped. “Buffy…please…”

She pulled away from the kiss again, her own desire awakening with a new intensity at his open need for her, at the near desperation in his voice. She studied his face again, her eyes wide, taking in the desire, the passion, that she had not seen on anyone’s face, not for her, in so long.

Without even realizing she was saying it until it was said, she whispered, “You’re mine,” in a tone that was both fiercely possessive and full of gentle affection; and as she spoke she tightened her hand slightly around him.

He gasped again at the pressure, affected as much by her claim as by her touch. “Yes,” he gasped. “Yours…all yours, sweet…sweet Buffy…”

Satisfied, she leaned down to claim him again, with her kiss.

Spike had no idea what had caused Buffy’s sudden change of heart. When she had left that morning, she had been cold and distant with him, almost refusing to acknowledge that the infamous kiss had even happened at all. Her main interest seemed to be in preserving her fragile marriage, and she had made it very clear that severe punishment would be the result if he said a word about their single, tiny indiscretion.

Of course, Riley’s words during the brutal beating he had dealt him made it clear that somehow, the secret had gotten out. Spike wondered if someone had seen them that night. It had been so spontaneous, so unexpected, and his bedroom door had been standing wide open, he remembered ruefully. Anyone could have seen, and thought they could get in better standing with Master Finn by telling him what they had seen.

He had fully intended to hide the entire incident from Buffy, both out of a desire to protect her from more of Finn’s abuse, should she decide to confront him over it – and also with a certain measure of fear of her anger, should she find out that her shameful little secret was out, and blame him.

But the blind fury he had seen in her eyes, the absolute rage when she saw what her husband had done to him, had not been directed at him.

It had stunned him…and thrilled him, to think that it mattered that much to her, to think that she would feel so defensive of him and angry at Riley for hurting him that she would immediately march downstairs to find him and confront him about it…

And then it had terrified him.

To think that she was going down there to put herself in danger from a man who had already proven himself to be violent, when as much as he wanted to follow and defend her, he was doubly bound by her command, and the chip in his head that prevented him from being able to do anything but watch helplessly if Finn did decide to hurt her – the thought made him physically ill with worry.

But she had returned, unharmed – but seemingly not unchanged.

Her manner had been so vastly different from anything he had experienced from her thus far. She had been tender and gentle with him, looking at him with wide eyes full of warmth and affection…and an almost awed look, as if she was seeing him for the first time.

And when she had kissed him…time had stopped. Everything around them had simply melted away, and there was only her, and him, and the kiss that united them. When she pushed him down onto the bed under her, her dazzling emerald eyes shining with her need, it had stolen his breath.

He *was* hers. Completely. Totally. Without reservation.

When he had first come to her house, he had resented her possession of him, longed for a non-existent means of escape. But now – in a sense she had not to begin with – she owned him, body and soul. He knew without question that he would obey any command she gave him, do absolutely anything to please her, to make her happy.

He did not know why she suddenly wanted him, tonight – only that she *did*.

And he was hers, to do with as she would.

Still, even as she claimed him with her words, and he affirmed her claim, babbling out a response he could not remember an instant later, for the power of her intimate touch – a tiny wondering doubt worried at the corners of his mind.

What *had* caused this sudden desperate intensity of need in her? He knew that she had gone downstairs to confront her husband, knew just as certainly where she would have found him. He found himself wondering what had happened, what words had passed between them in that confrontation.

Had she caught Riley in one of his brazen indiscretions? Had she been forced to see through the pitiful mask of deception that had only fooled her because she had not wanted to know the truth? Had she finally seen once and for all that she could do infinitely better than the cruel, disrespectful, self-involved soldier who was so far beneath her?

Suddenly, as if sensing the wandering nature of his thoughts, her gently massaging fingers at the back of his scalp tightened slightly on his hair, tugging his head back a little as she moved in closer to deepen the kiss, her other hand leaving off her gentle ministrations long enough to fumble blindly at his zipper, in an attempt to remove the offending fabric that separated them.

*Stop thinking about G.I Git and what they said or didn’t say!* he ordered himself furiously, gasping for breath as she was finally successful, her hand leaving his head to join the other in sliding his jeans down over his hips. *Stop *thinking*, period, you stupid git! Her hands are all over you, she’s touching you, she *wants* you…don’t think…don’t think…just…*

“Oh, God, *Buffy*!” he gasped as his swollen, sensitive erection came in contact with the rough fabric of the short denim skirt she still wore, and she ground her body down against him when she saw his response, driving him ever closer to the edge with her mercilessly teasing touch.

Her hands sought his and pulled them up to the base of her shirt, guiding them silently to pull it off of her. Her lips found his again as his cool hands trailed up her sides to remove the shirt, sending delicious shivers all through her body at the sensation. They broke the kiss long enough to get her shirt over her head, and then immediately continued it as he tossed the shirt carelessly to the floor, his arms wrapping around her immediately, one hand running lightly but almost frantically up and down the smooth golden skin of her back, while the fingers of the other struggled with the clasp of her bra.

Buffy’s hands were working on her skirt, and as she wriggled out of it, pushing it down around her ankles to kick it off the foot of the bed, the enticing motion of her body against his sending a violent shudder of pleasure through him. With a gasp, he clutched at her, one hand sliding down to her bottom to pull her hard against him.

She let out a soft little moan as he came into contact with her hot, swollen center, and pressed herself against him harder.

The little whimpering cry of pleasure and need that escaped his throat at the motion against him only intensified her desire, and her eyes opened wide to stare down with a wild, almost feral possessiveness at the breathtaking creature beneath her on the bed. He was stunning, and desperate, nearly feverish with need for her…

And *hers*.

His pleasure, his need, was hers to fulfill or deny. As his desperate hands moved to rest at her hips and clutch her closer to him, she raised her hips up off of him, momentarily breaking contact, and denying him the nearness that he craved. He tried again, urgently, to pull her close, but she caught his wrists in her hands and pinned them tightly to the bed beside his head.

Confused, his wide blue eyes met hers in a silent question. Her lips quirked slowly upward into a seductive smile, as she rose up onto her hands and knees over him, her body no longer touching his, except for her hands on his wrists, and her knees at his hips.

He strained against her hands to rise, but she pressed down harder, shaking her head slightly in reproof. He stopped struggling, but his hips still raised unconsciously toward her in a vain attempt to reach her body, which she still withheld from him.

She leaned down to give him another slow, languorous kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth in a leisurely way, until finally she pulled away – long before he was ready. His hungry mouth followed hers, yearning to continue the kiss, but she gave him a teasing smile as she shook her head again and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Do you want me, Spike?”

The feel of her hot breath against his skin, the low, seductive tone of her voice, and the question itself, sent another shudder through his body as he moaned, “Yes! Yes, I want you, Buffy! Oh, Buffy…”

She rewarded his pleading admission with another long, thorough kiss, leaving him as breathless as she was when it ended and she leaned in again. “How bad do you want me, Spike?”

“Oh…God, Buffy…I want you…I…I *need* you, Buffy…”

“Come on, Spike,” she murmured, suddenly lowering herself down against him and swiveling her hips slowly, eliciting a low groan of mingled pleasure and torment from his trembling, gasping lips. “You can do better than that…” Her voice dropped to a whisper again as she asked him, “What’ll you do for me, Spike?

“Buffy…I’ll do *anything*, pet…I need you…I need you so much! Oh, God, Buffy, *anything*!”

“Are you sure?” she teased, mercilessly continuing her blissful torture, rubbing herself slowly across his throbbing erection, but pulling back when he thrust toward her, denying him the entrance he so desperately sought, relishing her power, the depth of his need for her. “You really want me?”

“Buffy…oh, God…Buffy, I want you so bad!” he gasped. “Please…*please*, Buffy, I need you! Just – just let me *touch* you, love!”

He was not angered or ashamed to be made to submit to her little game. He belonged to her, plain and simple. His heart, his devotion, his very will, were hers to command. If she wanted to revel in the power she held over him, he would play her game. If she wanted him to beg, he was not too proud.

She was glorious and beautiful and powerful, a goddess in his eyes, and he would do anything just to be allowed to worship her.

And Buffy rewarded his adoration, finally lowering herself down onto his aching manhood, embracing him with the warmth of her body, and she moaned with the pleasure of his filling her, completing her, meeting the need of her love-starved body and spirit.

“Oh, Buffy….sweet, pretty Buffy…” he groaned with the intense feeling of her soft heat surrounding him. “Want you…so…so good, Buffy…”

Almost immediately, they found a perfect rhythm all their own, moving together as if they were made to be together. One of her arms slid around his waist to pull him closer to her, deepening their connection as her hand returned to his head to draw him into another deep, intimate kiss.

His hands moved quickly, almost desperately, over her body, up and down her arms, caressing the soft flesh of her stomach, her back, moving up to tenderly stroke her sensitive breasts, and she broke the kiss, throwing back her head with a little cry of pleasure.

“Oh, God, Spike!” she gasped. “Oh…oh, *Spike*!”

The encouraging sound of her voice, exulting in the pleasure *he* was giving her, drove him on, and he thrust into her, deeper, stronger, one hand continuing to caress her while the other moved down to the back of her thigh, lifting her slightly as he pushed into her.

“Oh…Spike…” she moaned, gasping for breath, her eyes opening wide at the powerful sensations of pleasure he was giving her, that she had not felt in so long. “Oh, don’t…don’t…”

He hesitated, drawing back a bit in an instantaneous response to her spoken wish.

She stared at him, her eyes desperate with need. “Don’t…don’t *stop*!” she gasped, her hands clutching at him and yanking him closer to her again.

Feeling a rush of pride and a thrill at the realization of *her* need for *him*, Spike was only too ready to comply with her plea.

It was not an order, not that time. She was begging him, needing him.

She had *never* felt like this before, not with anyone. Never.

As they climbed to the peak of their desire, entangled in each other’s arms, the intensity of their embrace, their kiss, rose to a feverish, frantic pitch with their need. Holding each other, pulling desperately closer, clinging to each other, they reached the edge and tumbled over into the thick, dark haze that fell over them as they collapsed to the bed in an exhausted, hot, damp tangle.

Spike did not need to breathe, but he was gasping, struggling to regain the breath he always drew anyway.

He could not remember the last time he had felt so happy, so…complete. All these years, even when he had not realized what it was he was longing for…he *had* longed for her. She had been the drawing force that had pulled him back to this place, over and over again.

And finally, his persistence had been rewarded.

He could scarcely believe that he was here, in this place, beneath her hot, trembling body, still shuddering in the wake of the pleasure that *he* had given her. His joy was nearly overwhelming. His heart felt so full that he could not speak, though he desperately wanted to say so many things to her.

Buffy felt a blissful calm fall over her, with the complete satisfaction of the need that had haunted her for years now, ever since Riley had decided that she was not what he needed anymore. To be held in strong, gentle arms that treated her like a precious treasure to be revered and cherished…to be desired as passionately as Spike had desired her…

She felt beautiful, and powerful, and…like a woman, again.

She laid her head down on his shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing in the comforting scent of his body so near to hers. “That…was incredible, Spike,” she breathed, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Oh, Buffy,” he softly replied, and she could feel him shake his head slightly, in wonder. “Buffy...I – I love you,” he hesitantly whispered.

She felt her stomach drop suddenly, and her eyes opened wide in surprise…and dismay.

“Oh, God, Buffy, I love you so much!” he confessed, his voice trembling with tender emotion.

Buffy lay there, still and silent, unable to respond as he undoubtedly wanted her to – and therefore unable to respond at all.

*Oh, God,* she thought with a sudden uneasy sense of guilt. *What have I done?*

Velvet made her way stealthily down the hallway, away from the closed bedroom door of her mistress and her slave consort, a smug, self-satisfied smile crossing her face. The door had been firmly shut, but her keen vampire hearing had left her no doubt as to what had been taking place beyond that door. She had been able to clearly hear the soft moans and whimpers of pleasure coming from the lovers in their embrace.

She frowned in irritation as she continued on her way down the hall. That was what really infuriated her about the whole situation. The vampire and his mistress had truly sounded like lovers to her ears. She had faked pleasure enough times in her servitude to Finn to be able to tell the difference easily.

Against all her taunting words and efforts to scare Spike about what his new mistress would require of him – he had clearly been enjoying it. Much to her frustration, it appeared that Mistress Finn had not had to force her slave to comply with her desires at all! Spike had willingly, even eagerly, accepted the advances of his mistress!

The only thing about the whole event that had brought a smile to her face was the startling words of devotion that had escaped Spike’s lips when it was all over, in the wake of their passion. She could scarcely believe that the fool had just confessed his *love* for the woman who *owned* him – who held the power of life and death over him!

Could he possibly have made himself any *more* vulnerable? she sneered.

And the lack of response, the utter silence, that met his trembling admission – that had been even better. It was clear from that silence, that his mistress in no way returned his affections. He was no more to her than Velvet was to her master – a toy, a possession, to be used for the sake of her pleasure and then cast aside. The thought of the torment that painful realization must have cause Spike gave Velvet a vindictive sense of satisfaction.

So did the knowledge that it was only the beginning of his suffering.

She reached her destination, and knocked softly on the door to the room.

“Come in,” a sharp, impatient voice responded.

She opened the door, lowering her head and approaching her master in an appropriately submissive manner, aware immediately of his foul mood.

“Oh.” His tone was milder, and she knew that he was pleasantly surprised to see her. “Velvet. What is it?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Master,” she said, keeping her voice soft and respectful, her eyes down. “I just – I’ve seen something…with your permission, it’s something I think you should know.”

There was a short pause, and Riley’s eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion, though not directed at his favored slave. She very seldom incurred his wrath, being very eager to please him most of the time. And besides, it was only due to her observation and coming to him before that he knew about Spike’s advances on his wife.

“Let me guess,” he said slowly, a sarcastic note in his voice. “Something about my wife. And that slave I never should have let her buy. Right?”

Velvet nodded, a bit hesitantly. She knew better than to appear too pleased with herself or proud in front of her temperamental master. He could go from calm to brutally violent in a matter of moments.

“Go ahead,” Riley instructed her, in a voice of steel, already furious, though he did not know exactly what she was going to tell him.

As she cautiously told him what she had heard, never making eye contact the whole time, she could feel the mounting tension as Riley’s anger built. When she reached the part about Spike’s tender admission of his affections for Buffy, she could almost swear that she heard her master actually growl in anger.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Riley muttered when she had finished, shaking his head and glaring at nothing in particular. “I am going to take that little piece of trash and tear him apart, I swear!” He paused for a moment before going on, frustrated, “Damn it! He’s always with Buffy…now I guess I know why…if I could just find a way…” His voice trailed off, but Velvet knew what he had been going to say.

“Master,” she said, tentatively. “If I may speak, Master…”

He said nothing, and she glanced up at him, to see him looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised as he waited for her to go on.

“Mistress Finn has plans to go out tomorrow. All *day*.” Velvet carefully emphasized the last word, reminding her master of its implications.

A slow smile spread across Riley’s face. Buffy’s vampire slave would not be accompanying her outdoors in broad daylight. He was momentarily surprised that Buffy would plan to leave Spike there, knowing that Riley would likely be home, and the vampire would be at his mercy.

But then he remembered with a grimace – he had a business trip planned for this weekend. He was flying out early in the morning, and was not scheduled to return until the next night. He sighed in frustration. That was the trick with priorities; some things just had to come first.

Resolved, he took out his cell phone and quickly dialed the number of his chief assistant. “Hey,” he said shortly, knowing that he would immediately know who was calling. “Cancel the meetings tomorrow.” There was a short silence. “Well, they’ll just have to deal with it. Next weekend’s fine, yes. I have pressing business to attend to here.”

He disconnected the call and snapped the phone shut, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He turned to Velvet. “Thank you,” he said with genuine appreciation. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Her eyes were downcast again, as she replied softly, “Anything to serve you, Master.”

Feeling in an uncharacteristically generous mood with the knowledge that he would soon be able to punish Spike for…well, just generally for being Spike…Riley graced the girl with a warm smile. “Anything I can do to thank you, Velvet?”

A small smile began on the girl’s full, pretty lips, and she finally dared to look up into her master’s eyes, her own dark and glittering with cruel glee. “Let me watch?” she suggested softly.

Riley stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. He did not respond. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face as he nodded, impressed with her nerve and amused by her request.

“Why not?”


Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, but as usual, the curtains in Buffy’s bedroom were drawn tightly shut. She awakened, still held in the embrace of her lover of the night before, a bit disoriented at first, not remembering…and then her eyes widened in dismay as it came back to her.

She had been so utterly shocked by Spike’s unexpected words. He *loved* her? How could he…? She had had no idea how to respond, as an overwhelming sense of guilt came over her. Because the depth of his feelings was obvious in every inflection of every word…and for her, it had not meant anything near that level.

Yes, she was attracted to him. She could deny that. And when Riley had hurt her as badly as he had, flaunting and excusing his cheating as acceptable, as “no big deal”, she had felt so…rejected, and hurt, and unlovable – as if she was so disgusting and repulsive that her husband had to turn to others rather than to be with her.

Spike, on the other hand, worshipped the ground she walked on. He had proven over and over, during the past few weeks, that he would do absolutely anything to please her. And the fleeting moment of the single kiss they had shared before last night was the first time in as long as she could remember that she had felt beautiful, and desirable.

And he was hers.

So…she had used him. She knew from the start that she did not love him. She wanted him…but it was nothing more than comfort…solace.

And when he had made his heart-felt confession, she had been utterly speechless. Having no idea what to say, she had not responded at all. And after a few moments, the tense emotions in the room became an almost tangible thing. He was not stupid; he had to know what her silence meant.

Finally, knowing that she had to say *something*, she had raised up to look at him, her eyes full of mingled affection and doubt, and said softly, “Thank you,” giving him another long, soft kiss – to ease the blow.

After that, he had given her a long, searching look, staring into her eyes, his pain obvious in his own. But he had not said a word, simply returned her smile with a warmth and tenderness that smote her heart again. She had laid her head back down, feeling ashamed to face him, and he had simply stayed there under her, holding her close to him, his trembing fingers stroking slowly, tenderly, through her disheveled hair. His continued affection, in the face of her rejection, had only intensified her guilt.

She had been terribly relieved when he finally returned to his own room, and she went to bed – only to face a restless, troubled night without much sleep.

As Buffy hurried around the next morning, trying to get ready for her day out with her friends, she tried to put the troublesome thoughts out of her head. Spike’s careful efforts to help her, to be sure she had everything she could possibly need, made that very difficult.

She avoided his eyes, avoided speaking to him any more than she absolutely had to, unsure how to act or respond after all that had happened between them.

“I put your keys in your handbag,” he told her, his voice quiet and heavy with worry and emotion, and she could tell that her distance was hurting him, and he longed to find a way to breach it. “You should have everything you need.”

She wanted to hurry and leave, before he had the chance.

She thought that she had escaped when she walked out her bedroom door, and was irrationally irritated when he followed her down the stairs. In the hall, he spoke, hesitantly, and she knew from his tone that he had barely worked up his courage for whatever it was he was going to say.

“Buffy…”

She could not let him say it.

“Spike,” she said impatiently, with a sigh. “I need to go.”

“Buffy, please…please talk to me!” he implored her, stepping quickly around her and into her path, his wide, troubled blue eyes searching hers.

She looked away, condemned by the pain in those expressive eyes. “Spike,” she said, her voice trembling with her own guilt…and a rising anger, that she knew was unreasonable, even as she allowed it to build – because it was easier to feel than her shame. “I said I need to go. Get out of my way.”

He did not. “Please, Buffy!” he begged her, and she could hear the beginnings of tears in his voice. “Last night…”

“Get out of my way,” she repeated sharply, a warning beginning in her voice.

He moved forward and put his hands lightly on her arms, seeking her eyes. “Just wait a second…”

Frustrated and confused, and angry at herself for feeling both, Buffy lashed out. His pleading words were cut off when she jerked away from his touch and slapped him, hard, in the face.

He stumbled back a bit, and something in her heart caught at the little gasp of hurt surprise that he let out. She knew the instant after she had done it that she had had no right to do it, and remorse flooded her.

But to let him see that would have been to open the door to a conversation she just could not have right then. So she kept her voice hard as she said, “I told you to get out of my way.”

He was silent for a long moment, still not moving out of her path, breathing hard in what she soon saw was an effort to hold back his tears. His jaw was working with repressed emotion, as he struggled for control.

Suddenly, he looked up at her, and while she was not surprised by the hurt and betrayal she saw there, which she rightly deserved, she was stunned by the fiery anger that flashed from his eyes.

His voice was low and controlled as he spoke softly, “So that’s the way it is, is it?”

“Yes, Spike,” she snapped, her defensive anger coming into play again. “That’s *exactly* the way it is, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I thought *you* had,” he shot back, in an angry, trembling voice, and her heart was struck with pain at the way he immediately braced himself for another blow. He had thought she would hit him again for saying those words.

But he had still said them.

She forced herself to walk past him on trembling legs, and out the front door, slamming it hard behind her.

He stood there in the hallway, finally allowing his tears to fall down his face, one hand absently raised to the cheek she had slapped.

“Aww….looks like you two saw things a little differently last night, didn’t you?”

He whirled around in surprise at the mockingly sympathetic voice, frighteningly close behind him.

Riley.

“You – I thought you…” Spike began, cursing his voice, which was trembling more from the pain of Buffy’s betrayal than with fear of Riley, but brought a smug satisfaction to the wanker’s face, none the less.

“Yeah. Plans change,” Riley shrugged. “Had some stuff to take care of around here today.” There was a subtle menace in his voice, and the cold smile on his face as he advanced on him.

Spike instinctively took a step back down the hallway, away from him, but Riley’s hand darted out behind him and grabbed him by the hair, yanking him back toward him. “I don’t think so,” he said softly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Spike could see from the cold, calculating fury in Riley’s eyes that this was not going to be a simple beating like the last time. Riley had actually *planned* this encounter, and that realization chilled him through.

“Buffy…” he began quietly, his voice low to disguise the rising tremor in it.

“Doesn’t seem to care much, does she?” Riley interrupted with a smirk. His smile faded quickly as he jerked Spike’s head back and snarled, “You wanna know who runs this house, Spike? Huh? It’s not *Buffy*, okay?” There was clear derision in his voice as he spoke his wife’s name. “It’s *me*!” he sneered, leaning in close to the vampire threateningly. “I’ll do what I want, and she’s gonna like it! And if she doesn’t…” the smirk was back as he shrugged, “I’ll smack her back in line!”

Blind fury came over Spike at those words, and before he could think to stop himself, he had drawn back his fist and struck Riley in the face, hard enough to make him release his grip on his hair and stagger backward with a shocked cry of pain and rage.

And then the chip fired.

White-hot agony lanced through his brain, and Spike moaned in pain as he sank to his knees on the floor, holding his head, reeling with the intense force of the shock.

Riley recovered long before he did, and waited patiently with a grim, vindictive smile on his face for the pain to fade away. When Spike finally looked up at him, breathing hard and trying to struggle to his feet, the larger, and somehow stronger, man aimed a savage kick at the ribs he had damaged the day before, slamming him into the wall, hard, with the force of the blow.

With a cruel smirk, Riley leaned down and gripped his hair again, yanking him to his feet and shoving him against the wall again, his voice low and full of sadistic triumph.

“You’re gonna regret that, Spike. Among other things.”

Spike did not respond, still gasping for breath against the pain in his newly cracked ribs. His silence did not matter to Riley. He intended to make him break it soon enough, he thought as he dragged his injured slave down the hallway toward the basement stairs.

Buffy’s hands were trembling visibly as she reached for the doorbell outside the tiny house that Willow shared with Tara. She and Willow had discussed it over lunch the other day and had decided that a casual, intimate atmosphere was probably best for Buffy’s reunion with the rest of their little group. They planned to meet up first at Willow and Tara’s house, and then decide from there how they would spend the day.

Xander and Anya had been married for a couple of years now, but still hung out with Willow and Tara on a regular basis. When Willow had told her, Buffy had been very happy for them, but had not been able to prevent the pang of jealousy at the thought of the happy relationships her friends seemed to be in, and the fact that those relationships had not forced their friendships to disband, as her marriage had done.

She thought wistfully of how different everything might be today if Riley had just been able to accept her friends.

Willow and Buffy had agreed that it would probably be best if she arrived a bit before the others at the house, rather than having everyone there when she got there and surrounding her all at once. Buffy had already regained her sense of comfort with Willow, but she was still terribly nervous about seeing the others again after so long.

She hoped that they would be as understanding and forgiving as Willow had been.

So here she was, outside the house at 9:55 – a mere five minutes before everyone else was supposed to arrive.

The door opened, and her stomach dropped with an irrational fear, before she saw her friend standing in front of her, an eager smile of anticipation on her face. “Buffy!” Willow gushed, obviously excited. “Come on in!” She took her by the arm and led her inside. “Xander and Anya are gonna be here any minute! They’re so excited to see you, Buffy! They just can’t wait! Are you thirsty? There’s all kinds of soda and iced tea and – ooh! I made lemonade!”

Willow’s hopeful eyes met hers in a question, and Buffy could not help feeling just the tiniest bit overwhelmed. Her friend obviously had such high expectations for this reunion. She hoped desperately that she was right about how badly the others had missed her.

Suddenly, she thought of the question that had occurred to her on the way over. There was one more person that she was desperate to see.

“Um, sure, Will…thanks…I’d love some lemonade,” she nodded, a little distracted, following her bouncing friend into the tiny, cozy kitchen.

“Um…Will?” she began, a little hesitantly, as Willow busied herself taking glasses out of the cupboard, and a tub of ice cubes from the freezer.

“Uh-huh?” Willow responded, a little too brightly. Buffy winced inwardly; she was trying *so hard*.

“Um…what about…um…what’s Giles doing these days?” she managed to get the question out.

Willow’s smile fell a little, and she looked away from Buffy’s eyes for a moment. “Oh. Well, um…we don’t get to talk to him much anymore. You know, he keeps himself… pretty busy. What with the…the rallies, and the lectures, and…well, you know…”

“Yeah,” Buffy said softly. “I know.”

Long before she had stopped talking with her friends, Riley had insisted that Buffy cut her ties with her Watcher, and as much as it had hurt her to do it – at the time it had made a terrible sort of sense to her.

After all, it had taken her quite by surprise when Giles had begun speaking out so openly against the work of Riley’s organization. After all the time he had spent helping her learn how to better destroy the creatures that Riley sought to control, she had not expected him to be so adamantly against it.

But he found the experiments, the behavioral and mind control techniques, and ultimately, the slavery, utterly abhorrent. To her, at first, there had not seemed to be so vast a difference between what Riley was doing and the slaying she had been doing for the past four years.

By the time she began to feel differently, to see the more disturbing aspects of Riley’s work, it had been too late. She had already told Giles that as Riley’s wife, she could no longer have anything to do with him as long as he was so outspoken against her husband and what he was doing.

She knew that she had hurt her Watcher terribly when she had turned her back on him so completely, and she was too ashamed to attempt to contact him after that, even when the point came that she longed to desperately. She was terrified of his reaction, certain that he would not want to talk to her at all.

And Willow’s reaction to her question just now only confirmed that fear.

Before they could discuss it any further, though, they heard quick, light footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Tara walked into the kitchen. Buffy felt immediately nervous and uncertain.

She had barely had a chance to begin to get to know Tara when she and Riley had started getting serious, and Tara had never spent much time with them. Willow had told her that Riley made her feel uncomfortable, but had never elaborated. Buffy had not even adjusted completely to the idea of Willow’s dating Tara at all, and all that Tara really knew of Buffy was that she had thrown aside her friendship with Willow, and hurt her deeply.

Buffy did not think that was a very strong foundation to build a friendship on, and was certain that Willow’s long-time girlfriend would naturally tend to dislike her.

That was why the warm reception she received from Tara stunned her. With a soft, inviting smile, Tara moved forward without hesitation to hug her firmly. “Buffy!” she said, with genuine welcome in her voice. “It’s so good to see you!”

Something about the girl put Buffy immediately at ease, and she felt herself relaxing a little.

Then the doorbell rang, and her nerves were once again screaming in terror.

“I’ll get that,” Tara quickly volunteered, giving Buffy a reassuring smile before leaving the kitchen to answer the door.

“Oh, God, Will!” Buffy whimpered, turning to face her friend with wide, panicked eyes. “I can’t do this! I just can’t!”

“Buffy – you don’t have to *do* anything!” Willow gently reassured her, taking her hand and squeezing it comfortingly. “They can’t wait to see you! I promise!”

Buffy did not respond, but she was still not at all sure.

“Come on,” Willow urged her. “Let’s go on in there.”

The sound of soft voices halted suddenly as they walked into the living room, and Buffy found her eyes focused on the floor. She was too ashamed to face her friends, terrified of their reactions. She was well aware of the reaction that she *deserved*.

Finally, she dared a glance up – and her eyes were immediately caught by the deep expressive dark eyes of her best friend. Xander seemed struck speechless, just staring at her in a sort of shock, as if scarcely able to believe she was really there, his eyes welling with tears.

She scarcely noticed Anya at his side, until the former vengeance demon moved forward with a wide smile that seemed still and false, though Buffy knew well that it was completely natural for Anya.

“Buffy!” Anya threw her arms around Buffy in a quick, forceful hug, then pulled back to look her in the eyes as she said encouragingly, “We’re so glad you’ve decided you want to be friends with us again! We’ve missed you!”

There was no spite or sarcasm in her voice; she was simply speaking as honestly as ever, and amazingly, Buffy was not hurt by the words. Instead, they filled her with a warmth and affection toward the girl that she had never felt, even when they had been friends before.

Anya’s greeting gave Xander a moment to recover, and as she stepped back, he suddenly enfolded Buffy in an embrace with strength to rival Buffy’s usual bone-crushing hugs. She felt her eyes flood with tears at the desperate emotion conveyed by that hug.

“Buffy,” he whispered. “Buffy, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you!”

“Xander,” she replied, surprised by the sob that escaped her throat. “I’m so sorry, Xander! I’m so, so sorry!”

“Shhh,” he whispered, rubbing her back gently, his own voice trembling with tears. “No, Buffy, no, it’s okay.” He pulled back from her to look her in the eye, and the open acceptance and forgiveness in his eyes filled her with relief, and an overwhelming sense of love for this boy, no longer a boy, who had been there for her through everything, and was not about to stop now, no matter what offenses she had committed.

Across the room, where Willow had waited to allow Buffy to have a measure of privacy for her reunion with Xander, Tara met her, quietly taking her arm to pull her further aside.

“What is it?” Willow asked softly, out of earshot of the others, frowning with concern at the troubled look in her lover’s eyes.

“Will – something’s – off, about her,” Tara admitted, reluctantly but with a certainty that told Willow there was no doubt in her mind about what she was saying.

“What do you mean, *off*?” Willow’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Her aura,” Tara clarified, shaking her head slightly. “I – I don’t know, exactly, but it’s like – something’s *missing*. Like something about her life force is…is wrong. I – I think she’s in trouble, Will. It’s like she’s…not really living. Just…barely surviving, you know? There’s an awful lot of pain. And – and fear.”

Willow’s gaze turned to Buffy with concern, as she asked softly, “What can we do? We need to help her!”

“If I could – do a more thorough check of her aura,” Tara suggested. “Maybe I could find out what’s wrong.”

Willow nodded slowly. “We can try to get her to let us do it,” she agreed. “If Buffy’s scared, Tara – it’s gotta be really bad!”


This was bad. Very, *very* bad.

That was the thought that ran through Spike’s head as Riley dragged him through the open doorway of the one room on the basement level of the house that had a lock on the door. The slaves were not allowed the privacy or privilege of locking their bedroom doors. However, the master of the household required privacy for what went on in this particular room.

When his fantasies took a darker turn, requiring the pained screams of his partner to satisfy his need, or when a slave had committed a particularly serious offense, and needed more severe punishment, this was where Riley would take them.

When the two occasions combined in the twisted lust for revenge that consumed Riley at the moment – well, Spike knew that he stood very little chance of leaving this room alive, and very little chance of even *wanting* to live by the time Riley was finished with him.

And Buffy had left for the day, and night, according to her plans, believing that her husband was out of town for the rest of the weekend, and he would be safe in her absence.

So much for that.

Riley jerked him to a stop right beneath a pair of iron manacles hung from the ceiling over his head, and Spike tried again to pull out of his grip, struggling desperately, knowing that if he did not escape now, he stood little chance of surviving at all.

But Riley was too strong, and his efforts only earned him another dizzying blow across his face, as Riley jerked his head back up by the hair to snarl in his face, “I *really* hope you try that again, Spike!”

Spike did not try it again.

Riley pulled the chains down to lock Spike’s wrists into them, painfully tight, and Spike realized with disgust that the cuffs were intended to hold the smaller wrists of a woman.

*Soddin’ pervert,* he thought with revulsion…and the next moment, his thoughts were cut off in savage pain as Riley yanked hard on the end of the chain, drawing Spike’s wrists sharply upward, high enough that his feet just barely touched the floor. He fought back a cry of pain at the fiery agony that shot from his wrists through his arms, forced to support the entire weight of his body.

Riley smirked. “Oh, don’t hold back on my account,” he sneered, coming close behind him to pull his head back again, his next words a menacing whisper in his ear. “I’d *love* to hear you scream!” He then released his hair and suddenly gripped the back of the collar of his shirt, ripping it off of his body in a single, powerful move, the downward pull sending another electric jolt of pain through his already strained upper body.

Spike was breathing hard with the exertion that was forced upon his body, as he struggled not to give the wanker what he wanted. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out after a moment. “I bet you do…bet you’d also love it if I was a woman, but I guess you can’t always get what you want, can you, you bloody pervert!”

Riley’s features twisted in an expression of rage. He drew back his fist and rammed it into Spike’s back in a vicious kidney punch that stole his breath.

“Actually,” he smirked. “I usually *do* get what I want, Spike.” He crossed the room in front of him to a large urn, about waist high, filled with what appeared to be ordinary water – though Spike knew immediately that it was not.

As he watched with rising apprehension, Riley reached into it and took out a vicious looking whip, with many leather strands hanging from the handle. The whip had been soaking in the liquid for a long time, and the strands were a little swollen with the clear fluid that dripped from them.

Riley smiled cruelly at him as he went on, “And I really think I’m going to this time, too, Spike.” As he spoke he slowly walked to stand directly in front of him, a vindictive light in his eyes. He ran his hand along the glistening, wet handle of the weapon, then slapped him on the back in a mockery of a friendly gesture, chuckling as the vampire bit back a moan of pain as the holy water seared into his flesh.

“What do you think?” Riley asked, his tone light, but his eyes full of malice as they met Spike’s, and his heart sank. He looked away, not wanting to reveal his rising fear to the cruel man who would relish it so much. Riley just stared at him for a moment, taking in his silent struggle, before turning his back to him again for a moment, his fingers playing over the sodden strands of the whip thoughtfully.

Spike’s eyes were down when he heard Riley speak in mild surprise. “Oh. There you are. Thought you were going to miss the whole show.”

Spike’s eyes shot up to the doorway, and he felt a sick sense of shame mingled with his utter hatred for the figure framed there, that she should see him like this.

Velvet smiled triumphantly into his eyes as she sauntered into the room, her words directed at her master.

“Are you kidding?” she said with a soft laugh, a cruel light sparkling in her dark eyes. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Riley paced slowly, circling his helpless victim, a cruel smile on his hardened features in anticipation of the punishment he was about to mete out. He had been waiting for this day for a very long time, and he intended to take his time and enjoy it.

He had not yet touched Spike with the whip, deliberately dragging out the dread of expectation for as long as he possibly could. He knew that the anticipation could be worse than the actual pain itself, and he wanted to make sure that Spike was good and scared before he finally started in on him.

And Spike had to admit, if only to himself – it was working.

“You know,” Riley spoke casually, almost as if to a friend, shaking his head with mock regret. “You really should have listened to me, Spike.”

As usual, Spike’s mouth worked faster than his mind, snapping off a snarky comment that he knew even as he said it was only going to make things worse for him. “You said something worth hearing?” he sneered with an innocent, wide-eyed expression of surprise before his own smirk spread across his face. “Must have missed it. Too bad. Bloody red letter event, that’d be!”

Riley laughed, shaking his head appreciatively at the nerve of the prisoner’s little joke. “Oh, Spike,” he said in a tone that was amused and a mockery of affection. “You never change – do you?” As he spoke, his slow, measured circling took him behind the bound, helpless vampire, and out of his sight.

Spike waited for him to come back around into view, then tensed with a sinking feeling in his stomach, when he did not reappear, deliberately remaining behind his back, where he could not see him.

That was not good.

Suddenly, Riley’s strong hand gripped his throat from behind and yanked him back against him. Holding him firmly so that he could not pull away, the larger man trailed the soaking wet whip across his bare stomach, slowly, as he spoke in a tone of cruel triumph.

“You shouldn’t have touched my wife, Spike,” he told him darkly, smiling at his captive’s desperate, useless struggle to get away from the searing pain of the burning liquid against his flesh. His tight hand at Spike’s throat kept him from moving away, and the crushing grip was the only thing that kept him from crying out in agony.

With a soft laugh, Riley finally released him and moved a few steps away, coming around to stand in front of him again, as the vampire gasped for breath, biting back the scream of pain that rose in his throat. He was determined that no matter what happened, Riley would not get that from him.

Riley was determined that no matter what it took…he *would*.

When he could finally speak again through the white-hot pain that engulfed him, Spike gasped out, “Yeah, well…maybe you *should* have touched her more, you soddin’ prick! Then she wouldn’t have had to turn to *me* for satisfaction, would she now?”

He turned a disgusted, derisive sneer on Velvet as he added, “But I s’pose your low class, white trash tastes run more to the cheap and whorish type than to a classy lady like Buffy, don’t they?”

Velvet gasped in shocked indignation, flinching as if at a blow…and then her eyes narrowed in vindictive rage. Her cold smile told Spike that she knew that her master would not let that insult go unpunished.

Furious, Riley drew back the whip and brought it down in a vicious blow across Spike’s face, the sharp leather lashes slicing into his skin, and the holy water leaving a trail of fiery agony across his already broken flesh. It was a breathtakingly brutal blow, and Spike would have collapsed from the unspeakable pain, had he been able to.

"I love it, Spike, I just love it," Riley laughed, shaking his head in amusement at the obvious suffering of his insolent slave, as he walked close to him and gripped his hair again, yanking him closer. "You make this so easy, give me so much to work with. I don't even have to come up with anything on my own, because you just keep giving me more reasons to *hurt* you!" He punctuated his words with a savage fist across the vampire's ravaged cheek.

Stars danced before Spike's eyes against a backdrop of darkness, and he struggled to remain conscious against the devastating force of the blow, too weakened by it to even attempt to pull away.

Jerking him even closer until he was mere inches from his face, Riley went on softly, menacingly, "And just think, Spike...Buffy won't be home until *really* late...so that means I've got, oh..." He glanced at his watch speculatively before turning a wicked smile on his increasingly terrified victim, then shrugged carelessly and smirked, "...a *really* long time, to play around, have a little fun...until I get bored and dust you."

Spike had known that Riley intended to kill him, had known it really from that first confrontation in the dining room, but still the words sent a chill down his spine, and his stomach twisted in fear. Because he knew that not only did Riley plan to kill him, but he was absolutely capable of carrying out his plan.

And his plan did not involve a quick, simple dusting.

Buffy thought that he was safe, with Riley out of town until late the next night. And what was more, she had left angry with him and wanting to avoid him, due to his foolish attempts to force her to talk to him about the night before...so chances were that she would take her time with her friends. She would be in no hurry to return and face his next attempt.

He actually felt a little relieved at that, when he thought about it, because as weakened as Buffy was lately, he knew that she would only get herself hurt if she was there to attempt to defend him. Riley had made it clear that his wife's desires regarding her slave no longer mattered to him, and he had no problem "convincing" her with the back of his hand if necessary.

Spike was completely and utterly at Riley's mercy...and Riley had none. Not for him.

He had begun to resign himself to the fact that he stood little chance of surviving the horrors that Riley had planned for this long day and night. But he was determined, no matter what, not to give him the satisfaction of begging, or screaming, or in any way giving in to the agony that Riley intended to inflict on him -- had already inflicted on him.

He only hoped he would have the strength to hold onto that determination.

His best hope was to goad the wanker into killing him sooner than he had planned, thus sparing himself at least a little of the terrible suffering Riley wanted to put him through. Well, that was something he could handle, he thought grimly. Driving his opponent insane with rage was something he was very good at.

As hope went...it was not much.


Buffy could not remember the last time she had felt so safe, and accepted, and free to just be herself and not have to put on a show for anyone. It felt so good to be reunited with her friends, after so long, and to have them accept her as freely and openly as they had – well, it was a tremendous relief.

Buffy had been so alone for so long – well, until just recently – and she found herself really needing to talk about the things that had been troubling her – with the exception of Spike, of course. She knew that her friends whole-heartedly disagreed with the slavery issue, and she was ashamed that she owned him, ashamed that he loved her and she had used him, and was not quite ready to own up to that yet.

The other problems she was dealing with, however, were a different story. She had already told Willow about Riley’s unfaithfulness, so it was not very difficult to open up to the others, at Willow’s gentle urging. Truth be told, Willow was desperately hoping that with Xander’s help, she and Tara could convince Buffy to leave Riley once and for all.

Anya, for her part, was not surprised at Riley’s unfaithfulness. She had never trusted him, not since she had first learned that he was involved with the Initiative. She had been convinced even then that he was out to get her, that he would make no distinction between demons and ex-demons.

“I’m not surprised that that narrow-minded bigot is also a dirty philanderer,” she announced matter-of-factly. “I can’t believe the nerve of him! Giving your orgasms to someone else in your very own house!” she went on incredulously. She immediately turned a threatening glare on Xander. “You’d better *never* give my orgasms to some other ex-demon, Xander Harris!”

Xander looked slightly offended at the suggestion. “Ahn – you know I would never do that!” he insisted earnestly, not the least bit put out by Anya’s peculiar, blunt way of putting things that was all her own.

Buffy was surprised. Xander had apparently gotten over his hang-ups and concerns about being with someone who was only recently human, and the devotion with which he was looking at Anya actually made her heart hurt a little to watch it.

Anya immediately softened, leaning in closer to her husband with adoration in her eyes to match his own. “I know,” she replied happily, and proceeded to initiate a kiss that was hardly appropriate for a living room that was not their own.

Unwillingly, Buffy’s mind focused on an image of crystal blue eyes, gazing at her with that same sort of adoration, full of pain at her heartless rejection…

*No!* she told herself firmly. *Don’t think about him right now!* She was having such a good time with her friends; the last thing she wanted was to spoil it with worrying over her devoted slave, her selfish, reckless behavior of the night before, and how in the world she was going to deal with both.

“Ahn,” Xander gasped, a little breathless as he pulled away from the kiss. He nodded slightly toward Buffy.

Anya just looked at him blankly for a moment before her expression filled with understanding, and she turned deliberately to give Buffy an expectant look. “Please go on with your story about your unfaithful husband. And please don’t feel bad because we have such a good relationship and yours stinks.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Buffy felt her face flaming with embarrassment.

“Hey, guys, really, I’m okay!” she insisted, with a nervous little laugh. “I can handle it. I mean…it hurts, yeah. And – and I’m not really sure what to do right now. But – but it’s gonna be fine.”

“I know what you can do,” Xander suggested, only half-teasing. “Remind Riley how stupid it is to cheat on your wife when she’s a Slayer!” He faked a punch playfully in Buffy’s direction as he spoke.

Buffy flinched.

Everyone froze, the implications of the simple gesture clear. After all, the Buffy they remembered would never have been afraid of such a gesture. She was the Slayer, and faced threats much worse than a feinted punch every day of her life. In the wake of the discussion of Riley and his unfaithfulness and emotional cruelty, it was quite easy for her friends to interpret Buffy’s reflexive reaction.

Xander was the first one to speak, standing up from the couch, his eyes blazing with fury. “I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered, stalking toward the door.

Buffy was on her feet and after him in an instant, catching his arm and easily pulling him back. “No, you’re not,” she said firmly, but her voice was trembling, and there was a slightly panicked look in her eyes. “Look, Xander, nothing happened, okay? There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, if you try to hurt Riley, you’ll just get yourself hurt. He’s a lot stronger than you.” She paused, glancing down for a moment before she admitted softly, “Lately he’s even stronger than *me*.”

Willow frowned, glancing at Tara, even as she wondered at Buffy’s words. Their unspoken communication was clear. This might be their best chance to convince Buffy to let them check her aura.

“How is that possible?” Willow asked, stepping forward and placing a hand on Buffy’s arm to gain her attention. “You’re the Slayer.”

Buffy looked at her blankly for a moment. “I – I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “But – but he is.” The soft, vulnerable sound to her voice send an almost physical pain through Willow’s heart at the confirmation it gave her of how far Buffy had allowed Riley’s mistreatment to go.

“Buffy – has he hit you?” she asked her gently, knowing the truth already, as they all did, but needing to hear it from Buffy’s mouth.

Buffy did not say anything, just looked at the floor, swallowing hard…and that was response enough.

Willow turned away in anger. “God, I’m gonna kill him myself!” she snapped, surprising Buffy with the violent anger in her voice.

“Buffy,” Tara took her chance to move in cautiously. “Buffy, something’s not right with that. Are you – are you losing your strength?”

Buffy looked up at her, tears shining in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said in a small, uncertain voice. “I think so. I don’t know why. But – but I’m not as strong as I used to be, and Riley’s gotten so – so much stronger, and – and…” Her voice trailed off, and she wiped quickly at the tears before they could fall.

“Buffy,” Willow said, turning to face her again with a serious look in her eyes. “There is something majorly wrong with that. Tara can read people’s auras, Buffy. Just by looking at them, a little.” She paused a moment for Buffy to take that in before going on. “She said that something’s a little…off…with yours.”

“It is?” Buffy looked alarmed, looking between the two girls rapidly, her eyes widening. “What – what does that mean? Do you think – could that be what’s wrong with me?”

“Maybe,” Tara said, sounding hopeful rather than fearful. “The thing is – I’d need to check a little closer to know for sure, but – but if you don’t mind, maybe I could find out if there really is a drain on your strength, and if there is, where it’s coming from.”

Willow nodded eagerly. “She’s a very gifted clairvoyant, Buffy. She’ll be able to tell where it’s coming from.”

Buffy looked between them again, slowly, then back at Xander, who was still silently seething in rage over the man who had dared to strike his adored friend and idol. She looked back to Willow, a question, and then total trust, in her eyes.

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “Let’s do it.”

Tara had only to have total silence and concentration to read Buffy’s aura more completely, so Willow ushered the others upstairs to allow Buffy and Tara to complete the reading. They sat across from each other on the floor, and Buffy tried to settle her nerves.

She was shaken by all that had happened in the last hour or so, all the revelations she had shared with her friends, and her thoughts were terribly scattered. After a few minutes of quiet meditation, and deep breathing to focus their energy, however, Buffy felt much more relaxed and at ease, in spite of the problems that now seemed to surround her.

Tara opened her eyes and looked at Buffy, almost as if looking past her, not so much looking at her as at the space around her. Buffy watched her anxiously, wondering what it was that she saw. After a few moments, Tara shook her head a little, and her eyes seemed to clear as she focused on Buffy again.

“Buffy,” she said softly. “There’s this – dark energy surrounding you, and it’s slowly draining you of your strength. Someone or something is definitely draining your power.”

Buffy stood up quickly, her eyes wide and excited. If she had truly found the explanation for how weak she had become lately, then maybe she could finally begin to regain all that she had lost. “You said you could tell where it’s coming from. Like where whatever it is that’s draining my strength is *right now*?” She wanted to go after it, whatever it was, and take it out.

It had been much too long since she had had any decent slayage.

Tara closed her eyes and focused on the dark energy that she had seen surrounding Buffy, allowing it to lead her in her mind, drawing her toward its source.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open in shock and she gave Buffy a worried, apprehensive look. “Buffy…whatever it is…it’s in your house! Right now!”

“What?” Buffy was stunned. She shook her head slightly. “But who…” Her voice stopped suddenly, her eyes widening as understanding dawned on her. “Not…oh, no,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “Not…it must be…it must be Riley!” she said, a stricken look on her face as she looked at Tara. “He’s been getting so much stronger, and I’ve been getting weaker!”

Tara looked sorry to have to agree with her, but she nodded apologetically. “It makes sense, Buffy.”

Buffy frowned suddenly. “Except…no. Riley’s out of town. On a business trip. He’s not coming back until…”

She stopped talking again as a terrible thought occurred to her. She remembered Riley’s furious face in the dining room that day, the murderous rage she had seen in his eyes…the vicious bruises he had left on Spike just a couple of days ago…

It only made sense that Riley would be the one who was stealing her strength – and if he was at the house right now…

Then Spike was alone with him.

And Riley must have had some reason for lying to her, telling her he was going out of town when he wasn’t.

“I need to go,” Buffy said suddenly, heading for the door.

“Wait!” Tara was concerned. She did not know why Buffy was so eager to get home, but if Riley was really so dangerous, then Buffy did not need to face him alone right now, when she was as weakened as she was. “We’re going with you, Buffy.”

Willow had heard the raised voices and appeared on the stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked with concern.

“Will,” Buffy said quickly, thinking fast. “It’s Riley. He’s the one who’s taking my strength. Is there some way…a spell, maybe…to get it back from him?”

“Probably,” Willow said. “A basic spell to return someone’s natural essence to them. If we can get you and him in the same place…”

“Not a problem,” Buffy muttered. “Come on.” And without another word, she stormed out the door with more certainty than she had acted in a very long time.

And her friends, as always, felt no option but to follow.

Through the haze of unbearable pain that clouded his thoughts, Spike wondered desperately how much longer it would be before Riley became bored with his sick little game. However, he doubted that it would be soon. If Velvet’s account had been true, Riley had a tendency to enjoy this sort of thing. And unfortunately, the sadistic git seemed to have an impressively long attention span when it came to pain – at least, *his* pain.

Spike was certain that if he just gave in, and granted Riley some shred of what he was after – pleading, screaming, tears, anything that would be a sign of Riley’s power over him – he would be dust…and the agony he was enduring would be ended…within moments.

Still, no matter what happened, he was determined not to give the wanker the satisfaction of knowing that he had broken his will. Riley could take everything from him but his pride.

Still – he was beginning to wonder what good his pride was doing him in a hopeless situation like this one.

Every nerve in his body screamed with the agony that he would not allow his mouth to express. Riley had been very thorough, taking his time with his little project. He had not hesitated to describe beforehand, in brutally graphic detail, exactly what he intended to do to Spike, allowing the fear ample time to do its work in breaking the vampire’s will, before he began the actual torture.

He had stripped Spike of what little clothing he had still worn, intending to emphasize his utter vulnerability, to strip him of what was left of his dignity. This had only served to increase the terror of the proceedings, making it clear that no part of his body was unexposed to the holy water soaked whip, or whatever other vicious little “toys” Riley might choose to use on him.

He was utterly and completely at Riley’s whim. Helpless.

*Buffy,* he thought desperately, his heart aching with the remembered pain of that morning, but still longing to see her. *No, you selfish git!* he immediately chided himself, remembering that Buffy’s presence would only result in her being hurt as well. *You’re not worth that,* he told himself. *Never were.*

Hours had passed since Riley had dragged him down the basement stairs to this hellish room, and by now his entire body was covered with vicious marks from Riley’s weapon of choice, wielded with savage force by the bulky soldier, who was far stronger than Spike had imagined. The whip had gotten so much use this particular day, that Riley had had to dip it back into the urn of holy water several times already, when it had dried out.

Spike fought just to stay conscious, exhausted from the constant strain on his upper body from being suspended as he was, his feet unable to reach the floor, leaving the whole weight of his body to be supported by his arms. He was weak from blood loss, and the sheer agony of the countless cuts and burns that Riley had inflicted upon him – much to Velvet’s great delight.

The little whore stood to the side, her arms crossed smugly over her chest, a cruel smirk on her face as she watched the vicious proceedings, taking cruel satisfaction in the pain and degradation he was being forced to endure. Spike was well aware that while Riley’s cruelty would surely have been intense, even if they had been alone, it was intensified by Velvet’s presence.

Riley was like the little boy on the playground, picking a fight he knew he would win to impress the little girls.

“You know,” Riley sneered, coming up behind him and yanking his head back again, sending a fresh wave of agony through his entire body at the sudden motion that jarred every one of his injuries. “You are just too stubborn for your own good, Spike.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head, when Spike just gritted his teeth against the pain and refused to cry out, to give Riley any response at all.

“You know,” he added softly, menacingly, “I can last a really long time, Spike. And I *know* you can last even longer. As long as I’m careful.”

It was a quiet reminder to Spike that death would free him from this torment only when Riley decided to allow it, and it made his heart sink with a sense of despair. Well, he thought grimly, maybe he could at least push the git to want to surrender his prisoner to death a little faster.

In spite of the pain that racked his body, Spike smirked, drawing in a deep, ragged breath to speak. “Bloody right, I can last longer than you, mate. At least according to Buffy.”

Riley swore softly, revealing his frustration at the vampire’s firm refusal to break under the massive weight of the torment he was putting him through. He struggled to keep his voice calm as he released Spike with a painful jerk and walked slowly back around to face him, looking him coldly in the eye again.

“Really,” he said flatly. “Well, maybe I should do something about that.” Without warning, he brought the dripping whip down mercilessly across Spike’s exposed, already battered groin.

The sharp, brutal pain of the unexpected blow took his breath away, but Spike gasped anyway, trying desperately to stop the reflexive convulsion of pain that shook his body, sending shock waves of new pain all through him with every move.

“See, the thing is,” Riley went on, smiling coldly, impassively, at the suffering of his captive, stepping very close to him as he did, “you’re nothing but a toy to her, Spike. You know that? You mean nothing to her. *Nothing.* You’ve just been fooling yourself. When she finds out what I’ve done,” he shrugged. “she’ll pout for a day or two. Be a little put out, maybe. But then…” His eyes narrowed cruelly as he leaned in closer, placing a heavy hand at the back of Spike’s neck and pulling him closer, “she’ll get over it.”

Spike turned his head away, wincing in spite of his resolve at the words that had managed to hurt him worse than the hours of torture he had already endured. Buffy’s own words right before she had left proved to him that Riley was right. She did not care. He was nothing to her but a possession, to be used.

Riley smiled in satisfaction at achieving the desired reaction.

“You know,” he said, a sly smile coming over his cruel features. “maybe we should take a little break. You’re looking pretty exhausted, man. Maybe a rest would do you some good.” He paused, then went on pointedly, “I think the pain’s starting to dull your senses a little; a little break should make everything a little – clearer.”

Spike’s heart sank at Riley’s mocking words of concern. He knew that he was right. At the moment, his nerves had been driven to the verge of total shock from so much pain, and he was almost to the point of being numb to anything else Riley might do to him. A little time away from it would only serve to make his suffering more intense when Riley started in on him again.

And the worst part of all of it was, he knew that Riley knew that he had hit on a form of torture far worse than physical pain. Spike was certain that Riley knew exactly how he planned to fill the empty time while he was taking a “break” from torturing him – with his cruel words that succeeded where hours of physical torment had failed, making Spike want to just give in and give up.

Because if Riley was right – if that night he had shared with Buffy truly meant nothing to her at all – then there was no point to this miserable existence of slavery at all.

He had no freedom, no life of his own, having been reduced to a state of cruel bondage in slavery. His very life was constantly in the hands of others. He was considered by the law to be less than a person, but not even allowed the rights of an animal. He was a slave.

But he was hers.

And if she did not want him – he was nothing.


“Oh my God!” Tara spoke in a hushed voice of dread as they got out of the car in Buffy’s driveway, and she stared up at the massive mansion before them. “I can feel it, Will…so strong! The bad energy that’s stealing Buffy’s strength!”

“Is it a spell?” Willow asked hopefully. As they had discussed on the way over, if a spell was being used to steal Buffy’s power, chances were good that a simple reversal spell would do the trick, returning her power to her without having to chance the risky situation of trying to perform the spell in the presence of both Buffy and her husband, who would certainly not want the spell to be performed at all.

Tara nodded slowly. “Yes. I think it is.”

Buffy rushed into the house ahead of them, a deeply worried frown creasing her brow. The lovers exchanged a look of concern and followed her quickly, Xander and Anya right behind them.

“Buffy,” Willow said, “you need to wait to face him until we know if this is gonna work. Until we get your power back from him. He’s too strong, he’ll hurt you!”

“Spike!” Buffy called, glancing around the living room anxiously, before turning to respond to her friend. “There’s no time to wait, Will. If Riley’s here, then he’s hurting Spike, and I have to stop him, *now*.”

“Buffy…you *can’t* stop him until we do this spell,” Tara gently reminded her. “You won’t be strong enough.”

Buffy had to admit that they were right, letting out an impatient sigh, glancing toward the stairs leading up to her bedroom, anxious to go and look for Spike and her husband. “How long does the spell take?”

“Not long,” Willow assured her, shaking her head. “Five or ten minutes?”

“Do I have to be right here?” Buffy asked quickly.

“Well…no,” Tara admitted. “But…”

“Okay, then,” Buffy interrupted. “I’m going to go find them. You two do the spell, and by the time I get to them, I shouldn’t have too long to wait before I get my strength back.”

“But Buffy,” Xander objected, concern in his dark eyes as he faced her. “What if the spell doesn’t work? What if you don’t get your power back, and that jerk tries to hurt you? I’m going with you, Buffy!” he declared.

Before she could object, Willow broke in, “And what if you find them before you get your strength back? You could still get hurt before we could finish the spell!”

Buffy was silent for a moment, searching her eyes. Finally she answered, her voice low and determined and leaving no room for argument, “Then I guess you guys had better get started, hadn’t you?”

Willow stared at her, surprised. But then, she slowly nodded. In a way, she was glad to see the return of her strong, decisive friend that had disappeared along the way somewhere, swallowed up in Riley’s massive shadow.

Buffy turned to Xander, her expression solemn. “Come on,” she said.

Xander breathed a shaky sigh of relief that she had accepted his offer of help, and took off after her up the stairs.

“Spike!” Buffy called loudly, but there was no response.

“Well, you heard her,” Willow said with a smile, in spite of the situation as she turned to face her lover. “Guess we’d better get started.”


Velvet was beginning to get bored, now that Riley had decided to take a break. After a few minutes, Riley had even tired of the verbal abuse he had enjoyed heaping on the helpless vampire, and sat in silence, just resting a bit and catching his breath.

He had actually been exerting himself quite a bit in torturing Spike.

Velvet looked hesitantly to her master, and then at Spike, then back at Riley questioningly. Riley smiled, amused, and nodded his permission, leaning back to watch what his favorite slave would do.

Velvet sauntered toward Spike with a smug smile on her full, pretty lips. “I’m impressed,” she said with a smirk. “Took you longer to get dusted than I thought it would.”

Spike gave her a disgusted, hate-filled look, as if she was something too far beneath him to even acknowledge. But then, he did acknowledge her, briefly, as he ground out in a bare whisper, “I’m not dust yet, love.”

Velvet laughed out loud, amazed at his nerve. “Soon enough,” she reminded him. She drew close to him, her body less than an inch from him, her eyes meeting his in a challenge as she said softly, “You shouldn’t have messed with me, Spike. When it comes to the slaves around here – they don’t get any higher up than me. You play nice with me, you do all right here. You don’t…” she shrugged and stepped back a little, giving him a derisive up and down look. “…well, we can see what happens.”

Spike was silent for a moment. Then, much to her surprise – and irritation – he laughed weakly.

“What?” she demanded, a slightly defensive note in her voice. What in the world did he have to laugh about?

“I was just thinkin’,” he struggled to get the words out, his head falling back a little as he spoke, too weak even to hold it up anymore. “Funny, that. You in your little position…me in mine…and still…you’re the one who’s most miserable.”

Velvet’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I really don’t think so!” she snapped. “What makes you think that *you’ve* got it better than me?” she demanded.

Spike struggled to keep his eyes open and make them meet hers, but his mouth turned up in the beginnings of a knowing smile, and he nodded his head slightly to direct her to come closer.

Curiousity mingled with her anger, she complied.

As if telling her some grave secret, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Because I still haven’t sold out yet…never bloody will…” He paused, and his contempt for her was clear in his voice. “…and you do every bloody night…”

Her eyes widened in disbelief, his painfully true words like a blow to her. And then, fury began to build in her gaze. “How dare you!” she snarled, her eyes flashing amber for a moment. “You worthless little…” She shook her head, her voice trailing off as she took a menacing step toward him, and it was clear that she wanted to tear him to pieces herself. At the last moment, she drew back, knowing that her master would not be pleased if she took it upon herself to mess with his toy.

“Go ahead, Velvet,” Riley’s voice suddenly spoke from behind her, and she turned to look at him, startled. He had been watching intently as the little scene unfolded. “I’m about through. It’s all over but the dusting, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “So do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Velvet’s eyes widened further in disbelief, and she turned slowly back to face Spike with a cruel smile, morphing into her natural vampire face as she did. She moved in quickly, gripping the hair at the back of his neck and yanking his head back, exposing his throat.

He struggled weakly to pull away, so exhausted and injured by this point that he could barely move, but still unwilling to submit to this. For a master vampire such as him, to be forcibly fed from, was terribly painful – not to mention humiliating, the ultimate insult, when the draining was done by a lesser vampire such as Velvet. He struggled as best he could to defend the little dignity he had left, but his efforts were pitifully weak, and utterly useless.

Velvet sank her fangs viciously into his throat, deliberately tearing his flesh with her fangs, drinking from him greedily, a vindictive desire to hurt and humiliate him motivating her actions.

Within only a minute or two, she had nearly completely drained him, and he could feel the world spinning around him, everything fading into darkness. He struggled for consciousness, but knew that he was losing the battle.

Sod the battle…he was losing the bloody war.

Just before everything faded away, spinning and swirling into black, he heard a faint, echoing voice in his head – musical and sweet and incredibly beautiful to him, and he could not be sure if he heard it or only imagined that he did. But despite the dark fog that swiftly shrouded him, he could clearly hear the words she spoke.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to touch other people’s things without asking?”

Buffy did not think, did not pause to reason out what she was going to do and the possible consequences. All she knew, all that mattered to her in that moment, was that Riley’s little whore, who had already stolen so much of what was dear to her, had her vicious fangs in Spike’s throat, and was draining him.

A consuming sense of possessive rage ran through her -- how dare that little bitch touch *her* vampire! -- and her blood ran cold at the sight, as she actually saw the condition that Spike was in. He barely even looked alive -- well, undead -- and she did not know what sort of an effect being drained would have on a badly injured, weakened vampire – but she did not want to find out.

She reacted in an instant, taking her stake from her back pocket and hurling it with flawless aim across the room, where it buried itself in the back of the startled vampiress, then clattered to the floor as her dust settled over the limp, unconscious body of her victim.

And just like that -- she was gone.

Velvet had thought that her compliance, her efforts to please her master, would protect her, and had reveled in the status and affection that they had gained her. But in the end, it had not helped her at all. For all her threats, for all her feeble attempts to demonstrate her own “power”, Velvet was now only a memory, to fade away unloved and unmissed.

Well…mostly.

“Buffy, what the hell?” Riley snapped, furious and shocked that his favorite toy had been destroyed. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, no pretense of caring or affection for his wife in his voice now.

Still standing in the doorway, Buffy ignored him completely, stalking past him to cross the room in an instant to Spike's side, Xander close behind her. Xander slowed to a stop a few feet away, his eyes wide in shock at the sight of the vampire, literally torn to shreds by the brutality of Riley's whip. On odd smell filled the room, like...something *burning*...and suddenly, he noticed the darkened, singed spots tracing the lash marks on Spike's body.

"My God," he whispered, horror and disgust clear in his voice. "What did he *do*...!"

“Spike,” Buffy said softly, her voice choked with tears, hardly aware that her friend was even there with her anymore. “Spike!” She raised her voice slightly, but got absolutely no response. He was completely unconscious, slumped against the viciously tight chains that cut into his wrists.

She felt absolutely sick with fear and guilt as she took in the horrific cruelty that had been inflicted on him, afraid to touch him, afraid that there was no place she *could* touch him that would not aggravate his terrible injuries.

*If only I hadn’t left him, just stormed away…because he committed the unpardonable offense of *daring* to try to tell me he *loves* me,* her thoughts bitterly accused her. *God, I hurt him myself! – and I just left him here for Riley to…*

Her tears of shame and regret streaked her face at the realization that she was the one to blame for this; she had left Spike at Riley’s mercy, more concerned for her own pride than she had been for his well-being…and now because of her, he was hanging there tortured and abused and barely hanging on to existence.

She realized in that instant – she *could not* lose Spike! It was only because of his gentle persistence, his concern for her happiness, that she had been reunited with her friends after their long estrangement, and had discovered what Riley had been doing to her at all!

And it was more than that, she admitted. His love and compassion had soothed the ache in her heart left by her husband’s cruelty – an ache that returned now at the sight of him, hanging there helpless, so abused and savaged by a man she had once thought she loved.

Her thoughts were cut off when Riley’s strong hand grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face him. “Why would you do a stupid thing like that, you little *bitch*!” Riley snarled at her, enraged at the loss of his slave, raising his fist to strike out at her, and instinctively, Buffy flinched.

"Hey," Xander broke in angrily, reaching around to grip Riley's much larger, stronger arm and bravely turn him away from Buffy, though the move only shifted Riley a little toward him. "Don't you touch her, pal." There was a clear threat in the voice of the smaller man, and his eyes told her that he meant it with everything in him.

Buffy felt a rush of pride and affection in the courage that her friend was displaying. Neither of them had any idea whether or not Riley still had the strength of the Slayer behind him, and even in his *own* strength, Riley was a far stronger and more experienced fighter -- but Xander did not care. All that mattered to him was that Riley was trying to hurt Buffy, and he would stop him, or die trying.

A cruel sneer on his face as he glanced derisively down at Xander's hand on his arm, Riley released Buffy and turned to face the boy completely. He shrugged with a cold smile. "Okay," he conceded. Then, without warning, he drew back his fist and slammed it down across Xander's face, hard.

And in that moment, as she watched her friend stagger backward, stumbling, and her husband advance on him to hit him again -- something snapped in Buffy.

The months and years of neglect and emotional cruelty, the way this man had systematically made her believe that she was stupid and weak and utterly undeserving of what little affection he spared her, until she was reluctant to accept love and affection from anyone...

The way the emotional hurt had escalated to physical abuse, Riley using his greater strength -- his *stolen* strength -- to intimidate and hurt her, while claiming to love her...while somehow even managing to convince her that it was *her* fault, that she had brought the abuse on herself...

And worst of all, what he had just done to Spike, to punish him, no doubt, for the love and affection he had poured out on *her*. Riley's possessive nature had driven him to brutally torture the slave for simply daring to love what was "his" -- what he had rejected and despised so many times that he no longer had the right to claim it...

And now, yet again, a man who cared for her, who wanted to help her, was being savagely struck down for it.

All at once, there was an utter clarity to her about the whole situation.

Riley did not love her. He only wanted to *have* her...as *his*...and if he could not, he would hurt anyone who got in the way of that.

Even if it was her.

Suddenly...Buffy had had enough.

She wondered for a moment if Willow and Tara had managed to complete the spell, even as she launched herself forward at the man who was still venting his rage on her friend. Xander had managed to get in a couple of good blows, but was now backed against the wall, Riley's huge meaty fists pummeling into him without restraint.

With a power that she had not wielded in far too long, Buffy moved swiftly toward her husband, gripping his shoulder and effortlessly spinning him around to face her, her eyes blazing with fury, her fists poised and ready. She was pleased at how easy the move had been for her, a sign that the witches downstairs must have completed their work.

*Well,* she thought with a sense of satisfaction. *Guess that answers *that* question.*

"You want a fight so bad, Riley?" she challenged him, her voice trembling with rage. "Why don't you pick on someone *my* size?"

Riley did not quite understand yet exactly what had happened, and he looked absolutely stunned that she was daring to come up against him like this. She had not had the strength to successfully take him on for a very long time now, and she had not had the spirit to for...well, longer. Yet here she was, standing bravely, fiercely, before him in an unmistakable battle stance.

He laughed. "Buffy," he said in a patronizing, warning tone. "Trust me. You don't wanna touch me, Honey..."

"You're right," she shot back matter-of-factly with a cold smile that at one time she had reserved for the vampires that found themselves on the business end of her stake. "I really don't. But sometimes," she shrugged. "You've gotta make sacrifices."

And with that, she delivered a brutal blow with her fist to his stomach -- since she couldn't reach his face -- which doubled him over in surprised pain at the force of the blow, and brought her more desired target into range. She followed up the first punch with a solid blow to his face, sending him stumbling to the ground, blood pouring from his broken nose.

The Slayer's power was back where it belonged.

Stunned, confused, still not quite comprehending the astonishing shift of power that had just taken place, Riley staggered to his feet. "What...how could you...?" he gasped, taking a cautious step back away from her.

"No, Riley," she snapped with rising anger. "I should be asking *you* that question! How could *you* do what you did to me? You put a spell on me, to steal my strength!"

"No!" Riley insisted, backing away with the first show of genuine fear he had made, as it finally dawned on him that Buffy not only knew what he had done, but had somehow managed to undo it as well. "No, Buffy! I don't know what you're talking about..."

Her fist across his face again silenced his protest. "You stole my power, Riley," she stated, her tone making it clear that she was talking about more than the spell, her fiery emerald gaze an undeniable accusation. "You took what was strong, and confident, and powerful in me and you crushed it -- and what you couldn't crush...you took for yourself."

"Buffy..." he began again, but she punched him again in the stomach, his back to the wall now, and the blow knocking the breath from his body.

"No!" she cut him off forcefully. "You made me believe that I was stupid, and...and *less* than you! You made me think that no one else would ever love me, Riley. But you were wrong..."

She was startled by the sound of the harsh, breathless laugh that Riley let out at that, in spite of the pain from the beating she was giving him, and paused, a slow, incredulous frown forming on her face. "What?" she asked in a low, warning voice.

"I was wrong," he sneered, just before a fit of coughing came over him from the injuries she had already inflicted. "Yeah. Cause your little sex toy over there...he *really* loves you…right, Buffy?"

Buffy did not understand exactly what he was getting at, but the harsh reference to Spike made her flinch a bit, realizing that that was exactly what she had made him – how she had treated him. She shook her head slightly in confusion. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, a low, menacing sound to her voice as her anger slowly built.

"I overheard your little conversation this morning, Buffy," Riley went on, his voice weak but still triumphant. "And I know he says he *loves* you. But it's like I said, honey...that's not real...*he's* not real...it's nothing but a fantasy..." He paused, a cruel smirk coming over his face as he dealt his final blow, "...which suits *you* just fine, doesn't it?"

The words struck her like a slap across the face, reminding her of her own behavior toward Spike the night before, and that morning. She had used him heartlessly, aware that he cared for her, even if he had not yet told her out right that he loved her, thinking only of her own pain.

And then, she had compounded the injury she had caused, by refusing to even be honest with him, to even acknowledge what had happened between them at all, in fact. He had begged her just to talk to him, and she had struck him in the face without a second thought, brutally driving home the message that he was nothing more to her than a thing that belonged to her – to command, to use, to hurt if she so chose…but never to love.

Now, as her eyes were drawn again to the ravaged body of the faithful, gentle slave, broken by her cold misuse before Riley had ever touched him, she did not know if any of that was true anymore.

Could she really say that he was not a person, not capable of loving or being loved, when he had been the one to remind her of just how much more she could have than her painful, loveless marriage? When he had given her back the love that she had shared with her friends, and given up…for *Riley*?

She was so confused, she did not know much of anything for sure anymore.

She *did* know that she had to get Spike out of here, right away, because as bad as he looked, she did not know how much longer he was going to last. She didn’t know if vampires could dust from loss of blood, and she didn’t know how much holy water had touched him, or how much it would take to kill him.

She knew that once they got out of this, she was going to have a lot of serious thinking to do, about the ideas that had governed her life for so long.

And she knew that he was hers. He *did* belong to her…and he was hers to defend, to protect, from the cruelty that had nearly claimed his life this day.

“Don’t try to tell *me* anything about love, Riley,” she snapped, a little defensively. “If you had *ever* loved me, you couldn’t have done what you did to me! If you *loved* me you wouldn’t have preferred me weak and helpless and as much a slave as any of your whores!”

As she spoke, her fist shot out into his stomach again, doubling him over in pain, and she followed it up with a brutal blow across his upper back that dropped him to the floor on his knees.

“But I’m *not* one of your whores, Riley,” she said, her voice little more than a trembling whisper of fury and triumph. “I’m not your *anything* anymore.” She kicked him hard, in the ribs, slamming him back into the wall behind him, hard, glaring down at him in contempt and disgust, much calmer now that she had vented some of her rage.

He knelt there at her feet, coughing and choking on the blood from internal injuries her beating had created, and she felt no guilt, no remorse. All she had to do was take one look at the brutalized, violated body of her slave -- who had come to mean so much more to her than this man at her feet who had never done anything but hurt her – to know that her actions were more than justified.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Xander heard footsteps rushing down the stairs, and turned to see Willow and Tara standing in the doorway, halted in frozen shock at the sight of what had been done to Spike.

“I’m leaving you, Riley,” Buffy said, her voice cold and clear, and drawing the attention of the two women, as well as Xander. “I’m leaving tonight. My friends are here to help me…just like they’ve always been. I was just too stupid and blind to see it.”

She paused for a moment, looking down, and then back up, directly at her friends, acknowledging her own guilt. “That is not something I can blame on you. That was my mistake. I should *never*…have chosen *you*…over them.”

The firm, unshakable assurance in her voice brought tears to the eyes of her friends, as she looked back on her fallen husband. “I’m getting my things, and I’m taking *my* slave…and I’m leaving you, Riley.”

She turned slowly away from Riley to give her attention to Spike.

“B-buffy,” Riley gasped, recovered enough from her beating to attempt to rise. There was disbelief in his eyes at what she had said, as he braced himself against the wall to stand. “Buffy…” he went on, shaking his head a little. “I’m your *husband*…”

She stopped and turned back toward him for a moment, meeting his eyes with a certain regret at the loss of what she had only thought she had, as she smiled sadly and said, “No. You’re not.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending, as she met his eyes unfaltering and continued, shaking her own head in sorrow, but with a soft smile of acceptance beginning on her lips.

“You were never mine at all.”

“Come on, help me. We need to get him down, fast.” There was a strange calm in Buffy’s voice that belied the fear in her eyes as she looked at the broken body of her vampire, still suspended in the same cruelly painful position he had been in for hours now. “Will…there’s blankets in the bedrooms down the hall. Could you bring me some?”

Willow immediately headed down the hall, and Tara followed her, eager to be able to do something to help.

“Xander,” Buffy instructed him softly, “help me,” as she moved to Spike’s side, trying to think of a way to get him down as gently as possible, without hurting him any more.

“You’re gonna be sorry for this, Buffy,” Riley sneered from where he crouched on the floor, holding his battered ribcage, gasping a bit still from the pain of the beating he had taken. “I don’t think I have to remind you that I’m a very powerful man.”

Buffy closed her eyes and stood there for a moment, her back still turned to him as she tried to control the rage building again inside her at the very sight of what Riley had done to Spike, tried to maintain the calm she knew she needed to help him. Finally, she shook her head and turned decisively back toward Riley.

“I should just ignore you,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You’re just distracting me. But that’s turning out to be a little harder than I thought it would be.”

A cocky grin spread over Riley’s face at her words, as he looked up at her with defiance and self-satisfaction.

The look was wiped from his face, into a slack, unseeing expression when her foot connected with his temple, hard, knocking his head into the wall and his mind into unconsciousness.

Turning back toward Xander with a shrug and a small smile, her calm firmly back in place, Buffy said simply, almost cheerfully, “Problem solved.”

Xander wiped the blood that still flowed from his split lip with the back of his hand, as he slowly returned her smile, pleased at the solution she had found. He had taken a few blows from Riley himself in trying to defend Buffy, and that was nothing compared to what Riley had done to the vampire before them. As he turned his eyes to Spike, he thought grimly that Riley deserved anything that Buffy might decide to do to him.

Buffy’s smile promptly faded when she followed her friend’s gaze and returned her attention to Spike, reaching up to carefully inspect the chains that bound his wrists. Fortunately, they fastened without the use of a key, so she could easily open the painfully small manacles that bound him.

She caught his weight as gently as possible, as he slumped down into her arms, moaning softly in agony as his torn, burned flesh came into contact with the stiff white fabric of her shirt, smearing it with his blood, and – Buffy felt a little sick at the realization – ash. She felt a pain in her own heart when she realized that his suffering had been enough to rouse him from unconsciousness.

As she carefully shifted his weight in her arms, wincing even as she did so, knowing that it would cause him more pain, a soft whimpering sound rose in his throat, and his head rolled back onto her shoulder. His eyes were still closed, but she felt an odd little twist inside when even in his state of semi-consciousness, he nuzzled his face against her neck, seeking the comfort of her nearness.

*Comfort,* she sneered at herself bitterly. *How can you offer him comfort? It’s your fault he’s hurt like this!* As she looked down through tear-filled eyes, she imagined that beneath the blood and bruises from Riley’s abuse, she could see the bruise that preceded it – the single one that she had left on his face that morning, glaring out in her vision, worse than all the others.

“Shh,” she murmured soothingly against his ear. “It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike, we’re gonna get you out of here.”

Willow and Tara showed up just then, with the blankets, and Buffy turned toward them, Xander close behind her.

“Okay,” she said in a softly decisive tone, “let’s get him out to the car…” Her voice trailed off at the horror-stricken expression on Willow’s face as she took in the sight of the battered burden she carried.

“My God, Buffy,” she whispered, shaking her head. “What did he do to him?”

Buffy felt her throat close off and fresh tears spring to her eyes, so that she could not answer. *What you *let* him do to him,* her inner voice responded with bitter accusation. *If you’d have stopped him…left him…a long time ago, none of this would have happened!* The tears rolled down her cheeks, clearing her vision a little.

She could not meet the eyes of her friends, afraid that they were also mindful of her guilt in the situation, as she carried Spike’s limp body out of the room and up the basement stairs, the entire Scoobie entourage following in her wake.

The car was large, but still not meant to comfortably seat more than five, especially when one of them was not capable of sitting up on his own. After a few minutes of discussion over what would be the best arrangement, Anya and Willow crammed together into the front seat with Xander, who was driving, while Tara and Buffy sat on either side in the back, with Spike between them, almost fully supported by Buffy’s strong arms around him.

“Don’t you – don’t you need anything? Before you go?” Willow asked her anxiously, turning in her seat as Xander turned the key in the ignition. “Clothes? Anything?”

“I’ll come back,” Buffy sniffed back tears as she replied, her eyes still focused on Spike. “Right now we just need to get him out of here and taken care of.”

The power of the affection and concern she felt for the semi-conscious vampire on the seat beside her surprised and overwhelmed her. She had been trying to deny the feelings that she had been developing for him, afraid of the effect those feelings might have on her marriage.

But now, that farcical marriage meant nothing, and she had had a revelation that had thrown her entire world view, every thought pattern on which her life was based, into a tailspin.

The man she had been struggling so hard to be faithful to…did not exist.

Riley had never loved her, not really, and had made no such attempts to honor their marriage as she had -- well, until last night. Seeing the horrific devastation he had left of Spike’s body had driven the point home to her with violent force -- Riley Finn was not a person that she even knew anymore. She had probably never really known him to begin with.

She was pulled suddenly out of her pensive thoughts by the sound of a weak voice at her side. "B-buffy?" Spike gasped out, his swollen eyes open just a bit, and struggling to focus on her face. His seemed disoriented, not knowing where he was or what was happening, and his voice was so uncertain and afraid that her heart hurt at the sound.

At that moment, Xander pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, not very hard, but the forward motion of the car jarred Spike's abused body, pain shooting all through him at the sudden movement, and he let out a soft cry of pain.

"Sorry!" Xander winced from the front seat, giving the Slayer an apologetic look in the rearview mirror. "I'm driving as easy as I can."

Buffy reached a comforting hand toward Spike's face, stunned when in his pain and confusion, he flinched back away from her hand. "*Mistress*," he quickly corrected himself in a pained whisper. "M-mistress...I -- I'm sorry." He struggled to get the words out against the wave of pain that shuddered through his body.

Buffy felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She could not even breathe for a moment as an overwhelming sense of guilt came over her with the realization that in his confusion, Spike had thought that she had intended to punish him, for such a simple, innocent "offense" as calling her by her name.

*We were past that,* she thought, confused and dismayed by his reaction.

*Yeah,* she reminded herself with a self-directed sneer. *Until you pushed him back again...*

"No, no," she said hurriedly, gently stroking back his disheveled blonde curls in an attempt to reassure him, even as he flinched back from her again, expecting a blow. "No, it's okay, Spike. You didn't do anything wrong, it's okay."

Her soothing soft touch and reassuring voice seemed to calm him, and she was relieved to feel his tense body relaxing against her, allowing her to support his weight in her arms again. She glanced up to look at her friends around her -- and was stunned by the expression on Tara's face.

The blonde witch was staring at her, a look of rising accusation -- and disgust -- in her soft grey eyes. Buffy felt a sense of shame come over her, realizing it was a reaction to the little scene that had just passed between her and her slave, and did not attempt to defend herself. Tara had seen exactly what she believed she had seen, and Buffy had no defense.

If she had never hurt Spike before, never taken out her fury on him over some minor thing that really did not deserve to be punished, even in his state of semi-conscious confusion, he would not have *expected* to be punished simply for speaking her name.

Buffy knew very well that Tara, like her other friends, was strongly against the slavery movement, and found the practice disgusting and appalling. But this was the first time that it had occurred to her to wonder how they would react to the fact of her ownership of Spike.

She lowered her eyes in shame, unable to look at Tara for the rest of the ride back to Willow and Tara's house.

When they reached their destination, Buffy gently carried the wounded vampire into the house in her arms. Willow went ahead of her to lay down a couple of soft blankets on the couch, and then hurried off to the bathroom to get first aid supplies. Tara flew into action behind her, heading for the kitchen to get some things to help clean his many grievous wounds.

Buffy carefully lowered herself down on the floor by the couch, to lay Spike gently on top of the soft blankets that covered it. He bit back a cry of pain as she slowly slid her arms out from under his body, turning his head away, and she cringed, almost feeling the pain herself.

"It's okay, Spike," she whispered reassuringly, one gentle hand running through his hair, the other reaching for his hand. "It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna take care of you."

He turned his head back to look at her through pain-clouded eyes of startling blue, and she squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly, in hers. "B-buffy," he whispered. "I -- I..." Another spasm of pain hit him, and he stifled a moan before struggling on, "He -- he said -- you w-wouldn't...come..."

"Shhh," she whispered, her voice firm but gentle, lowering her hand from his hair to brush over his dry, trembling lips. “You’re safe now. You’re here with me, and I’m gonna take care of you,” she assured him, a rare tenderness in her eyes and her voice.

His deep, expressive eyes stared into hers for a long moment, and she could see fear, uncertainty, and the hurt from her earlier actions still evident in them. But there was also undeniable love, and a tremendous sense of relief. As he looked at her, he leaned his scarred, bruised cheek into the caress of her hand, and her heart ached with the desperation of his need for her reassurance, for her to undo the hurt she had caused that morning with her rejection.

She was surprised at the fierce possessive desire that came over her, at the simple, submissive gesture of trust and affection from her vampire slave, who was slowly but surely coming to be so much more to her. She knew that he longed to be hers, truly, to be loved and cherished by her as much as he loved and cherished her himself. She knew that above all, he yearned to hear from her mouth the words he had spoken to her the night before.

She could not give him what he wanted, not all of it – not yet. Her heart was bruised and battered, still huddled among the wreckage of the relationship she had just now found the strength to end. She was terribly confused about her feelings for her husband, and for her slave, and could not even tell *herself* how exactly she felt about Spike. How could she possibly tell *him*?

But as she gazed down into those wide, trusting eyes, so devoted and filled even now with his longing to please her, she felt a rush of warmth for him flood her heart, and she knew that there was at least part of what he wanted that she could give to him.

Holding his gaze the entire time, she leaned slowly down to place a tender, chaste kiss on his bruised lips. She felt him beginning to hungrily return the kiss, despite his injuries that made the slightest movement painful, and felt his body tense in pain at the effort.

Gently, she pushed him back down with her hand at his shoulder. “You’re mine, Spike,” she told him slowly, earnestly, meeting his eyes firmly as she spoke the words that were a comfort, rather than a bond. She was claiming him, not for her to use and to hurt, but to protect and cherish. “You’re mine – and I’m not gonna leave you behind, and I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you, ever again. I promise, Spike. I promise.”

There was so much more than mere ownership expressed in her words, reaffirmed by the look in her eyes, which remained intent on his, as her hand ran slowly through his hair again in a soothing, reassuring rhythm. Her soft words and touch served to make him feel safe and secure again, after the horrible ordeal he had endured, and he allowed his body to relax into the couch on which he lay, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Buffy...” he whispered. “Buffy, I love you…” Crystal blue eyes opened again to search hers, so open and vulnerable that it took her breath away.

There was a wealth of emotion in her glistening green eyes as she just looked at him, not having any words to say, as she could not speak the ones he longed to hear. Affection, sorrow, relief, all mingled in her expression, all things she simply could not find the words to express.

So she did not use words at all, and simply leaned down to give him another brief, tender kiss, claiming as hers what she had once denied. She could not honestly say that she loved him, not with any certainty, not yet. But she knew that he loved *her*, and that she wanted him, and that he meant more to her than the man she had been married to for the past five years. She knew that it was his love for her that had drawn her out of that miserable situation, and that she wanted to do everything in her power to thank him for it, no matter how long it took.

And for that moment…that was all she needed to know.

Willow returned with an armload of various first aid supplies, which she set down on the floor by Buffy’s knees. “I’m not sure if any of this stuff will work on a vampire,” she said apologetically. “But it can’t hurt.”

Tara was right behind her with a basin of warm water and a couple of soft cloths. Without a word to Buffy she knelt on the floor beside Spike and dipped one of the cloths into the water, wringing it out and gently blotting away the blood from one of the countless lash marks that covered Spike’s battered legs.

His eyes were closed again, hovering between wakefulness and oblivion, but he winced in pain at the contact. He was too weak even to pull away, but Buffy felt his grip on her hand tighten, and he drew in his breath sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Tara said softly. “I’m trying not to hurt you, Spike.”

“ ‘S all right…Glinda,” he barely managed to get the words out in a whisper, and Tara smiled in spite of herself as tears flooded her eyes, at the familiar nickname from years ago.

As she moved on to the next wound, he cringed again at the light pressure that caused so much pain, and turned his head unconsciously toward Buffy, pressing his face against her shoulder and gasping to keep from crying out.

Buffy felt an unreasonable protective anger rising up in her, though she knew that Tara was only doing what needed to be done. They had to get the remaining traces of the holy water and the ashes it had created off of him, had to get his open wounds – no longer bleeding; not enough blood left – treated and bound up; and Buffy knew that was a task that was not going to be accomplished without some pain.

Still, the fiercely possessive, protective streak that she had just discovered existed in her heart for Spike, saw only that Tara’s touch was increasing his pain. “Easy,” she snapped quietly, as her hand came to rest at the back of his head, holding him close to her, supporting him as he leaned into her for comfort. “Be careful.”

She did not miss the way Tara’s jaw set with barely restrained anger and she waited a moment before answering in a voice that was soft but cold, “I am being careful, Buffy. He’s hurt pretty bad, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She paused, as if hesitating to say what was in her mind, and then said it anyway. “Unless maybe this is just normal for you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Buffy demanded, not raising her voice, conscious of the traumatized vampire cradled in her arms, and not wanting to upset him.

Tara just shook her head, the expression on her face saying that she had already said more than she had intended.

“You know, I can handle this!” Buffy said suddenly, releasing Spike’s hand and reaching for the other cloth on the floor beside her. “You don’t have to do this.” The words themselves were not offensive, but her tone was one of irritation, making it clear that she wanted Tara to leave her and Spike alone, and keep her opinions to herself.

Her opinions simply hit too close to home for Buffy’s comfort.

“No, I *don’t* have to,” Tara shot back. “I *want* to, because Spike needs *somebody* here who’s gonna treat him like an actual person!”

Buffy was stung by the accusation, but not as much as by its echo of truth in her heart. She did not speak for a moment, trying to gain control of her emotions, aware that she was in the other woman’s home, and that Tara had already gone far out of her way to help her and Spike tonight, regardless of her opinion after the fact. No matter how angry she was, she had to keep a certain level of respect.

“Tara…if you wouldn’t mind just giving us a little privacy…believe it or not, I *can* take care of him…”

“Why?” Tara demanded, and Buffy was surprised by the fury rising in the eyes of usually soft-spoken witch. “So you can coach him on what’s acceptable and what’s not to tell us? So you can have the *privacy* to hurt him again?”

Tara’s first comment had had the sting of truth to it, and Buffy’s defensive anger had been tempered by the knowledge that as much as it hurt to hear it, she was right. But this accusation was one that she knew she was innocent of. At this moment, the idea of hurting or threatening Spike was as abhorrent to her as anything she could conceive of.

“You don’t know me,” she stated in a low voice, trembling with anger, meeting the other woman’s eyes with fury and defiance. “You have no idea about any of this, so if you would please just leave us alone…”

As she spoke, she pulled slightly away from Spike, reaching for the basin to pull it toward her. She was surprised when he reached weakly toward her, with a soft whimper, and she was not sure whether it was at the separation, or at the pain from his attempt to get closer to her again.

She immediately put her arm around him, and her heart ached for him when he leaned into her again, one hand weakly clutching at her arm, trying to hold her to him. “What is it?” she asked him in a gentle whisper, her hand rising to lightly stroke down the side of his face in a reassuring way. “It’s okay. What is it, Spike?”

“Please,” he whispered, and she could hear the desperation in his faint voice. “Buffy… please…stay here…I need…” His voice failed him, as he seemed to lose his nerve halfway through the heart-rending plea, but she understood what it was that he needed from her.

Whether it was her or Tara who actually tended to his wounds, she knew that the pain was going to be inevitable. What he needed desperately was for her to hold him through it.

“Okay…okay, Baby,” she whispered, surprised at the affectionate word that passed her lips. “I’m right here…I’m right here…” She looked up at Tara, communicating permission to proceed with her eyes, though not saying a word.

Equally expressive without using words, Tara gave her a look that told her clearly that she would have gone on anyway, with or without Buffy’s consent.

Through the long, tedious and for Spike, very painful process of treating his injuries, Buffy just stayed there on her knees beside the couch, her trembling, hurting vampire cradled in her arms, whispering reassurances and comforts in his ear as he tried to hold back the cries of pain that rose up in him.

“It’s okay,” Buffy said softly, her eyes welling with tears when she realized how hard he was trying to be quiet. “I know it hurts…go ahead and yell if you want to…cry, scream, it’s okay. You don’t have to be quiet, Spike.”

He did not react, except to grip her arm tighter and bury his face deeper against her chest.

“It’s okay,” she insisted. “Riley’s gone, Spike. No one here is gonna hurt you. We don’t mind, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”

At her reassuring words, he still did not make a sound, but she felt his body shaking slightly against her as he released a silent sob against her chest. “That’s it, Spike. It’s okay,” she encouraged him gently, knowing that he needed to let it out.

She glanced up to see Tara staring at her with a questioning look in her soft grey eyes, her gaze deep and penetrating. When she looked at her, however, the witch looked away and resumed her gentle ministrations to the suffering vampire. She had not spoken another word to Buffy, and she was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

It took over an hour to tend to all of the terrible wounds on the front side of Spike’s body, followed by the excruciating, nerve-wracking act of turning him onto his stomach to reach the damage that had been done to his other side. Then, Spike *did* cry out, sobbing with the agony of it, and Buffy just kept her arms around him, soothing him and giving him a few minutes to recover before starting in again. Nearly three hours after they had started, every cut and burn had been treated and bound up with soft bandages.

“Okay, Spike,” Buffy said, meeting his eyes firmly, but with sympathy. “This is gonna hurt…I’m sorry…but we need to get you upstairs and into bed, okay?”

He set his jaw firmly and gave her a slight nod, and the trusting look in his wide blue eyes filled her heart with affection and her eyes with tears. Carefully, she lifted him into her arms and followed the still-silent Tara up the stairs to the guest bedroom that Willow had prepared for their unexpected guest. Once he was settled as comfortably as possible, nestled among the many pillows and covered with soft, warm blankets, Buffy turned to follow Tara downstairs.

“No,” Spike objected softly, reaching for her hand. Then, at the surprised look she gave him when she turned to face him, he quickly dropped his gaze. “I – I mean…please… Buffy…don’t leave…” He struggled with the plea, obviously ashamed that he even felt the need to utter it.

Buffy crouched down beside him again, taking his hand and gazing into his eyes with a warmth and compassion that completely took his breath away. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him. “We’re just gonna get you something to eat, Spike. You need blood to get better, okay?”

He thought of saying that Tara could easily handle that task herself, but then thought better of it and simply nodded.

Buffy placed a tender kiss on his lips briefly before turning back to Tara…who was giving her a look of such smoldering anger that it stunned her. Without a word, Tara turned and led her down the stairs and to the kitchen.

Buffy did not say anything – not really sure what to say – until they reached the kitchen, and Tara had filled a mug from the bags of blood that Willow had gone out for earlier, placing it in the microwave to heat. Xander and Anya had gone home a while ago, and Willow had said only that she had to make a phone call, disappearing into another room.

And leaving Buffy in the clutches of a very angry witch.

“Look…Tara…” she finally ventured, speaking to the other girl’s back. Tara was staring stonily at the numbers on the microwave. “I don’t know what you must think of me. I know it’s hard to understand. But you don’t know me. My relationship with…”

“Your *relationship*?” Tara interrupted, turning toward her suddenly with an incredulous look, her own voice trembling with emotion. “How is this a *relationship*, Buffy? When you *own* him like a…a piece of furniture, or a…a pet, or something that you can just use any way you want? This is not a relationship, Buffy!”

The words struck Buffy hard, carrying the ring of uncomfortable truth, as she remembered again the way she had taken advantage not only of Spike’s love for her, but of his position as her “property”, to use him for her own comfort, with no regard for his feelings, or the effect it might have on him.

After all – he belonged to her, didn’t he? He was hers, to do whatever she wanted with. According to the law, he had no rights to be considered. Tara’s painfully accurate words smote her with a sensation of tremendous guilt at the power she had assumed over Spike, and the way she had abused it.

“Maybe that’s how it started,” she began tentatively, her voice weak with her knowledge that her argument was as well. “But that’s not how it is now. He’s…he’s not just a slave to me, anymore, Tara…he’s…”

“A whore?” Tara shot back scathingly.

Buffy felt as if she had been slapped in the face. “No! That’s not how it is, Tara…I really care about him, and he cares about me…”

“Like he has a choice!” Tara exploded, throwing up her hands in frustration at the Slayer’s stubborn refusal to admit her own guilt. “Yeah, I’ve *been* here for the past couple hours, Buffy,” she reminded her, nodding. “I’ve seen how he acts with you. He’s very dependent on you, Buffy. And that’s not usually a good thing in *any* ‘relationship’,” she added hurriedly. “And he worships the ground you walk on.”

She paused before going on in a quiet, certain voice, “That’s not the way you treat your lover or your girlfriend, or someone you’re in a *relationship* with, Buffy. That’s how you treat someone who holds your life in their hands, and can crush it in two seconds if they feel like it!” Her tone was biting, accusing, and her fierce eyes flashed silver fury at the Slayer as she spoke. “*Of course* he worships you, Buffy! You *own* him!”

Buffy was stunned to silence, taking in what she had just said. She knew what Tara did not – it was more than that. She had seen the genuine love and devotion in Spike’s eyes when he looked at her. But she had never thought of it from the perspective Tara was presenting, and she found herself wondering with dismay just how many of Spike’s efforts to fulfill her every wish were out of love, and how many were out of fear.

“I saw you kiss him, Buffy,” Tara stated flatly, leaving no room for doubt that she understood how far Buffy’s involvement with her slave had gone. “I saw the way he acts with you. And you may have fooled yourself into thinking that this is the replacement relationship for Riley. But that’s not what this is, Buffy.” She paused for a moment before going on.

“A relationship requires two consenting parties. Two people capable of choosing to have a relationship with each other, and making that choice,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure, her eyes. “When both people have equal say in what happens between them, and have the choice to walk out at any point they want to, *that’s* called a relationship.” She paused a moment, giving her next words that much more impact.

Slowly and emphatically, Tara went on. “When one person has all the power, and the other one doesn’t have the option of saying ‘no’…when you can literally *kill* him if he tries to stop you…there’s another word for that, Buffy.”

Buffy felt as if her heart stopped for a moment, the ugly, unspoken word hanging over their heads, a dark, unsettling presence in the room.

“It…it’s not like that,” she insisted in a trembling whisper, her eyes wide and shocked at the thought, which had never crossed her mind. “I would never…never force him to…”

“Buffy,” Tara interrupted, her voice suddenly softer, tired, as she opened the microwave door and moved forward to place the steaming mug in the Slayer’s hands. “He’s your slave. Anything he does with you is forced.”

And with those simple devastating words, she walked out of the room, leaving the Slayer to her tumultuous thoughts…and her vampire, waiting for her upstairs.

Buffy just stood there for a long moment after Tara walked away, stunned by the troubling ideas that the other girl had so emphatically introduced to her. She knew that she had treated Spike badly – very badly at times – and had taken advantage of her power over him in ways that made her ashamed to think of them now.

But never had she even considered forcing herself on him, taking him against his will. She knew very well that there were many slave owners who would think nothing of it, but the very thought was appalling to her.

The idea that Tara had brought up was startling and sobering to her. She knew beyond all doubt that Spike had definitely been a very willing party to everything that they had done together so far. But the question remained – what if he had *not* wanted it? As a slave, accustomed to being forced to obey without question, or suffer the painful consequences, would he have even dared to object if he had *not* wanted to give himself to her as she had wanted?

She shook herself out of her reverie, looking down at the steaming mug in her hands. The troubling questions circling around in her mind could wait. Right now, Spike needed the blood she carried, and the comfort she could offer, if he was going to recover from the cruel abuse that had been inflicted on him.

She quietly went up the stairs, opened the bedroom door, and slipped quietly inside. Spike could hardly move, as weakened as he was, but as she entered he turned startled blue eyes toward the door, eyes that revealed a fear that he immediately tried to conceal.

“Hey,” she said softly, approaching the bed slowly, holding the mug in front of her like a peace offering.

The smell hit his nostrils all at once, and he immediately felt a ravenous hunger. He had not noticed it before, due to the overwhelming pain that had made him feel sick to his stomach and had driven all other thoughts from his mind. Now that the pain had eased somewhat, due to Tara’s careful ministrations, the warm, rich smell of the blood in the mug alerted him to the hunger he had nearly forgotten.

It was no wonder he was hungry, he thought with some resentment. Velvet, the miserable little bint, had nearly drained him dry. He wondered suddenly what had happened to her. He was still uncertain about a lot of things, considering that he had missed most of the action, what with the being unconscious and all. He supposed that all would be revealed in due time; he was simply too exhausted to ask questions right now.

Suddenly, the questions were driven from his mind as Buffy turned slightly to close the bedroom door, and then walked around to the other side of the bed. She set the full, steaming mug on the nightstand and carefully climbed onto the bed, trying hard not to jar his sore, aching body.

An anxious feeling began to come over him, as he had absolutely no idea what to expect from her at this point. He guessed that, because they were apparently spending the night here instead of at the mansion, Buffy must have had a very big falling out with her husband. The last time that had happened, Buffy had come to him, tender and affectionate, and shared her bed with him that night.

But then, the next morning, she had completely shut him out, and made it very clear to him when he tried to pursue the matter that it had meant nothing to her. He was her slave, and she had taken the comfort she needed from him. That was all.

Now, for the past couple of hours, she had been unbelievably gentle and kind to him, holding him in his pain, murmuring soothing words to help calm his fears and give him a sense of safety. She had brought him the warm sustenance that he needed, but she had set it to the side as she climbed onto the bed.

Did she intend to make him earn it? To make him repay her for the tenderness and mercy she had been showing him all night? He thought ruefully that he was really in pitiful condition for anything of that nature at the moment.

The bottom line was, he simply had no idea *what* to expect – what her intentions were, as she leaned her back against the headboard, settling in and getting comfortable. All he knew was that whatever she was going to require of him, he would do everything in his power to do it for her.

"Okay," Buffy said softly, once she was settled, her back against the wooden headboard. "Come here." As she spoke, she reached under his arms and slowly, carefully began to pull him up toward her and into a semi-sitting position.

He bit back a moan of pain; he knew she was trying to be as gentle as possible. He could feel the hesitation in her hands at the sound that told her she was hurting him, and he gasped out, "I'm sorry...I..."

"Shhh," she interrupted firmly. "Nothing to be sorry for. *I'm* sorry I'm hurting you. But you have to eat, Spike, and you can't do it lying flat on your back." Gently, painstakingly slowly, she maneuvered him until he was right beside her, and then carefully helped him to lean back against her.

"Easy," she murmured. "That's it...nice and slow, Baby...there you go," she gave him her gentle encouragement, as she helped him to shift slowly backward, until his shoulders rested against her chest.

The exertion just of that simple movement was so great that he felt exhausted, and laid his head back on her shoulder almost automatically -- then suddenly remembered himself and raised it weakly. "I -- I'm sorry..."

"Will you quit saying that?" she scolded him, a teasing warmth in her eyes. "It's okay," and she gently pushed his head back onto her shoulder as she wrapped her arm around his waist to support him, then reached over to the nightstand for the mug. She could feel the tension in his taut muscles as he tried not to lean too heavily on her, could feel the way his body trembled with the effort to hold himself up.

“Spike,” she said softly, patiently. “Relax. It’s okay. Just lean back on me.”

“ ‘M…too heavy,” he objected weakly, and she could hear the self-conscious uncertainty in his voice.

“No, you’re not,” she assured him. “Slayer, here, remember? You’re not gonna hurt me. Just relax, Spike.”

Her voice was soft and soothing, and as he tried to obey her, he found that he really *wanted* to, wanted to just release the tension and fear and find comfort in her arms. He was nervous and confused, and had no idea what she expected from him at this point, but he wanted desperately to please her.

Her rejection that morning had hurt him deeply, reinforcing the idea that he was nothing more than a possession to her. True, at the moment, apparently a favored possession, but still, nothing more. The slap in the face she had given him for daring to attempt to act like something more than that was no more than he should have expected, he thought sadly.

Even the last words he had heard her speak, before slipping into unconsciousness in Riley’s torture chamber, said that she was angry with Velvet not for hurting him, but for touching what belonged to her.

*Velvet was right,* he thought with a deep ache of hurt and shame in his heart. *I’m nothing but her whore.*

And the kicker, the thing that told him beyond all doubt that he was well and truly buggered, was that in spite of all that, he still wanted nothing more than to make her happy.

“Come on, Spike,” her soft voice gently urged him, pulling him from his thoughts. “Just relax.” Her gentle hand at his waist rose to stroke gently through his hair, and the pleasant, comforting sensation made it easier for him to obey her request.

The tenderness, the compassion she was lavishing on him now was confusing, a sharp contrast to her behavior that morning. She was being so gentle, so concerned for his comfort. None of his previous owners had ever cared when he had been injured or in pain.

Many times he had been beaten, though never as badly as Riley had beaten him, and each time he had simply been left to his own devices to heal as best he could, without the benefit of extra blood to help; and he had often been required to resume his duties before he was actually well enough to.

But Buffy was being so careful not to cause him any more pain than she could help, making an effort to comfort him. She had promised to take care of him, to protect him – she had claimed him openly as her own, and at the time, he had thought that he had seen more than mere possession in her eyes. A part of him was certain that he had imagined it – built a false hope from his dreams and desires.

He was just so confused, and tired, and had no idea what to think. All he knew was that his mistress was holding him gently in her arms, speaking softly to him, and he desperately wanted to trust the comfort she offered.

As she felt the tension slowly ease from his back, and he allowed his body to relax against her, Buffy whispered, “That’s it. That’s my boy. Now, come on, Spike, you need to eat, okay?

The words of tenderness and compassion that came out of her mouth surprised her. The affection she had avoided showing Spike that morning now seemed so natural and easy; the barriers that had kept her from “getting too close” seemed to have all fallen away with Riley’s influence over her life.

The thought of that morning, the heartless way she had treated him, sprang to her mind with an overwhelming sense of guilt, and she unconsciously held him closer.

She had so much to make up for.

She raised the mug carefully to his lips, and he obediently drank, ravenous with hunger, draining the mug in seconds. She laughed softly in affectionate surprise, and asked him, “Want some more?”

He definitely could have drunk much more than the one mug of blood, which had only taken the edge off his hunger. But he knew that she would have to get up and leave him again to get it – and he craved her touch more than the blood.

He shook his head silently against her shoulder, leaning his head back again and turning his face toward her neck. The simple gesture told her how much he needed her, how willing he was to place his life in her hands, to trust her in spite of the times she had hurt him. She felt her heart flood with warmth and a protective affection for him, and she held him close to her, putting the mug down to wrap both her arms around him.

His intimate nearness, the soft sensation of his strangely cool breath on her throat, began to awaken her desire for him again, as her mind went back to the intimate embrace of the night before. But despite her arousal, Tara’s words sprang to her mind, and she felt unsettled, wondering about the things she had said, about power and choice.

She wondered uneasily if Spike would have consented to her advances the night before, if he had thought that he had the option to refuse. At any rate, she would content herself with just holding him tonight; he was far too weak, in too much pain, to even consider anything more.

At least – she thought he was. Until she felt him raise his head from her shoulder and sit up a little to look her in the eye. The look of longing she saw in his nearly took her breath. There was a hesitant question there too, as he placed a light, tentative hand on her side, sliding up just under the hem of her shirt.

His cool touch sent a shock of pleasure through her, and she drew in a sharp breath as his thumb moved slowly downward to press slow circles low on her hip, over the jeans that suddenly felt too hot – constricting.

“Spike!” she gasped, struggling to maintain control as his hand edged lower and inward, at her encouraging response. “Spike…you’re hurt!” she reminded them both, lowering her hand to cover his and stop its movement, almost whimpering at the loss as she met his eyes, forcing herself to focus.

“ ‘S not so bad,” he murmured, with a little smile that was earnest, hopeful, and somehow a little shy. “Blood’s startin’ to work. I’m not feeling the pain like I was.”

His hand turned under hers, nimble fingers playing lightly over hers tracing the lines of her hand and sending shivers of delightful sensation through her. As she stared into his wide blue eyes, so open and vulnerable, she wondered how he could make her feel so much just by touching her hand.

When he looked her in the eye and asked her in a low, husky voice, open and sincere, “Do you want me?” it was all she could do not to grab him and take him right then. But some note of question, some hesitance in his voice, gave her pause.

“God, of *course* I want you!” she whispered intently, searching his eyes with her own. “Spike…I couldn’t not want you if I tried!”

Permission, command, whatever he had been waiting for, he took it and his hand drifted down again, daring lower than before, expert fingers making her moan with pleasure.

On the edge of losing herself completely in the sensation, she put her hand behind his head and pulled him forward, kissing him deeply, her other hand moving to pull him around by the shoulder so that he was more fully facing her, as his hand intensified its efforts to bring her the satisfaction that she craved.

It was his little involuntary wince as his body shifted toward her that made her stop, opening her eyes wide to search his face. He gave her a shaky little smile that was meant to be reassuring, but she could see the pain in his eyes.

It was a smothering blanket over her desire.

“Spike,” she said in a quiet voice, but harder than he had heard her speak to him since that morning. “This is hurting you.”

He looked away from her, his expression trapped and fearful. He had easily sensed her arousal, known that she wanted him, and only wanted to please her, to give her what she wanted. Now, it was clear that his actions had had the opposite effect of what he had wished.

“N-no,” he objected weakly. “No, I’m fine, really, love. I *want* to…”

“Damn it, Spike, do *not* lie to me!” she snapped, taking his shoulders in both hands and holding him firmly, and he flinched, but she did not back down. She could feel anger rising up in her, the same sort of anger she had felt when Spike had tried to hide the evidence of Riley’s first beating. It was a sense of protective outrage at having her attempts to defend him thwarted by the very one she was trying to defend.

“You need to tell me if you don’t want to – if this was hurting you, you should have…” She stopped, too angry to get her words out right, trying to regain control.

“I’m sorry,” Spike whispered into the silence, his voice trembling and his eyes downcast. “I thought – I thought that’s what you wanted…”

“Your *pain*?” she interrupted incredulously, her eyes shining with angry tears.

“No,” he replied, his tone desperate, his own tears falling down his face. “Not – not my pain…” He was silent for a long moment, before he managed to get out in a choked, aching whisper that hurt her heart with the open need and insecurity it held. “*Me*.”

Buffy was stunned to silence, the fire of her anger quenched by his pain and his tears. Her hands slowly released their punishing grip on his shoulders, and she drew back a little, staring at him with dawning understanding.

His eyes were focused on the bedspread between them, his tears flowing unchecked, and she could feel the hurt, the feeling of rejection, flowing off him in waves. She realized with a heavy feeling of guilt that that was how he saw this – as another rejection of his love, by her.

She moved closer to him on the bed, putting her arm around his waist, her other hand gently touching his cheek, turning his head back toward her. Still he kept his eyes down, hurt and ashamed.

“Look at me,” she said softly, the words an order, but her tone a plea. When he still did not, she repeated, firmer, “Spike, look at me.”

He obeyed, and she swallowed hard, suddenly very conscious of how much rested on her words, her actions, in this moment, as she stared into the depths of open love and need that his expressive eyes could not conceal.

“Spike,” she whispered, holding his gaze firmly, willing him to see the truth in her eyes. “I *do* want you.” There was a teasing note in her voice, a little smile playing about the corners of her mouth as she added, “I want you so bad right now it’s all I can do not to throw you down on the bed and take you right now!”

He looked startled by her words, then confused by their actual meaning, as his eyes gazed into hers, waiting for her to go on.

Her expression became serious as she went on softly, “But that would hurt you, Spike. And I’m not just talking about all this,” she waved her hand up and down to indicate his bandaged body. She paused for a moment, taking him in with eyes full of tenderness and affection. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she told him sincerely, her fingers tracing the path of his tears, then lowering to take his hand in their grasp. “I don’t want us to do anything that you don’t *want* to do, Spike.”

“But…” he began, haltingly, his eyes down again. “But I *do* want…”

“Spike,” she interrupted him gently. “You can barely move. You’re hurting. You can’t tell me that you really *wanted* to…”

“I wanted you – to be happy,” he told her, his voice broken and vulnerable.

Tears flooded her eyes, as she shook her head and whispered, “That’s not enough.” She paused, before asking softly, earnestly, “What do *you* want, Spike? What do you want *me* to do?” She leaned in close, raising her hand from his waist to rest at the back of his neck and pull him in closer to her, seeking his eyes until he hesitantly met hers.

“What would make *you* happy?” she whispered, her breath stolen by the desire in those fathomless blue depths. She thought she might drown in his eyes, clear sapphire pools inches from her own eyes.

He was equally captivated, lost in her emerald eyes, his own drifting back and forth between her wide, seeking eyes and her full, parted lips, inches from his own trembling ones.

“Kiss me?” he whispered, an answer and a plea.

She complied, capturing his mouth in a tender, thorough kiss, taking her time to respond to his every move, feeling out his needs. They did not break the kiss until both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other, gasping for breath.

His hand rose to rest on her shoulder, and the aching desire in his voice called to her when he whispered, “Buffy…stay with me? Hold me?” his voice, hands, every part of him shaking with need for her.

Immediately she pulled him into her arms, gently helping him to lower himself down onto the mattress, wrapping her arms around him from behind and nestling in as close as she could to him, her head resting at his shoulder. His back was to her, surrounded by her warm embrace, and her heart felt so full that she was beyond any more words, as she just lay there and held him close to her.

Into the darkness, the quiet, that surrounded them, he whispered, “I’m yours, Buffy. Yours.” It was not so much a statement of devotion as a quietly desperate, yearning plea for affirmation.

That protective, possessive rush of emotion came over her, as something primal within her cried out fiercely, *Yes! Mine!*

Tenderly, she whispered the reassurance he needed in his ear, just before they both drifted off into a safe, sheltered sleep in each other’s arms.

“Yes, Spike. You’re mine. Always.”

When Willow hung up the phone, she went to look for Buffy and Tara, but neither was in the living room where she had left them. The dirty, blood-stained blankets that had shielded her sofa while Spike’s injuries were being treated had been removed, so she supposed that they must have moved their patient to the guest bedroom that she had prepared for him.

She went upstairs, hesitant to knock when she saw that the door was closed. If Spike was sleeping, he needed it after the ordeal he had been through, and she did not want to wake him. But Buffy could be in there… After a moment, she knocked very softly, but there was no response. She opened the door just a crack and peeked inside.

The sight that met her eyes surprised her. In the soft glow from the small bedside lamp, she could see that they had indeed put the battered vampire to bed after treating his wounds. But he was not alone. Buffy lay on the bed beside him, cradling him gently, protectively, in her arms. His back was pressed against her, his arm resting on hers around his waist, his hand clutching hers tightly as if he was afraid if he didn’t hold onto her, she might disappear.

Both were sound asleep.

She was not surprised, after the traumatic events of the evening; they had to be exhausted. What *did* surprise her was the tender embrace they were sharing. The last time she had talked to Buffy about Spike, her friend had been just barely edging out of denial that she had feelings for him at all.

It appeared that things had moved rather quickly since then.

Willow softly shut the door and turned around…jumping slightly when she saw Tara standing at the top of the stairs behind her, watching her in silence.

“Oh…hey, Baby!” Willow whispered warmly, nearly bouncing with the giddy excitement she was repressing to keep from disturbing the sleeping pair on the other side of the door. Grinning widely, her eyes sparkling with delight, she took Tara’s hands and pulled her toward the door as she whispered, “Tara, you’ve gotta see this! They are *so sweet*! They’re all snuggly and close – and – and all with the hand-holding and it’s just the cutest thing!”

Tara did not smile – which told Willow that her lover was deeply troubled by something. The happy, gleeful mood she was in at the moment hardly ever failed to bring a smile to Tara’s face.

“Will,” she shook her head, searching for words. “It’s *not* sweet. It’s – it’s *wrong*.”

“*What*?” Willow was stunned by her words, her smile fading into an expression of concern. “Why? What are you talking about, Honey?”

Tara glanced at the closed but very thin door and motioned for her girlfriend to follow her down the hall to their bedroom. Once the door was closed, Tara sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to gather her thoughts and put them into the words that had come so easily in the kitchen earlier.

“Tara, honey…” Willow pressed gently, going to sit beside her and take her hands again. “What is it?”

Tara shook her head, not looking at Willow for a moment. “It’s just – she *owns* him, Willow. Like a – a car, or a shirt, or some -- *thing* that she can just use any way she likes! And that’s all she’s doing in there, Will! She’s hurting, so she’s using him!” Her eyes rose to meet Willow’s, imploring her to understand what she was saying.

Willow frowned, a little taken aback by her words. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “I mean – yes, she’s hurting, but – but he’s hurting too right now! I think she’s trying to help him, Tara.”

“How? By making him even more dependent on her for everything than he already is?” Tara demanded, and Willow was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “ You can’t see their auras like I can, Will. She is absolutely his whole world. It’s like – he’s lost himself in her.”

“And that’s *bad*?” Willow smiled, trying to catch her eye as she looked away again. “You’re *my* whole world. I’m lost in *you*,” she pointed out softly.

Tara looked up at her again. “But you’re still – you’re still *you*, Willow. Not just ‘Tara’s girlfriend’. And if you wanted a new ‘whole world’ – you could have it. You’re not – chained to me like a prisoner.”

Willow could not help but see her point, although she was not sure she completely agreed with it. “I think Spike really loves Buffy, Tara,” she told her gently. “I don’t think he *wants* to be away from her.”

“But it doesn’t matter if he does or not,” Tara said flatly. “Because he doesn’t have a choice.”

They were silent for a moment, as Willow took in what she had said, and Tara was lost in her thoughts.

After a moment, Willow finally spoke softly, “This isn’t just about Spike and Buffy. Is it?”

The tears in Tara’s eyes slipped down her face, and she looked down at her worrying hands in her lap for a moment. “Will – I know what it’s like. To be – to be told who you are and what you’re good for and what you can do and where you can go…and I remember Spike when he was free – and he was so – confident, and – and outspoken, and…”

“Annoying as hell,” Willow supplied her own memory with a smirk.

Tara laughed softly. “Yeah,” she conceded. “But…” Her expression was serious again. “…but *free*. Now it’s like he’s – he’s *broken*, Will. And I hate for that to happen to – to anyone else.”

“I don’t think he’s really broken, Honey,” Willow said, slowly rubbing her lover’s back in a comforting gesture. “If he was, he wouldn’t have been able to talk Buffy into calling us…or…or standing up to Riley…or any of that, like he did.” She paused, waiting until Tara looked up at her again to go on.

“But if he is,” she said earnestly, searching her eyes. “I don’t think Buffy broke him. The thing is – who knows how long he’s been a slave before she bought him? Who knows what’s happened to him in that time? I really think that Buffy wants to help him, Tara.”

“She treats him like a slave,” Tara said firmly, not budging from her stance. “She holds power over every aspect of his life. She can decide whether he lives or dies. No one should have that kind of power over someone else.”

“You’re right,” Willow conceded quietly, nodding. “No one should.” She paused, her eyes serious as she went on. “But *someone’s* going to. You know that as well as I do. If Buffy doesn’t claim him, someone else will. You know the law. If she gives up her rights to him, he’ll be fair game.”

In the society that Riley had developed, there was no such thing as a free vampire. Those that had not been captured already were forced into hiding to avoid the military details that patrolled the area as Buffy had once done. The difference was, at least the Slayer had only *staked* the vampire she had caught; the military detailed captured them and brought them back to Riley’s headquarters, where they were subjected to all manner of various examinations and indignities, before being fitted with the behavioral modification chips.

After that, they were put through a rigorous “training” program to prepare them for slavery. Most left the program utterly broken and submissive, as a result of brutal torture and degradation, designed to strip them of all confidence and security, therefore making them much easier to control for their physically weaker human masters.

Of course, Riley did his best to keep the details of his procedures secret from the general public. No matter how much people hated a species that had devastated many of their own families so badly, he knew that many of his methods were so appalling as to cause a public outrage none the less, if they got out.

The only way that Willow knew about it was through Giles, who had been an outspoken opponent of Riley’s organization for years now. He had taken in several chipped vampires, claiming them as his own for their own protection.

Part of their “training” had been to instill in them an absolute terror of the consequences should they ever reveal the secrets of the training program. But over time, the gentle human had managed to gain the trust of the vampires in his care, and they had confided in him, slowly, piece by piece, the horrors they had experienced.

A chipped vampire that was found running free, and could not name his master if questioned, was fair game for whoever found him, to claim as their own. Unless someone came forward with ownership documents for the vampire within an allotted time, they could have papers drawn up and officially claim the vampire as their slave.

Since Spike had already been chipped before the slavery movement had started, Willow thought that was probably how he had been originally enslaved. She knew that if Riley or his men had captured the blonde vampire, Riley would have either dusted him or kept him as his own slave, to satisfy the grudge he had always held against Spike, even before the slavery movement. Spike had most likely been captured by some random human who had found him and claimed him, as he would have been unable to defend himself.

At least, she hoped that was how it had happened. She hoped that Spike had not been subjected to the terrible breaking process that Giles had described to her. A worried frown creased her brow as she looked anxiously at her lover. Tara had seen more of Spike’s behavior than she had, since she had been on the phone while Tara and Buffy had been taking care of him.

“You don’t think he’s really – really *broken* -- do you, Tara?” she asked, her voice hesitant and fearful.

“Well,” Tara admitted with a little half-shrug. “No. Not completely. He spoke to me without being told, and he calls Buffy by her name – mostly.” She grimaced slightly in a mixture of anger and distaste at the memory of the incident in the car. “But – he’s not the same as he was. That’s for sure. I just – I just hate this! It’s like – there’s no *good* choice here! The absolute best case scenario is still bad.”

“For now,” Willow reminded her encouragingly. “That’s what Giles is working so hard on – to change the laws, to change the way things are. And in the mean time,” she pointed out, her voice softening slightly, “I’d rather Spike belong to Buffy – than to someone else. Wouldn’t you?”

“As long as she’s not hurting him,” Tara conceded reluctantly. “And I can’t say I’m sure she hasn’t been, Will. He depends on her, he cares about her, yeah…but he’s also a little bit afraid of her. He is. She’s hurt him before.”

“How can you tell?” Willow asked, frowning, not wanting to believe that of her friend.

Tara was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was heavy with remembered pain. “I can tell,” she answered simply.

Willow did not know what to say. She did not want to think that Buffy would be so cruel as some other slave owners she had heard stories about. Buffy had obviously been furious with Riley when she had seen what he had done to Spike, and she had been very tender and compassionate with him since they had rescued him.

But Willow knew that Buffy *could* have quite the temper when she was angry, and as a Slayer, she had a natural tendency toward using violence as a solution to her problems. She hoped that Buffy had not been taking out her pain and frustration with her abusive, hurtful marriage on her conveniently helpless slave.

Before she could speak, Tara went on, her tone softer, more understanding, “I *do* think she’s trying, Will. I watched her with him, and I *do* think she cares about him, and wants to do the right thing for him. It’s just that as long as she sees him as a slave – and as long as he sees *himself* as her slave – it’s never going to work. They need to be equals if they’re going to have a real chance. And if she can’t do that – treat him as an equal – then she needs to face that and not keep using him like a – a sex toy.”

Willow blinked, surprised at Tara’s blunt words. “Well,” she said with a sigh, looking away. “Maybe Giles will be able to help. He’s so much better than I am at putting things into words. Maybe he can help her understand what she needs to do. She always did listen to Giles more than anyone else.” She paused, frowning at the memories that played across her mind. “Well – most of the time.”

Tara gave her a dry, disbelieving stare.

“Well, she listened to him sometimes!” Willow insisted defensively. “I mean – he was her Watcher. That’s got to count for something!”

“Maybe you’re right,” Tara nodded thoughtfully. “If Buffy’s on our side now – I bet she knows a lot of Riley’s dark secrets.” A slow smile played across her lips at the idea. “She could really help us put an end to the slavery for good!”

Willow nodded, her face lighting up at the idea. “Hey! Yeah! She probably knows more than anyone else does about it! And people will believe her, too. Everybody knows who Buffy is!”

“So Giles is coming?” Tara asked, interest rising in her soft grey eyes.

Willow nodded. “He’s got to speak tomorrow night at this conference in Tucson,” she explained. “But as soon as he’s through he’s heading straight here.”

Tara nodded in satisfaction. “That’s good. If nothing else, he’ll be able to talk some sense to her.” She paused. “It’s up to her if she listens or not.”

Willow smiled slightly at her girlfriend’s slightly agitated tone, a tone reserved only for people and situations that got her thoroughly worked up about something – in this case a cause that she had become very devoted to over the past couple of years.

Willow and Tara both did whatever they could to help the growing counter-movement that had been founded almost single-handedly by Giles’ efforts, and Willow had never seen Tara get so involved and passionate about anything as she did over the daily injustices that surrounded them in this new society.

Willow smiled to herself. Passionate was good.

“The whole thing just brings back so many memories,” Tara sighed, leaning her head on Willow’s shoulder wearily. “It just hurts because I’ve been there. Broken.”

Willow was silent for a moment, before she pointed out in a softly optimistic voice, “But you’re not, anymore. Broken. You’re – you’re strong and confident, and brave – and – and you’re in a healthy, loving relationship, and happy, and doing great, important things with your life. So – that’s not what you are anymore. You *were* broken – but you’re not. Not anymore. You’re – you’re *unbroken*,” she stated, in her rambling Willow-way that Tara found so endearing.

“Unbroken,” Tara repeatedly softly. “That’s a nice thought.”

Willow smiled into her hair and kissed her on the top of her head. “Thank you,” she remarked. “Came up with it all by myself.”

Tara pulled away slightly to look up into her eyes, her own softened with affection. “Thank *you*,” she said in a voice that was quiet and serious.

“For what?” Willow frowned slightly, puzzled, pleased but further mystified when Tara leaned in to give her a brief but intense and tender kiss.

Tara pulled back to look into her eyes again, smiling through unshed happy tears as she replied.

“Unbreaking me.”

Julian made his way out the back doors of the auditorium, a huge box of slides, pictures, and power point equipment in his arms. As he crossed the few feet between the door and the black SUV they had parked behind the building, he was smiling, in a very good mood.

The presentation had gone very well. The speaker, the man he still thought of as his master -- though he had never treated him like a slave -- was still inside, answering questions, talking to people about the cause he was so passionate about.

Now -- a lot of other people were becoming passionate about it as well.

Nearly an hour after the lecture, the speaker and his vampire companions were still surrounded by concerned, interested members of the audience who wanted to know what they could do to help. That was a small problem -- though a very *good* problem to have -- because they were supposed to be leaving as soon as possible, on a trip out of town, and they were already running behind schedule.

Julian's master had pulled him aside a few moments ago inside and asked him -- not ordered him -- to begin loading the car while he finished up the conversation he was having. Julian had been more than happy to do it. He thought that if he was asked to, he would lay down his unlife for the soft-spoken, gentle man who had become his unlikely savior.

And the way things were going, it was beginning to appear that he would be again, in a much more permanent sense -- when as a result of his efforts, Julian and his kind were finally granted their freedom. It no longer seemed the impossibility he had once thought it to be.

Julian was so caught up in his optimistic thoughts, his good mood, that he was completely unaware of the presence of anyone else in the parking lot, as he set the box of equipment down in the rear compartment of the SUV, closing the door firmly. By the time he caught the familiar, sickening scent that paralyzed his mind with fear, the unnatural, acrid, medicinal smell that was unique to the soldiers who worked for Riley Finn -- it was too late.

He whirled around to face the as yet unseen threat, finding himself surrounded by five uniformed soldiers, circling him, hemming him in against the back of the vehicle. One of them, whose uniform indicated that his rank was slightly higher than the others, stepped toward him with a cruel smile.

"Well, what have we got here?" he asked, his tone both mocking and threatening as he advanced on the terrified vampire. "Little slave out here all by himself?"

Desperate, Julian tried to dart past the man, who merely caught his arm and slammed him back against the back of the SUV, hard enough to knock the breath from his body. Julian had almost forgotten how incredibly strong Riley's men were; whatever concoction of drugs he had come up with to feed them made them physically stronger than the vampires they controlled.

"What's your hurry?" the soldier asked softly with a smirk, his large, stocky frame moving in front of Julian to block any further attempts at escape. The other soldiers closed in tighter around him, and he began to feel a claustrophobic feeling of panic.

In an instant, the past year of safety and security vanished, and he was right back in the training facility, at the whim and mercy of men just like these, hand-chosen by Riley Finn specifically for their sadistic delight in cruelty, experts in terror and suffering.

He turned panicked eyes toward the door, wishing desperately to see his master appear. He wanted to scream, to yell for help, but could not make his mouth work. He was trapped; he couldn't escape. They were going to kill him. He couldn't scream, couldn't breathe...oh, *God*, he couldn't breathe...!

In his mind-consuming panic, he had forgotten that he did not need to.

"We just wanna talk to you," the soldier's voice was mockingly soothing. "What are you freaking out about? You *like* talking...don't you?"

The other soldiers found that little joke hilarious, and in their cruel laughter, Julian heard the sound of his own doom. This was not a random attack, a group of rowdy soldiers engaging in one of the beatings, or worse, that were a constant threat to any slave out without their master. This was a deliberate, purposeful ambush. They knew who Julian belonged to, and what he had told him -- and they planned to make him pay for it.

"N-no," he managed to choke out, shaking his head, his eyes wide with terror. "No -- please..." he whispered, gasping for breath, nearly out of his mind with fear. All he could think about was the terrible threats that had been repeated over and over during his training, of what would happen to him if he ever dared to talk about it to anyone.

He knew that these men would show him no mercy.

"No?" the solder laughed, deliberately misunderstanding him. "You mean you're *not* the loud mouth little snitch we're looking for? Is that what you're saying?"

Julian opened his mouth to try to reply, stammering and struggling, his mind too frozen with fear to come up with a coherent response.

"Maybe we've got the wrong guy," one of the other soldiers suggested with wide-eyed mock dismay.

"Maybe so," the leader smirked, his soft, menacing voice driving a cold terror deeper into the heart of their petrified captive. "Who's your master, huh, pretty boy?" he asked, and the suggestive note in his voice made Julian flinch with the memory of past brutal degradations. He had heard that tone in the voice of other soldiers, other times, and the violations that had without fail followed that tone left him devastated to that day.

The new implied threat had him shaking with terror as he tried to respons, ,"M-my -- my..."

The soldier grabbed a fistful of Julian's thick, dark hair and yanked his head back, cutting off his stammering attempt in a little yelp of fear and pain.

"Y-y-you gonna answer me sometime today, pretty boy?" the soldier mocked his terrified stutter. The sharp-eyed man had not missed the vampire's reactions to his suggestive tone a moment before, and he pressed it to its full advantage, bringing his free hand to rest low on Julian's hip, giving him a cold, predatory smile.

Julian jerked away from his invasive touch with a strangled little cry of fear, and the soldier's face twisted in anger at the resistance, however slight. He grabbed Julian's hip again and slammed him back against the SUV, hard, sending a jolt of pain from his tailbone up his spine, then pressed in, oppressively close, to warn him in a low, threatening voice, "*Don't* do that again."

"Please -- please, I'm s-sorry, please..." Julian begged, his voice coming out a whimper, his hands raised in front of him in a pitiful gesture of defense.

The soldier's smile was cold as his strong hand jerked the vampire closer to him, bringing him into sudden contact with the evidence of just how much he was enjoying Julian's fear, and heightening his terror all the more.

"Maybe he doesn't *have* a master," he said softly to his friends, never taking his eyes off Julian's face. "Maybe we oughta take him with us. What do you think, guys?"

As the other soldiers voiced their approval of that idea, Julian shook his head, rapidly, desperately, managing to get out in a whisper, "N-no...no...please, no..." He was quickly breaking under the menacing presence of the men surrounding him, in combination with the traumatic memories it brought back.

"Then answer my question," was the immediate, cool response, a hard edge of disgust and anger suddenly in the man's quiet voice, calm and measured as he asked again, "Who's your master, you little piece of shit?"

His tone, his hardened hand on his body told Julian that the man was bored with his game, and the real pain was about to begin. If he did not reply, he would surely be viciously beaten, at the very least, and taken away from the protection of his kind master and into the power of these savage soldiers.

If he *did* answer, he would be beaten or tortured or otherwise made an example of for his crime of telling his master aout his horrific ordeal. Still, he knew it would be better to suffer for revealing the secret, but be left in the hands of his master, than to be taken away to suffer indefinitely. He knew he had to answer the man's question.

If he could only force his mouth to speak.

But then, unexpectedly, the question was answered for him, as the most welcome, beautiful voice he had ever heard spoke clearly and authoritatively, cutting sharply through the mocking laughter of the soldiers.

"He belongs to me. And I would be greatly pleased if you would take your hands off him at once."

The soldiers turned to face the man standing behind them, his stance one of calm anger and authority. He was an older man with a cultured look, dressed well in a tailored charcoal gray suit jacket, over a collarless black shirt, matched stylishly with a pair of dark blue jeans. The overall effect was to give him a look that was both intelligent and commanding of respect, and casual and approachable, non-threatening.

But at the moment, there was nothing non-threatening about Rupert Giles at all.

His expression was tight, severe, one of barely repressed violenc as his eyes passed between the soldiers and their terrorized victim, sobbing now with mingled relief and fear...because it was not over yet.

The leader stepped toward Giles with a knowing smile, still not releasing his captive. "Oh, so this is one of *yours*," he sneered, jerking the frightened creature forward in front of him. "Maybe you ought to keep a better eye on him."

"Maybe you ought to return him to me," Giles shot back, the even, calm sound of his voice belying the rage that Julian recognized, though well-hidden in his ice blue eyes.

"You know," the leader objected slyly. "I'm not so sure about that. He was behaving suspiciously. We might have to take him in for questioning." There was a cruelly smug smile on his face at the shudder that passed through the vampire at his words.

"I don't believe that's going to be necessary," Giles replied, his voice cool, visibly unaffected by the soldier's threat. "He was out here on an errand I sent him on. Now if you'll kindly release him -- I've an engagement in another town tomorrow and I must be on my way."

As he spoke, the other two vampires that had accompanied him on this trip came out the back door of the building with the remaining supplies to be loaded, stopping, stunned at the scene they had unwittingly walked into.

"Well you might want to be on your way without him, then," the soldier sneered. "Because I don't see how you can stop us."

The male vampire behind him, whose name was Aaron, started forward a step with a snarl, heedless of the fact they all knew was true, that his chip prevented him from doing any actual damage to the soldiers. All he saw was that his friend was being threatened. Giles did not turn, but his quickly raised hand in a halting gesture stopped him before he could make the situation any worse.

"Mara," Giles addressed the female vampire with the large dark eyes and olive complexion that she had somehow miraculously retained after her death. "Would you be so kind as to go back inside and ask that nice reporter I was speaking with to come outside for a moment? And he might want to bring his photographer with him as well."

As she turned to obey his request, he graced the frowning soldier with a smile that was actually genuine. "Quite a story, this. If your organization actually stoops as low as to steal a person's personal property on a whim. How convenient that I'm scheduled for a television appearance this weekend, as well."

The soldier's eyes narrowed at the thinly veiled -- or rather, not veiled at all -- threat. The man *did* have a point. Vampires in this society had no rights of any kind according to the law, but there *were* laws governing them as property. One could not just take someone else's slave with no legal repercussions.

The whole issue of the slavery was a very controversial one, and a constant public relations tightrope. The soldier knew that if it got out to the media -- as it certainly would, if Rupert Giles had his way -- that soldiers in Finn's organization had been taking it upon themselves to seize the property of citizens just because they felt like it... Well, whoever was responsible would most certainly lose their job -- at the very least.

Riley Finn was a very powerful man; it would not do to get on his bad side by doing something to make his organization look bad.

In a poor attempt to conceal his anger at being bested in their little battle of wills, the soldier replied in a casual, almost pleasant voice, "Fine. No big deal. You're in a hurry, we'll overlook it this time. Just try to keep this *thing* on a tighter leash."

He leaned in close to Julian's ear for just a moment to add, too low for anyone but him to hear, "Watch your step, you little snitch. It might not be me, but someone's gonna make you pay for running your mouth." He released the shaking vampire with a rough shove that sent him stumbling off balance, falling to the ground.

"Come on, boys," the soldier smirked. "Let's go."

Grumbling irritably at the loss of their sport for the evening, the men followed their pack leader away in search of fresh prey.

Giles immediately dropped to one knee beside his fallen, trembling charge, seething fury filling him at the cruelty of the men who had so heartlessly terrorized him.

*Months of progress,* he thought with bitter frustration. *Possibly destroyed in the space of a few minutes.*

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly, placing a firm hand on the vampire's shoulder to steady him.

Julian shook his head, his eyes closed, raising a trembling hand to brace himself on Giles' arm.

"Good. Now then, let's get you up," Giles encouraged him gently, helping him get to his feet. "Bloody berks," he muttered, the anger he had concealed from the soldiers now revealed in his tone. "If they did a thing like this to a human they'd be in prison."

Mara came running back outside, her expressive, deep dark eyes wide and anxious. "I couldn't find them, Mr. Giles! They must have already left!"

"That's all right, dear," he said with a small, tight smile, not looking at her as he looked Julian over closely to be sure that he was unhurt. "The threat of the press was enough to scare them away."

"This time," Aaron inserted darkly, his striking green eyes smoldering with fury, as a flash of gold flickered through them for just a moment.

"I shouldn't have sent you out alone," Giles said with quiet irritation at his own carelessness. "I didn't think that here, so far from Finn's direct influence -- and at a bloody abolitionist convention, for pity's sake!" His words broke off suddenly, when he realized how he had been raising his voice, how he was letting his anger show a bit too strongly for the comfort of his badly shaken newest charge.

*Never thought in my days as a Watcher that I'd be playing psychologist to a lot of traumatized vampires,* he thought with a smile in spite of it all as he unlocked the SUV's front doors to allow his little crew to get in. They went absolutely everywhere with him these days.

He had never expected things to end up the way that they had.

As he got into the car and turned on the ignition, his mind began to play over the chaotic events of the past few years. Lost in his memories, he turned onto the highway, headed out of Arizona and back to California…back to the Hellmouth.

And back to his Slayer.

By the time Giles and his entourage were making their way toward Sunnydale, Spike's physical condition had improved dramatically. Buffy hardly left his side at all, taking care of him just as she had promised him. She brought him blood so frequently that he began to feel sick at the sight of it -- but he still drank it. Because he knew she wanted him to.

They did not discuss the confusing events that had taken place between them, not after that first night. Buffy did not want to bring it up, because she really had no idea how to put what she was feeling into words -- mostly because she wasn't really sure *what* she was feeling.

And Spike was too scared to bring it up again himself. Following that first night in Willow and Tara's home, Buffy had continued to treat him with that same tenderness and affection, though she did not seem to want to talk about it at all. Although he knew that she did not love him -- he was still only a slave to her -- she had made it clear to him with her actions, if not her words, that she *did* care about him.

The second night she had also spent by his side, cradling his battered body in soft, strong arms that held him close, her warm body pressed against his a protective shield from anything that would harm him, and a comfort even in his dreams. It was more than he had hoped for -- at least since her rejection the morning before had crushed what hopes he had had for more.

But he *was* her slave -- he had accepted that fact -- and, he reminded himself, the kindness and concern she was showing him was more than most slaves could ever hope to receive from their owners.

The last thing he wanted to do was anything to ruin it.

The second morning after Riley's brutal assault, he awoke to find that the lash marks from the beating he had taken were nearly completely healed, and the pain had faded from the unbearable fire it had been to a dull ache, barely there at all. He was immediately aware of the cool absence at his back, and rolled over to confirm what it told him.

Buffy was not there.

He sat up carefully in the bed, swinging his legs over the side and carefully rising to his feet. Good. His strength was returning. It would not be long before he would be able to take care of himself again; he was starting to feel like nothing but a useless burden to the woman he was supposed to be serving.

"Oh, good! You're up!" Buffy spoke from the doorway, in a voice of pleasant surprise.

Startled, Spike jumped slightly, throwing his still unsteady legs off balance, so that he ended up sitting down rather hard and quite accidentally on the bed behind him. At almost that exact moment, he realized that he was still completely naked, and jerked the bedsheet over his exposed lap, wide eyes finding hers to gauge her reaction.

He did not know why he had expected her to react negatively, not really. After all, it was not like she had not seen everything he had before. They had spent that one night together in the mansion, and she had just spent the past two nights practically wrapped around him, although for no other reason than to offer him comfort. His wounds had still been too severe and painful to tolerate any more than the light sheet that had covered him in the bed, so he had been naked since they had brought him here.

Still, for some reason, he felt self-conscious in front of her now, exposed to her scrutiny. And he hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that was still afraid of angering her by behaving in a way that was too familiar, too personal.

Total nudity was quite personal.

But Buffy just laughed softly, holding up the items in her hand, that he had failed to notice in his anxious reaction to her sudden presence. "I thought you'd probably be able to get up today. I figured you might want these," she told him, holding out a paper shopping bag to him, thoughtfully looking him in the eye and nowhere else.

He took the bag from her outstretched hand, shooting her a nervous look before opening it and taking out a brand new black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, with the tags still on them. His eyes widened slightly as the prices on the tags; but why should he be surprised, he wondered suddenly, remembering. No scrimping and penny-pinching necessary for Mrs. Riley Finn.

Only the best, even for her slaves.

“If you don’t like them, we can get you something else,” Buffy said quietly, misreading his lack of response. “I mean, I know it’s not the most original choice, but – but I thought I’d just get what you used to like. I mean, I know it’s been years, and you might not even like that stuff anymore – but – well, if you hate them, we can get you something else.”

In that moment, staring at the clothes that befit an image he had lost long ago, his mind flashed back across the years of his captivity, to a memory that was still as vivid in his mind as it had been when it had happened – his grand, bold, insufferably dramatic entrance, introducing himself to the Slayer, so many years ago.

*What happens on Saturday?*

*I kill you.*

And he had just swept away, his beloved black leather duster billowing behind him, without a backward glance. He sometimes wondered why the Slayer had not simply hurled a stake at his departing back and dusted him right then. He knew now that she certainly had had the aim for it – yet she had not.

God, he had been so confident, so downright arrogant, in those days!

That arrogance had been stolen from him, with his duster, by the first human who had captured him, and the series of masters that had followed him.

That first master had been a cruel brute of a man, an ex-employee of Riley’s, dismissed because of his controlling personality that was strong enough to clash with that of his employer. He had not allowed Spike the dignity of clothes at all, taking pleasure in his humiliation. He had never use him sexually, but he had kept him naked and exposed, like nothing more than an animal with no need of clothing, to emphasize his vulnerability, his complete lack of any rights.

After that degrading period in his life, Spike had been grateful for whatever the other masters he had been sold to had given him to wear. It was without fail ragged, old cast-offs that were no longer fit for human use. Never had any of them asked him what he would prefer; it did not matter what he preferred. His very existence was to serve *their* needs, wasn’t it? So why should his personal tastes matter at all?

His mind went suddenly to when Buffy had brought the new clothes she had bought him down to the basement of Riley’s mansion, and he cringed inwardly as the memory of his rash, foolish words to Velvet, that had caused so much trouble.

That time, Buffy had been too angry with him to be concerned with anything but his apparent defiance. She had practically thrown the clothes at him, ordering him coldly to put them on and report upstairs for his punishment – a punishment that she had not been able to find the strength to mete out.

And now, here she was, treating him with compassion and kindness, amazing him by giving him an actual choice. She had always been free to choose, herself, so it must have seemed a small thing to her. But it meant more than she could ever know, just to be allowed that small respect.

“You hate them,” Buffy concluded flatly. “I should have known. I mean, nobody’s gonna stick with just basic black forever…”

“They’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice low and choked with emotion, barely over a whisper as he added, “Thank you.”

“Oh.” Buffy sounded surprised. When he chanced a tentative look up at her, she was smiling with relief. “Good. Well, you’re welcome. I mean, you have to wear *something*. It’s not like I wouldn’t get you anything, I mean, you can’t just walk around here naked…”

She realized she was babbling as she tried to play down the small consideration that seemed to be so important to him, dismayed at the way he looked down again self-consciously and clutched the sheet tighter at her words. “I mean…not that there’s a problem with your being naked, I mean, you can’t help it being hurt and all, and it’s not like there’s anything *wrong* with you…”

The slightly startled look he gave her made her cringe – the wrong words again.

“Okay,” she said aloud, abruptly, with a wide, self-mocking smile. “Stop talking now, Buffy. Just – just go ahead and get dressed and come on downstairs whenever you’re ready. Okay?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She frowned. He usually didn’t call her that anymore, but she had noticed that when he was nervous or afraid of her anger, he reverted back to the safer, less personal moniker with her. His self-consciousness over her seeing him like this, followed by her awkward, totally-unhelpful ramblings, must have made him terribly uncomfortable.

She hated it.

“Spike,” she said quietly but firmly, with a boldness back in her eyes that had fled her the moment she had walked into this room.

He did not look up or respond, so she stepped toward him, tipping his chin up to look at her. The uncertainty and desperate desire to please her in his open blue eyes, the pliant way he simply allowed her to move him, offering no resistance at all to her touch, filled her with a mingled sense of unease and affection.

Tara was right. He needed her too much.

She searched his eyes for a moment before she spoke softly, “You don’t have to call me that.”

The look in his eyes was almost guilty, as if he had been caught in some offense, as he replied quietly, “I know.”

His tone told her that did not mean he was going to stop; she was tempted to simply order him not to use the word anymore. But something in his eyes stopped her, something that told her that perhaps he was not ready for that yet; perhaps there was something in him that still needed that verbal reassurance that he was hers, that at least in some ways she claimed him – if not in the way that he wanted most.

She suddenly knew that it was very important that she allow him control over this issue.

She gave him a reassuring smile as her hand on his chin softened into a caress that ran up his cheek, her heart swelling with emotion when he unconsciously leaned into it, his intense, yearning eyes still focused on hers.

“You can call me whatever you want to call me, Spike,” she assured him gently, before pulling reluctantly away from him, trying not to notice the look of loss on his face as she did. “Just go ahead and get dressed. I’ll be downstairs.”

When he hesitantly went downstairs ten minutes later, he was surprised and a little self-conscious to see the entire Scoobie gang assembled in Willow and Tara’s living room. Xander and Anya sat on the couch, her back pressed comfortably against her husband and his arm casually around her in a warm, protective gesture. Willow sat in an armchair to the side of the sofa, Tara perched casually on the arm of the chair as Willow idly rubbed her back while she talked to Buffy.

Buffy was the electric current of activity and tension that ran through the comfortable scene. In direct contrast to the others, she was pacing almost frantically across the living room, her arms crossed over her stomach in a defensive gesture. Spike hesitated on the stairs, unsure.

“Oh, God,” Buffy whimpered suddenly, putting her head in her hands for a moment before resuming her original position, still completely unaware of his presence. “How could you not tell me until now? Will, I can’t do this! I can’t face him!” she declared in a trembling voice, stopping to face her friend with wide panicked eyes, seeming on the verge of tears.

Buffy’s friends were too focused on her to notice Spike’s arrival, either. Willow met her eyes calmly and said softly, “Yes, you can, Buffy. You need to.”

“How could you do this to me, Will? How could you not let me know until *now*?” she demanded, but there was no real anger in her tone – only utter terror.

“Because I knew if I told you you’d be gone when he got here,” Willow stated flatly, meeting her friend’s eyes with determination. “And you need to do this, Buffy.”

“I can’t! He has to hate me!” Buffy declared, shaking her head slowly in denial, her eyes welling with unshed tears of guilt and pain.

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s on his way here right now, Buffy, that has to say something,” Tara pointed out, unexpected compassion in her eyes.

Actually, for the past day or so, Tara had been much more gentle and civil with Buffy, not bringing up again the issue of their conversation upon Buffy and Spike’s arrival here. Buffy was pretty sure that it was more for Willow’s sake than because Tara’s feelings had changed at all, but she was still grateful for the easing of the tension that had sprung up between them.

“That’s right,” Xander pointed out. “Buffy he *wants* to see you. That means he doesn’t hate you. He must want to make things right as much as you do.” His tone was reassuring, soothing.

Buffy tried to make herself believe his words. “Right,” she nodded hurriedly. “Right…he must want to make things right…but he can’t possibly want it as much as I do,” she admitted tearfully, sniffling. “I messed up really bad. But he wants to see me. So he must be willing to forgive me.”

Anya shrugged. “Unless he just wants to see you to *tell* you to your face he hates you. Because that would be so much more effective and satisfying retribution than just staying away,” she pointed out casually, her expression honest and frank.

Buffy let out another little whimper, sinking down onto the coffee table with her head in her hands.

“Anya,” Xander said patiently, used to his wife’s characteristic blunt honesty by now. “Not what Buffy needed to hear right now.”

“What? All those centuries in vengeance, Xander, I’ve kind of got a unique perspective on this sort of thing,” Anya reminded him. “I mean, she has to be aware of all the possibilities.”

“Anya…this is *Giles* we’re talking about,” Xander countered gently.

That was all he needed to say. “You’re right,” she replied after a moment. “That’s so *not* a possibility.” She pulled slightly away from her husband, leaning toward Buffy, who was sitting facing her on the coffee table, her head still resting in her hands.

“Buffy,” she said softly, urgently, and the uncharacteristic gentleness in her tone drew Buffy’s eyes up to look at her in surprise through her tears. “Giles loves you. You’re like a daughter to him. He could never stay angry at you for long. And even though you were the one to cut off contact and act like all he’s done for you was meaningless – it could never make it *really* meaningless to him. If he’s coming back here at all, it only means that he wants you back in his life.”

Though still tinged with the painful truth that Anya’s words always held, somehow the earnest reassurance she offered meant more than the words of her other friends, the ones she knew would always try to ease her into reality rather than breaking the truth to her as it really was. Something in her took comfort in the knowledge that if Anya said it – she could of course be wrong in her opinion, but it was honest, and real – and there was a very good chance that it was true.

“Do you really think so?” Buffy asked, her voice coming out weak and absolutely terrified.

Anya met her eyes with a reassuring smile and nodded. “I do.”

Buffy took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Okay,” she said, verbally rallying her courage as she stood up and walked around the coffee table to pace the floor again, though slower and calmer now. “I can do this. Profuse apology, humble acceptance of I-told-you-so’s, and utter groveling. I’m on it,” she stated with a firm nod. “I’ll just…let him know how totally sorry I am, and beg for his forgiveness…and hope he doesn’t cuss me out in British and tell me to go to hell. Again.”

Feeling a surge of fresh confidence at the encouraging agreement of her friends, feeling a little more like the Slayer she had nearly forgotten that she was, Buffy took another deep breath and steeled herself for the reunion that Willow had just informed her was only minutes away.

Or not.

The doorbell rang…and all of Buffy’s courage melted away into panic as Tara rose to answer the door.

Her Watcher had returned.

"Oh, God...oh God I can't do this," Buffy whispered, shaking her head, appearing on the verge of hyperventilating in her panic. Willow got up from her chair and went to stand in front of her, holding her arms and looking her in the eye firmly.

"Buffy. Calm down," she ordered gently. "It's going to be all right." Suddenly, over Buffy's shoulder, Willow caught sight of Spike, still standing on the stairs, an uncertain look on his face. She pulled back from Buffy, who turned to look when she saw that her friend's attention had been distracted.

"Oh...Spike," she said, momentarily distracted from her fears by his obvious anxiety, the way he was holding back. "Come on down," she encouraged him, beckoning with her hand for him to join her.

"Is -- is everything all right?" he asked, his voice low and cautious as he approached her.

"Um...yeah," she replied, glancing distractedly between him and the doorway that led into the tiny foyer. The actual front door of the house was hidden from her view, but she could hear Tara's welcoming voice, followed by a couple of unfamiliar voices that seemed to be talking all at once. "I -- I hope so," she amended, her voice coming out in a little whimper.

And then, she heard the sound of a very familiar voice...and her heart leapt up into her throat at the sound. Suddenly she felt very sick.

"Your Watcher?" Spike asked softly, confirming what he thought he had heard them discussing.

"Uh-huh," Buffy nodded, swallowing hard, her wide, anxious eyes focused on the empty doorway to the foyer now. "Oh, God, Spike, I can't do this. He's gonna hate me. There's no way he's going to forgive me."

"Believe I've heard that before." She was surprised by the gentle humor in his voice, and she glanced at him quickly. His eyes were still down, not quite meeting hers, but the corner of his mouth was turned up in the beginnings of a smirk.

He was right, she realized. He *had* heard it before -- when she had been preparing to meet with Willow again for the first time. He had talked her into courage then, assuring her that her friend would forgive her, had to miss her terribly after their long estrangement -- and he had been right.

Suddenly, she felt much calmer, as she turned her eyes warm with appreciation and affection toward Spike, grateful for the steadying effect that he somehow seemed to always have on her.

He was not looking at her, and when she did not respond, he was uncertain how she had taken his comment. "I -- I'm sorry," he began hesitantly. "I wasn't trying to be..."

He stopped talking suddenly, taken by surprise, when she reached out unexpectedly and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. He raised his eyes to hers in an unspoken question, surprised by the warmth he saw there.

"Thank you," she whispered, and his breath was stolen by what he saw in her eyes.

*No,* he told himself firmly. *It's not what you think...she's just...grateful. You made her feel better, and she appreciates it. Nothing more.* He could not allow his hopes to be raised, only to be dashed to pieces again.

And then, she released his hand and stepped forward to greet her Watcher, standing frozen in the doorway to the living room, staring at her with a sort of wonder in his ice blue eyes.

Buffy did not notice the three others, strangers to her, that preceded him into the living room, greeting her friends in a familiar way, as friends not seen in a long time. As Giles did not seem inclined to move toward her, Buffy stepped bravely toward him, meeting his eyes unflinchingly, though her own were wide and terrified.

"Giles," she spoke, barely recognizing the small, tremulous voice that came from her mouth. She hesitated a moment before beginning, haltingly, “I – I had this – this whole – speech thing, planned out – well, I mean, in the past…five…minutes…since I found out that you were coming, but – but the point is, I really thought I knew what I was going to say. It had something to do with – with you being right. Again. And – and my being an idiot for ever choosing Riley over you – and – and I think there was some extensive groveling and begging involved. Possibly on my knees.”

“But now – with you right here,” she paused for a moment, swallowing back a sob, forcing herself to go on in a voice full of pain and remorse, “I – I can’t think of any of the words I was going to say. The only thing that I can think is – is…” Her voice broke, the tears welling in her eyes spilling over as her last words came out in a broken sob, “is that I’ve missed you so much – more than you can ever know…And I’m so…so *sorry*!”

The others gathered in the room were all still, silent, as if afraid that the slightest movement or sound would be to intrude upon the private moment unfolding before their eyes. Buffy stood there, visibly trembling in the face of her deserved judgment, staring up at the man who was more a father to her than her own, tears streaking her face as she waited for him to speak, and seal her fate.

After a long, weighted pause in which he just looked at her, his eyes, his expression, revealing nothing, he finally broke the silence in a calm, even voice.

“I, too, had a – a bit of a – scenario imagined for this meeting, Buffy,” he admitted, and the distance in his tone made her heart sink. “I can’t remember it all now, either, but I believe that it mostly consisted of you coming to me, much as in *your* scenario – and my telling you in no uncertain terms just how foolish, arrogant, and absolutely ungrateful you have been.”

Buffy flinched slightly, and a hurt look formed in her eyes, but she bravely held his intense, piercing gaze as he went on.

“…interspersed with British foul language that you would no doubt not even comprehend, with a few I-told-you-so’s thrown in for good measure.” He paused before admitting, “And quite possibly even an emphatic instruction for you to go to hell.” Giles’ voice was utterly calm as he related to her the things that he had wanted to tell her. But when he went on, his voice was slightly softer.

“That was the scenario I envisioned – when I hung up the phone that morning. After you let me know so clearly that I was – no longer needed in your life.”

Buffy flinched, dropping her eyes this time. Those were not the words she had used – but she might as well have; her actions had been that hurtful to him. “Giles, I…” she began in an aching whisper, but was stopped by his upraised hand, indicating that he was not yet finished.

The statement continued in her mind, desperate, yearning, *I *do* need you! I do!*

“Some time later, I began to picture a somewhat different scenario,” Giles continued calmly. “My response to your apology became somewhat – more reasonable,” he conceded. “I still included numerous severe reprimands and reminders that I did indeed warn you that something like this would happen…followed by…a tentative offer of – a chance. To – gradually – earn back my trust. My friendship.”

There was a rising hope in Buffy’s shining green eyes as she looked up at him; what little he was suggesting with those words was already more than she deserved.

“And now,” Giles went on, and Buffy was surprised – and awed – to see that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears as well. “I find myself here, face to face with you as I had imagined, ,and – and I know that I should be angry with you…you find some satisfaction in your regret…but all my carefully thought out words – seem to have fled,” he admitted with a soft laugh, shaking his head, his eyes still focused on hers. “All the things I wanted to say – don’t seem to mean very much anymore. And only one thing really seems right – in this moment.”

Buffy held her breath, waiting for him to pronounce his decision, thinking through it all with an affectionate amusement that for someone who claimed to have lost all his words, Giles certainly had had a lot to say.

And in the next instant, her own thoughts were stolen away by a stunning, utterly unexected reaction from her Watcher, as he stepped forward without another word to enfold her in his embrace.

For a moment she stood there, frozen in shock and relieved disbelief. This was simply so far removed from all she had expected – all she knew that she deserved – that she did not know how to react.

And then, her overwhelming relief, combined with the loneliness and loss of the past few years caught up to her all at once, and she dissolved into tears in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder and sobbing out the guilt and pain of the mistakes she had made.

Giles just held her like that for a few minutes, his strong arms around her offering her the support and forgiveness she had thought was lost to her. Once her emotions seemed to be coming back under control, he gently pushed her back a little, holding her at arm’s length and looking her in the eye as he said quietly, “There now, dear. It’s all right. We’ve got a lot to talk about, a lot of catching up to do. But let’s not neglect everyone else.”

Buffy suddenly remembered her friends, Giles’ companions – and Spike. She turned around with an embarrassed, tearful little smile to face the rest of the group, aware that after her little sobfest, her face must be a mess.

“I’m gonna – go to the bathroom for a minute,” she said in a voice that was a little shaky and raspy with the tears she had shed. “I’ll be right back.”

Spike, whose attention had not left her during the entire scene, took a hesitant step toward her, as if just wanting her to know that he was there in case she needed anything, but not quite daring to interrupt her private thoughts just yet by speaking.

She gave him a reassuring smile as she passed him, and once he realized that she did not need him for the moment, he reluctantly turned back to look at the rest of the group. He suddenly realized that with Buffy’s exit, he had become the highest point of interest in the room.

The vampires accompanying Giles were presumably his slaves, but they were not behaving as slaves ordinarily did. They were comfortably settled around the room, chatting easily with Buffy’s friends. They obviously knew them well, and were well at ease here in Willow and Tara’s house.

But when Buffy left, and the attention of her Watcher came to rest on Spike, a sort of hush seemed to fall over the room. The other vampires looked with interest at the one who had drawn their master’s attention, and Buffy’s friends seemed drawn in as well, as Giles slowly stepped toward Spike.

Uncomfortable with the attention, the vampire dropped his eyes to the floor as Giles approached, feeling suddenly very nervous under the Watcher’s penetrating gaze, and wishing that Buffy had not left the room – or that he had left it with her.

Giles took in the very changed image of the vampire he had once known. The clothes were very much the same as he had always worn, with the absence of the distinctive leather coat he used to wear. But his stance, his demeanor, was absolutely different. Everything about the way this version of Spike carried himself spoke of humility and submission – and more than a little fear.

As he drew nearer to him, Giles could see the nearly healed lash marks the covered every exposed part of his body, even his face. He frowned; Willow had filled him in on most things. She had told him that Buffy owned Spike now, and that she had brought him with her when she made the choice to leave her abusive husband, but somehow in the conversation, she had failed to mention the terrible beating that Spike had obviously taken.

At whose hands?

“Spike,” Giles said by way of greeting, in a warm, friendly voice. The last time he had seen Spike, they had not been exactly on friendly terms, and the vampire was obviously very uncomfortable – possibly even afraid of him, for some reason. Giles found himself wanted very badly to put him at ease.

“How are you?” The question was a weak attempt at normalcy in a situation that was anything but.

Still, Spike found the genuine kindness in Giles’ tone reassuring, and chanced a glance up at him as he responded in the way that his years in slavery had taught him – respectful and unassuming, drawing as little attention as possible to himself. “Very well, thank you, sir,” he replied, his voice low and quiet, addressing Giles with a respect he had never granted him before – at least not openly.

It was a respect that Giles did not want.

“Spike,” he said again, and something in his tone made Spike look up to see the expression in his eyes, one of sorrow and compassion for what he had become. “You needn’t call me sir. My name is sufficient.”

“Yes, Sir.” Spike’s response was automatic, and he closed his eyes for a moment with a little grimace at his own mistake, before amending, “Yes – Mr. Giles.”

Giles laughed softly. “Sounds a bit odd coming from you, Spike,” he commented in a light, casual tone, as if sharing a joke. “As much as I hate to admit it, I rather think I prefer your calling me ‘Rupert’, or even just ‘Watcher’ to such formality.”

When Spike seemed awkwardly unsure of how to respond to his familiarity, Giles’ smile faded completely into a troubled expression. “Perhaps you ought to go see what’s keeping Buffy,” he suggested mildly, knowing that the very much changed vampire would obey immediately as if it were a command.

The moment Spike disappeared up the stairs, Giles turned to Willow with anger in his eyes. “Who did that to him?” It was a demand for an answer; despite the fact that his voice was calm and quiet, it left no room for argument or denial.

“Riley.” Willow’s answer was immediate, and her own green eyes flashed fury at the very name of the sadistic man who had left such vicious injuries on the vampire who was helpless to defend himself against him.

Giles’ next question caught Willow off guard. “And Buffy?” His eyes were full of a quiet anger as they met hers.

“No…” she gasped in shock when she realized what he was suggesting, her eyes widening in horror. “Giles, *God*, no! Buffy didn’t have anything to do with that! She wasn’t even there when he…”

“Willow,” he stopped her. “I was rather asking about her – response – to Riley’s actions.” When his explanation earned only a blank, confused look, he clarified, “Did she express disapproval? Did she condone his actions?”

“No.” Tara surprised Willow by speaking up in Buffy’s defense. “No, she – it’s part of why she left Riley.”

“She beat the crap out of him for doing it,” Xander offered helpfully, a gleeful smile on his face at the pleasant memory.

That broke Giles’ stern expression into a smile as he nodded in satisfaction. “Glad to hear it.” Then his voice was softer, not really intended for the others’ ears, as he added, “Good to know my Slayer’s still in there somewhere.”

“She’s really starting to come around,” Willow insisted, encouraging that line of thought, which she liked much better than the previous one. “I think what happened was kind of a wake up call. It made her see Riley for what he really is.”

Giles nodded thoughtfully. “Good. If she is finally starting to see how truly evil Riley’s organization is, maybe she’ll be able to help us stop him once and for all.”

“Oh, she’s gonna be all about that,” Anya nodded optimistically. “She’s a scorned woman. I *know* scorned women,” she pointed out in a knowing voice, before adding flatly, “She’s gonna want to take him for everything he’s got.”

Xander gave her a fond look, as he pulled her closer to him and she turned her head to look at him expectantly. “Remind me never to scorn you,” he said teasingly before leaning in to give her a quick kiss.

Giles discreetly turned away from the ridiculously affectionate couple, for once too lost in his thoughts and plans to really be annoyed by their constant public displays of affection.

“Let’s hope so,” he said quietly, glancing with slight impatience toward the stairs. “As soon as Buffy gets back down here – we have things to discuss. And plans to make.”

Buffy stared into the bathroom mirror, grimacing slightly at her red-rimmed eyes and the tear stains that had fallen onto the front of her blouse. Of course, she reminded herself, it was nothing compared to the wreck she would have been had Giles rejected her apology. After all this time, so long having rejected *him* -- it would have been what she deserved.

"Are you all right, Buffy?"

Spike's soft, concerned voice, a bare foot or so away from her, startled her, and she jumped with a little shriek. Once again, she had not heard or sensed him coming, and the lack of reflection he cast in the mirror had given her no warning of the fact that she was not alone in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, automatically, stepping back away from her and dropping his gaze to the floor -- just as she had known that he would do.

Spike seemed to have a tendency to try and take responsibility for any problem or thing that went wrong onto himself almost without even thinking about it. He was quick to apologize, something that must have been trained into him by previous masters.

She hated it.

She turned to face him, thinking with a sense of guilt and sadness that his current behavior was not completely due to his previous training. She was well aware that before her cruel rejection after that first night they had spent together, prior to the savage torture she had left him to endure at her husband's hands -- Spike had seemed much more secure, confident, than he did now, even as a slave.

Oh, he had been careful of how he treated her, wary of punishment and maintaining a much higher level of respect for her than he ever had in his pre-slavery days. But there had been a sense of comfort between them -- a sort of familiarity that he now seemed to be avoiding at all costs.

*And why shouldn't he?* she thought with self-disgust. *That familiarity got him nothing but a slap in the face for the comfort he tried to give me, and a beating on top of that!*

She did not even know if it was really possible at this point -- but she wanted to make it right.

She slowly closed the distance between them, putting her hands on his arms when she reached him and seeking his gaze as she said softly, "Spike."

She felt him tense under her touch, and when he looked up hesitantly to meet her eyes, she could see a measure of fear in his, reminding her again of how recklessly she had played with his emotions, using him for her own comfort, with no thought for the confusion and pain she caused him in the process. She could tell that as a result of the mixed signals she had given him, he now had absolutely no idea what to expect from her.

A slap, or a kiss – both were “rights” she had exercised before, and he had none of his own.

The warmth in her eyes made him relax a little, and he finally focused his eyes on hers, waiting for her to speak. When she did, there was affection and gratitude in her voice. “You were right…about Willow…about Giles,” she told him. “Thank you.”

He shrugged slightly, seeming a bit uncomfortable with her praise, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes, and his mouth turned up just slightly in the beginnings of a smile, as he replied humbly, “ ‘S nothing. Just trying to help.”

“Well, you did,” she stated simply. “And I’m grateful. I really am.”

He was quiet for a moment, his open, expressive eyes making him much too vulnerable to someone as careless with his affections as she had been. He was obviously touched by her words, not used to being thanked for anything anymore. After all, whatever he did for her was no less than his duty, wasn’t it?

He smiled at her, grateful for the small consideration. “You’re welcome,” he said softly, a little shyly.

The look of devotion in his eyes brought a lump to Buffy’s throat that made it hard to speak, but she made herself anyway. There were things that she needed to say – and that Spike needed to hear.

“I – I never thanked you,” she said in a hushed voice, trying to hold back the tears that rose to her eyes unexpectedly. “For – well – if it wasn’t for you – I’d still be with him,” she pointed out quietly, dropping her gaze as she thought back with shame and pain of fall she had allowed Riley to do. What she had allowed him to do to Spike was the worst of it, but by far not all of it.

“You – you helped me see – that I had to leave. That I – I didn’t deserve that,” she finished in a halting, trembling voice. “You – were a friend to me, Spike. When I had no one. And that means – so much…” Her voice broke off when she reached the point where another word would have had her in tears.

Slowly, cautiously, with a sort of reverence, Spike gently shifted his arms under her hands so that *he* was holding *her* arms instead, steadying her with his gentle touch. “I couldn’t have done anything else, love,” he whispered, lowering his head with his voice, his mouth so close that his breath gently rustled her hair.

“I – I’d do anything for you, Buffy.” There was an aching vulnerability in his tender admission that made her tears spill over down her face, as she allowed his tentative hands to draw her closer to him.

He was a little scared, and not at all sure that he was doing the right thing, but she was crying, emotionally overwrought from the events of the past few days, and instinct took over as he took her into his arms. He was reassured when she leaned her head against his chest, accepting the comfort he offered, and he began to relax a bit, daring to lightly run his fingers through her hair, whispering comforting shushing sounds into it, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

After a few moments, she pulled back from him, looking into his eyes, her own troubled and tearful, and the guilt she felt was clear there. “I’m doing it again,” she said with self-directed frustration and anger in her voice. “You’re the one that’s been beaten and abused and – and treated like garbage, and I’m the one who’s bawling like a baby and taking comfort in *you*. Again.”

He shook his head in dismissal of her concerns, as he protested earnestly, “No…no, love. I – I *want* to be able to – to do whatever you ask me to, Buffy. I want to – to be what you need.”

The heartfelt sentiment only reminded her once again of how cruelly she had treated him, taking what she needed and casting him aside when she was through. She had hurt him terribly – and the open, eager expression in his eyes told her that she could easily do it again if she was not careful.

Slowly, giving him a warm smile through her tears to reassure him, Buffy pulled out of his embrace. “What about what *you* need?” she asked him softly.

His tentative confidence, that was only a response to her insecurity and need, faded suddenly as he lowered his eyes, uncomfortable. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered with a self-conscious little shrug.

Buffy reached a gentle hand to lift his chin, bringing his eyes back into line with hers, gazing into them searchingly for a long moment before she spoke intently. “Yes. It does.”

He swallowed hard, emotion that he was struggling to conceal obvious in the set of his jaw, his wide, uncertain eyes, though he did not say a word.

When he did not respond, she went on in a tone that was gentle but left no room for argument. “You deserve so much more than what I’ve given you, Spike. I – I don’t want to use you. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been a friend to me, and – and that’s what I want to be to you. If you’ll have me.”

Spike’s mouth opened in protest, no doubt to insist that there was no question of whether or not he would have her, but she raised her hand to stop him, not finished yet.

“I want you to feel comfortable with me, Spike,” she told him, meeting his eyes with an arresting gaze that refused to let him look away. “I want you to feel like you can look at me if you want to…talk to me if you want to…and not be afraid of me.”

Once again, he averted his eyes, uncomfortable with the kindness and consideration he was not accustomed to.

“Spike, look at me.” Buffy’s voice was slightly impatient, but not unkind, and he reluctantly did as she asked. “I told you once that I wouldn’t hurt you,” Buffy went on, her voice softer with tears and memory, her eyes honest and open as they met his, bravely facing her own failures. “And then I did,” she admitted, pausing for a moment before she added earnestly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Spike.”

He shook his head, pulling away from her hand still on his face. “No,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t your fault. If I’d have…”

“It *was* my fault,” Buffy interrupted him, firmly overriding his attempts to take the blame onto himself. “And I’m sorry.” She paused before adding emphatically, “And it *won’t* happen again. I promise, Spike.” She looked deep into his eyes as she gave him her word. “I will never hurt you again. You don’t have to be afraid of making me mad, or getting punished, because it won’t happen.”

She reconsidered slightly, then, with a pensive tilt of her head, as she amended, “Well, I might get mad. I mean – back before the whole world went insane – I think everything we ever said to each other made us both furious.” She laughed with a certain fondness at the memory. Then her eyes grew serious, though she was smiling, as she added, “But I won’t hurt you. I might yell and scream and generally be a bitch – but if I do – I want you to feel like you can just yell and scream and cuss me out in British right back.”

He could not help but laugh softly at her frank but quite accurate assessment of the way they had always treated each other before, but in spite of the honesty in her eyes, telling him that she meant every word, he could hardly imagine talking to her, treating her, the way he once had.

So many things had changed so much -- *he* had changed so much – since then. He could see in her eyes that she meant was she was saying, and really intended to keep her word this time, and it made him want to dare to hope…

But hadn’t she *intended* to keep her word the first time?

Buffy could see the doubt in his eyes, mingled with the faint beginnings of hope – and she couldn’t really blame him. She had done nothing thus far to earn his trust. “I know it’s hard to accept right now,” she conceded. “But I mean it. And I’ll *show* you I mean it, no matter how long it takes. I want to be there for you, , Spike,” she said earnestly, her eyes full of affection as they met his, her hand rising to gently stroke down the side of her face. “You’ve been there for me.”

Her tender words and touch took his breath, as he stared back into her eyes, longing to believe in what she was offering, which was so much more than he had hoped for. At any rate, he *knew* what he could offer *her*.

“I always will be, Buffy,” he assured her, his voice thick with emotion. “I always will be.”


Most of the morning and early afternoon was spent in catching up with the friends from which Buffy had willingly estranged herself before; now, she was desperate to know all that she had missed in their lives due to her foolish mistake. She was more grateful than she could express that they had forgiven her so easily, accepted her back so freely.

She listened with rising interest as Giles talked about his recent travels around the country, giving lectures and gaining support for the growing abolitionist movement. The things he said began to raise a lot of questions for her that she had not given much thought to before – questions that she did not feel comfortable asking in front of the whole group. She did not want to risk offending the vampires who were with her Watcher, who seemed more his friends than his slaves.

Which, she thought, should not have surprised her. After all, she would not have expected Giles to own slaves himself when he was so adamantly against slavery. What *did* surprise her was the fact that the vampires were with him at all. Her Watcher had never advocated cruelty in any form, but just because he did not want to see creatures that had been made helpless abused and mistreated, did not mean that he wanted to make them his best friends.

She really hoped that she would get the chance to talk privately with Giles.

After their talk upstairs, Spike seemed less fearful around her – but apparently *only* around her. When she urged him gently to sit down with the rest of them, instead of just standing, as if waiting for a command, he obeyed, but he took the nearest seat he could to where she sat, and remained very attentive to her. He did not take part in the conversation, just sat there, watching carefully in case she needed something.

Buffy was acutely aware that the others were noticing his subservient behavior to her – and they were not liking it. Her friends were obviously uncomfortable with his attitude toward her, but they mostly tried to ignore it – with the exception of Tara, who was looking more upset by the moment.

Giles’ vampires spoke openly with her friends, but regarded Buffy warily, as if she might be dangerous. Apparently, they were taking their cue from Spike’s careful behavior, reading it as a sign that the Slayer might have a tendency toward anger or violence. They did not seem genuinely afraid however; Buffy got the impression that they felt very safe as long as they were in the presence of her Watcher.

It was the reaction of said Watcher that bothered Buffy the most. He kept trying to draw Spike into the conversation, and Spike kept avoiding it, keeping his attention focused primarily on Buffy, seeming uncomfortable and nervous anytime anyone else seemed to focus on him. With every moment that passed this way, Giles’ manner with Spike became softer, as he tried to coax him out of the shell he had built around himself – and his manner with Buffy became cooler.

With dismay she realized that he must somehow hold her responsible for Spike’s behavior.

She *really* needed to talk to her Watcher alone.

The conversation continued around her, but she began to zone out of it a little, as she tried to think of a way to get Giles away from his faithful followers, and Spike away from her, so that she could talk to him alone. But she knew that Spike would be reluctant to be left behind, and the vampires in Giles’ care, while clearly more secure than Spike was at the moment, still seemed fairly attached to the older man.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted as Giles spoke, a little sharply. “Buffy,” he said, his tone cool and his eyes narrowed slightly. “May I have a word with you in private?”

She felt her heart leap up into her throat, choking her, suddenly terrified at the hard expression on her Watcher’s face. Apparently, it was not going to be as difficult as she had thought to have that private conversation with him. She should have been that direct about it, she thought ruefully.

Problem was…suddenly she wasn’t so sure she *wanted* to have this conversation.

Giles did *not* look pleased.

But there was nothing to be done about it. As her Watcher rose from his seat without another word and stepped toward the front door, like a child in dread of her punishment, Buffy slipped out of her chair and followed him with slow, dragging steps, wondering with an almost panicked feeling what exactly Giles had on his mind that was important enough to him to interrupt the conversation for.

She had the uncomfortable knowledge that she was about to find out.

Spike watched with an uneasy feeling of apprehension as Buffy rose to follow her Watcher out the front door onto the porch, leaving him there with a room full of people he had once known well, but who were now little more than strangers – not to mention the *actual* strangers. He was unsure of what he should do; slavery had made the idea of simply sitting and doing nothing a foreign one to him. A slave was always supposed to be alert and attentive, watching for the needs of his master or mistress.

That was kind of difficult when said mistress got up and left him, he thought, a bit petulantly.

Buffy had not spared him so much as a glance before leaving with Giles, so he thought that she probably did not want or need him along at the moment. She and Giles probably needed to have a private conversation, Slayer to Watcher, without everyone else there to overhear every word. Giles had made a point of saying that he wanted to talk to Buffy *alone*, and she had not objected in the least.

She had, however, seemed nervous and reluctant to go. Come to think of it, though his attention had been mostly focused on Buffy during the little exchange, he had noticed that Giles had not seemed terribly pleased with her at the time. A worried frown creased Spike’s brow at that thought.

He knew that, even if he could, Giles would never physically harm Buffy; but he also knew that at this moment, Buffy was terribly vulnerable emotionally, and he could easily hurt her with his words, even without meaning to. She was nervous and insecure about rebuilding her relationships with the friends she had rejected, but now needed so desperately.

And if she had been *nervous* about the reactions of Willow and Xander and the others – the thought of *Giles’* reaction had terrified her.

Spike did not know why Giles was upset with her, since he seemed to have forgiven her for casting him off in the first place; but he knew that whatever the Watcher chose to say to her right now, Buffy would definitely take it to heart. If he was too harsh, it could be devastating to her.

He suddenly decided to get up and follow her, regardless of the Watcher’s wishes, and stood up quickly from his chair.

Just then, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Willow standing beside him with an encouraging smile. Just the look alone made him feel a little better. Over the course of the last couple of days, he had begun to feel more comfortable around Willow and Tara, who had treated him with nothing but kindness since he had come here.

“She’ll be all right,” the red-headed witch assured him. “They just need a little time to talk, just the two of them.” She paused, that self-conscious apologetic smile that was so Willow coming over her face as she added with a little shrug, “Besides…it’s daylight.”

He nodded reluctantly, knowing that she was right, but still a little apprehensive.

“Have you met our guests?” Willow asked him, her voice and eyes hopeful as she tried to distract him from his worries.

He shook his head, looking nervously toward the vampires in question. He felt a little odd about meeting them, for some reason. They seemed so at ease and comfortable with the humans that surrounded them – so different from the way he had become.

He watched with an almost fascination as one of the two males got into a spirited discussion with Xander, arguing over some sports team, and the little female across the room accepted a steaming cup from Tara, who was smiling down at her where she sat comfortably on the couch, completely relaxed.

They were truly being treated as guests; he could scarcely comprehend it.

Such courtesy and hospitality from a human was something Spike had never experienced for himself – not from any human who actually knew what he was. Until Buffy, every master he had ever had had treated him like nothing more than an animal, deserving of no consideration, no privileges or rights of any kind.

He was not blind, and he knew that Buffy’s friends disapproved of her owning him. They seemed to be of the opinion that her simple possession of him alone, regardless of how she treated him, was a crime in and of itself, whether or not she actually hurt him. But somehow, despite the fact that she had, he still felt safer with her than he had in years, with anyone.

She had a volatile temper, and the natural tendency of a Slayer to take out her frustrations on any undead creature or demon that got in her way. That alone should have made him terrified to think that his life was hers to do with as she pleased. And it was true, there had been and still were times when he was afraid of her, even now, in spite of her promise not to hurt him again.

Still – he felt safe with her in a way that her friends could not come close to comprehending.

“Hey.”

A quiet, unfamiliar voice behind him made him jump, and he cursed himself for showing such weakness when he realized that it was only one of the other vampires standing there.

The slightly built, dark-haired vampire behind him, clearly little more than a fledgling, had a tentative smile on his face as he waited for Spike to respond. "I'm Julian," he finally offered, when Spike just looked at him coolly, not really interested in having a conversation with the stranger when he had so much on his mind at the moment.

“Spike.” The simple one-word response did not leave Julian much to work with, and should have been a hint to the younger vamp.

“So…you belong to the Slayer,” Julian commented, his brows raised slightly in interest, but mostly just searching for a way to pull Spike into the conversation.

Spike did not want to be pulled.

His eyes narrowed on the expectant face of the boy, who couldn’t have been more than twenty when he was turned. This was just another slave, and a fledgling at that; there was no reason for Spike to feel intimidated in the least around him. He called on the remnants of a persona that he had abandoned long ago in the name of survival, pulling himself up into an intimidating stance, gratified when the younger vamp unconsciously shifted backward a little.

To take such a stance with a human would have gotten him immediately struck down, and hard. It had taken months of brutality and degradation, but his first master had eventually succeeded in breaking him of his pride and bravado, and he had given up the “Big Bad” façade that in this world, only served to cause him suffering.

But a little fledgling like this, chipped like him and lacking his skills and experience, was no threat whatsoever, and found the classic Spike pose, the cold smirk on his face, very intimidating. Spike felt a rush of nearly forgotten power and pride at Julian’s reaction. It was not fear exactly – after all, no one in this house would let Spike actually hurt the other vampire, if he had a mind to – but rather a wary acknowledgement in his eyes.

Spike might be a slave, but as a vampire, he was a master – and not one to be taken lightly.

“Yeah,” he responded to the boy’s question, a challenge in his soft tone. “What of it?” As he spoke he took a step nearer to Julian.

“Nothing.” Julian shook his head, glancing away uncomfortably. “I was just – I mean…” he stammered, losing his words under the powerful glare of the older vampire.

“Oh, good. You two have met.”

Tara’s voice was soft, pleasant, but her smile was knowing as she suddenly stepped between the two, her usually soft grey eyes piercing as they fell on Spike, and he instinctively shifted back to his usual demeanor, the attitude falling away in an instant. He knew by now that Tara would not hurt him, but it was automatic by now, the humble posture, the dropped gaze, when faced with any human, studying him so intently as she was doing a that moment.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to the others.” Tara’s voice was kind, but he did not miss the subtle reprimand in her tone as she put her arm around his shoulders and led him firmly away from Julian. He tensed under her touch, aware that he had crossed a line, but found himself relaxing slightly when she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

The unspoken message was clear – he was safe, there was no way that she was going to hurt him – but she wasn’t going to let him bully Julian, either.

In a strange way, it was comforting, giving him a sense of security, because he somehow knew that if the situation had been reversed, Julian would have been gently distracted just as he had just been. It was clear that in this house, things were done a certain way – with tolerance, and grace, and a sense of fairness. Everyone was treated the same, and no one was permitted to use violence or mistreat those around them.

It was reassuring, and steadying, and made him feel – safe.

Spike felt his worries begin to ease as Tara led him across the room to meet Aaron and Mara.


Buffy’s heart was pounding as she followed her Watcher around the house to the pretty little garden in the back. She stopped for a moment, surprised by the unexpected beautiful scene she had stepped into – no doubt the work of Tara’s hands.

Buffy suppressed a sense of resentful irritation. *Yeah. Perfect, saintly Tara…everything she touches turns to shiny, pretty goodness. Whereas everything *I* touch, on the other hand, turns to…*

“Would you care to tell me what’s been going on between you and Spike?” Giles asked her directly, his ice blue eyes piercing, unrelenting, and focused on hers as he took a seat on a white painted bench facing her, regarding her coolly, with barely bridled anger.

*Shit.* She finished the thought, which was now doubly appropriate.

“What do you mean?” she asked, aware of the stupidity of the question, and the fact that she must look as trapped as she felt, but just stalling for time. “ ‘Going on’ could mean so many things…”

“Buffy.” Giles spoke with forced patience, and Buffy heard a dangerous note in his voice that she had never heard from him before. “This is not a joke. This is serious. The last time I saw Spike he was as brash, arrogant and all around infuriating as ever. Now I come here to find him in *your* possession – and rather than the total resistance and anger I would expect from him at being under your command – he rather seems to seek desperately to please you – to meet your every need.”

He paused, and the righteous anger in his eyes made her drop her own gaze, knowing where he was going, and that he was partially right in going there.

“Now what I’m wondering, Buffy,” Giles went on softly, holding her gaze firmly. “…is what could possibly have brought him to such a strong – conviction – that it is in his best interests to please you above all else. What could be the motivating factor that might convince such a proud, bold creature to submit so fully to his mortal enemy?” The unspoken accusation in his eyes was clear; he had concluded that to be so submissive to the Slayer, Spike must have been “convinced” to do so by force.

“Giles, I didn’t do that to him!” she declared emphatically, her voice trembling slightly with the guilt of what she *had* done to Spike. “He’s been like that since I bought him!”

It was *almost* the truth, though she knew that her own behavior had served to break the tentative confidence he had been developing. Although some of the fault was hers, she knew that Spike had not been the same person they had all known since long before *she* had bought him.

“And why was that, exactly, Buffy?” Giles asked her bluntly, shifting the focus of the conversation suddenly. “Why *did* you purchase Spike as your slave?”

She was caught off guard by the question, felt her defenses springing up. “I don’t know,” she shrugged nervously, looking away from his eyes. “I just – I saw him there – at the auction – and I – I just couldn’t…” She paused, looking up at him with a plea for understanding in her eyes.

He wanted to hear what she had to say before he offered or withheld understanding. He just sat there, looking at her calmly, expectantly, waiting for her to find her thoughts and go on.

Buffy thought back on the events of that day – her pain at Riley’s careless, dismissive treatment of her…seeing Spike, and all the memories it had brought back, of better times and less confusing relationships…how could she explain to Giles what had possessed her to raise her bidding card that afternoon? She could barely understand it herself, even now.

She remembered the way Spike’s master had been mistreating him, had threatened to hurt him if he was not sold that day – the deep sadness she had felt when he was standing on the auction block, unwanted – her desire in that moment to claim him as her own.

And then, the way she had felt when the other woman had bid on him – the fierce possessive determination that had filled her, that no one else would have Spike but her – how desperate she had suddenly been not to lose this person from her past that had suddenly reappeared, dragging her just a little nearer to the memory of who she had once been.

“I needed him,” she finally confessed softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I bid on him because – because I didn’t have anyone. And – I wanted someone – to be mine.” The words came out in a hushed whisper, her tear-filled eyes focused on her Watcher’s spotless loafers, the truth coming together for her as she spoke it.

“You *had* someone who was yours,” Giles reminded her, and the bite that he could not keep out of his words made her flinch a little. His voice softened slightly with immediate remorse that his pain made him reluctant to show as he added, “…if you’d have had him.”

Her stricken eyes shot up to his at the stark pain in his voice, as she was reminded again of how her foolish actions had hurt those who cared the most about her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Giles, I don’t know what else to say. I’m *sorry*.” There was a desperation verging on despair in her voice, as she stepped closer to him, searching his eyes pleadingly.

“I know you are, Buffy,” he replied quietly. “And I’ve forgiven you.” He paused. “That doesn’t mean by any means that it no longer hurts. And that doesn’t mean there are not consequences for your actions.” His tone shifted to direct the conversation back to what he had brought her out here to discuss in the first place. “You say you bought Spike at the slave auction – because you wanted someone to be yours.” He was silent for a moment, his intent gaze boring into hers and refusing to let her look away.

“Well, he *is*, Buffy. He’s yours,” Giles stated matter-of-factly, leaving no room for her to deny the truth of the matter. “The question now is – what are you going to do with him?”

Buffy just stared at her Watcher for a long moment, not knowing what to say. She tried to organize her scrambled thoughts before she allowed them to leave her mouth – time had taught her that that was usually wiser than the alternative.

The first ideas that popped into her head as to what she intended to do with Spike were all things that she doubted her Watcher had meant, or would appreciate hearing about. As to the more serious version of the question that Giles had actually meant to ask – Buffy had absolutely no idea how to respond.

That was precisely her problem. In a moment of weakness and need, she had made a rash decision that had altered her life – and Spike’s – for good. And now, she had to somehow figure out just how she was going to deal with that decision. Because yes, what she had done was definitely permanent, she thought with determination. Whatever confusion she felt over her feelings, however conflicted she was at the moment, she knew one thing for certain – now that Spike was hers, she was not ever going to give him up.

She drew a deep breath to reply, then paused, letting it out slowly before she admitted in a tone of defeat and uncertainty, “I have absolutely no clue whatsoever.”

Giles allowed himself a small, patient smile at her honesty. At least it was a place to start. “As I suspected,” he nodded slowly.

Deflated, unsure, and desperately in need of the wise counsel she had so recklessly cast off before, Buffy sank down on the bench beside Giles. “I don’t know *what* to do,” she went on in a small, anxious voice. “I mean –he’s a vampire, right? Soulless. Evil. Killer. Not really changed, just – on a leash. So – it shouldn’t really matter what I do to him. That’s what makes sense in my head, and what everybody around me keeps saying. I mean, I used to stake vampires all the time, so why should the whole slavery thing bother me?”

She paused for breath, meeting his eyes, her own troubled and questioning as she added softly, “Why does the whole idea just make me feel sick inside?”

There was mingled relief and sorrow in Giles’ eyes at her words – mixed with a little bit of guilt. “To be quite honest with you, Buffy, I would be quite worried if it did not,” he informed her. “And I must tell you – I’ve a bit of a confession to make.” He paused, seeming to struggle to find the right words.

Buffy’s eyes widened in curious surprise, wondering what could possibly have caused the look of shame and regret in the older man’s eyes. Suddenly, she felt a sense of apprehension come over her, even as she reassured him, “What, Giles? You haven’t done anything.”

A sad smile passed across his lips, and he shook his head slightly as he raised his eyes to meet hers again. “No,” he agreed. “Perhaps not. Not intentionally, my dear. But over the course of the last few years, I have come to believe that I have – I have failed you, Buffy. I have – grievously misled you.”

She was silent, just waiting for him to go on, an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. Everything about his tone, his eyes, the mood that had suddenly settled over them, told her instinctively that whatever he was about to say was going to be momentous, possibly altering her entire worldview.

Overhead, a cloud slipped across the sun, dulling the brilliance of Tara’s garden that surrounded them, and setting a chill of foreboding in Buffy’s heart. She kept silent, determining just to let him speak and tell her whatever it was he was trying so hard to tell her.

When Giles went on, his voice was quiet. “For as long as I was a member of the Council, they always held the belief…”

“Wait,” Buffy stopped him, her eyes widening in surprise and her resolve forgotten instantly. “You *were* with the Council? As in you’re not anymore? You’re not – not a Watcher anymore?” Her voice became more timid, and a little frightened on the end of her question, and he knew that what she meant was not “*a* Watcher” – but rather “*my* Watcher”.

“Not -- *officially*, Buffy,” he amended her words slightly, and there was something reassuring in his voice. “But please do let me finish. What I have to tell you is – really quite important.”

She dutifully fell silent again, forcing herself to just sit back against the bench and listen, though her entire body was tense with anticipation.

“You see – around the time all of this was just beginning, right after we defeated Adam,” Giles went on. “I began to do further research into the idea of whether or not a vampire could be – taught – to act contrary to his nature, to act with a sense of morality, with any consistency.”

“Because of Spike,” Buffy guessed, remembering. “and his chip.”

“Precisely.” Giles nodded. “The whole situation brought up a number of questions for me regarding behavior and nature, and the importance of a vampire’s soul – or rather, lack thereof. I began to research the matter in my personal time, but did not really get into it more thoroughly until – well, until *all* my time became personal time.”

Buffy dropped her gaze at the unintentional reminder of her dismissal of him, grateful that he was at least attempting to handle the matter gracefully. A veiled jibe here or there was really the least that she deserved.

“I returned to England for a short time, and intensified my research as Riley’s organization began to become more powerful here in the states. But as hard as I tried, I could find very little written or recorded in regards to the nature of the soul – what it controls – the effects of its loss. My questions were met with guarded, incomplete answers, and little by little, I began to come to a conclusion that was deeply troubling.”

He paused, and Buffy frowned, a half-finished understanding beginning in her mind. "What?" she pressed impatiently.

Giles took a deep breath before dropping the bomb. "We have no written history -- no evidence -- no indications of any kind as to whether or not an unsouled vampire might still retain some sort of…emotions…conscience…some sense of right and wrong.”

Buffy’s mind went back to the time she had first dealt with Spike, and his obvious love for Drusilla. The strong emotions he had clearly felt back then had struck her hard then, placing the beginnings of the questions her Watcher was talking about in her mind for the first time. She looked back up at Giles, trying to focus on what he was saying.

“For as long as it has existed,” Giles was continuing. “the Council has purported the concept that all beings without souls are inherently evil and must be destroyed – that encompasses all vampires, demons…”

“Anything non-human,” Buffy interjected, a dark note in her voice expressing her disapproval of that mind-set. And when, she suddenly wondered with surprise, had she stopped agreeing with that mindset?

“Actually – yes,” Giles admitted with a nod. “That is the ideology that has governed the rules and training for the Slayer for as long as the Watchers have guided the Slayers.”

Buffy felt her whole world drop to the floor – with her stomach – at the as-yet unspoken implications of his words. “And you’re saying – that’s – not true?” she asked, her voice trembling and barely over a whisper.

All the years she had spent slaying – taking out vampires and demons simply because they *were* vampires and demons – and if there was a chance that some of them she had slain had *not* been evil – the thought made her world spin around her, made her question everything that she believed in and thought that she was.

“I’m saying,” Giles went on gently, meeting her eyes with a searching look of concern, wanting her to take what he said as it was meant, “that we’ve really no way of knowing for sure. The Council has no way of conclusively proving or disproving their stance on the soul.” He paused, looking away, his eyes distant with recent memories.

“When I began to wonder about these things, naturally I began asking questions, trying to find anyone who could disprove my suspicions. No one knew any more than I did – or wouldn’t say. The general advice I received was more or less to just – shut up about it.” His voice was calm and even as he added, “Naturally – I didn’t. Tensions began to rise between me and certain influential members of the Council. Before they could come to the inevitable conclusion that I had already reached – that my ideals were no longer in agreement with theirs – I quit the Council.”

Buffy let out an involuntary gasp of shock at his words. She could not imagine anything he could have said that would have stunned her more.

Giles smiled a little at her reaction. “I don’t regret it. I’m quite glad I did it, actually. I am only sorry, Buffy, that I followed their rules and ideas as long as I did, and that I allowed you to be deceived by them as well. I have come to the conclusion,” he went on softly, “that I can’t possibly know if the Council is right or wrong on their stand that vampires are utterly incapable of redemption. And if I can’t know for certain – I cannot in good conscience condone the mistreatment of them – especially when they’ve been made helpless even to defend their own lives.”

“So – everything,” Buffy whispered, shaking her head slightly, her eyes wide as she took it all in. “the slaying – my *calling*…”

“No, Buffy,” he stopped her gently, placing a steadying hand on her arm. He could see that his revelation was having a greater impact on her than he had anticipated, and it was worrying to him. “Your calling comes from a power much higher than the Watcher’s Council.” He laughed softly, but his eyes were solemn as they searched hers. “You are meant – destined – to be the Slayer, Buffy – to stop the spread of evil wherever you find it.” He paused.

“Even if you find it in places you never expected to.”

He looked down for a moment before going on. “In all my years as a Watcher, Buffy, I have seen enough to know – the work you do as the Slayer is good, and right – necessary. If left to their own devices, the vampires would eventually create such a menace as to destroy the world as we know it very quickly.”

Buffy shook her head, still confused. “But if they can be redeemed, how can I…”

“Buffy,” Giles broke in, shaking his head, knowing exactly where she was going with that, and wanting to head her off before she got there. “To say that you should not slay dangerous vampires because they *may* be redeemable – which is still unproven by the way, merely a theory of mine – would be like saying that one should release Ted Bundy or Charles Manson into the general public, on the slight chance that they *might* reform. No, your duty as the Slayer is unchanged by any of this.”

He paused, all traces of his smile fading. “But it seems that your husband has created an entirely new dilemma, Buffy – a species, or race, or whatever you want to call it, that does not fall into either of the realms that we are familiar with. The chipped vampires he has created are helpless, no threat to anyone…and there is a strong possibility, based on what I have observed, that they might become useful members of society, with the proper guidance and control. Therefore to enslave them, place them at the mercy of humans, seems…”

“Wrong,” Buffy stated simply, firmly, leaving no doubt as to her opinion on the matter. “It’s always seemed wrong to me. I just couldn’t – couldn’t make it make sense with what you’d always – what I’d always been taught,” she amended, looking away uncomfortably.

“Again, Buffy, I am truly sorry to have misled you. It was not my intention.” Giles’ voice was soft, and he looked at the ground as well. “But you are right. Slavery in any form is wrong. Yet, at the same time – the vampires cannot be left to their own devices without any guidance – not when we have no idea how much good or evil they may or may not be actually capable of,” he pointed out, his tone changing as he returned to the topic at hand. “There is a lot of damage that they could do, even without being capable of actual physical violence.”

Buffy’s mind went back to Spike’s participation in Adam’s plan, the way he had so skillfully separated her from her friends, so long ago. She nodded slowly, drawing a deep breath. Giles was right; Riley had created a race that could not be truly independent in human society – and yet should not be completely dominated either.

“Quite a mess Riley’s made,” she commented darkly.

“Indeed.” Giles agreed with a heavy sigh. “But, the fact is – the mess is made. And we now have to deal with it. That’s what I’m working on, Buffy – what I hope you’ll help me with. A plan that would free the chipped vampires from slavery, while incorporating a plan to train them, prepare them, to eventually be integrated into society.”

Buffy’s eyes widened as she processed what he was saying – the concept of a society with humans and chipped vampires living side by side. It was a world that she never would have imagined could exist – but now might be the best that they could do.

She looked up at her Watcher, her expression serious. “I want to know more about it,” she said softly. “This whole idea is very new to me – but I trust you, Giles. I want you to tell me everything you’re planning – what I can do to help. I *want* to help.”

Her voice was strong, decisive, as she met his gaze, and the Watcher felt a great sense of relief. “Of course, Buffy. I’ll fill you in on everything. We’ll have plenty of time now.”

“Giles,” Buffy went on after a moment. “I – I want you to know…I can’t – can’t let Spike go. If I did – he’d just end up much worse off than he is with me.”

Giles nodded slowly, cautiously accepting her statement.

“But – but I want to help him. Not hurt him,” she went on softly. She paused, hesitating, before she admitted, “I *have* hurt him. I’ll admit that. He – he made me mad, and I hit him. More than once. But – but I’m trying to change all that, Giles. I really am…”

“I know, Buffy,” Giles spoke softly, encouragingly. “I know you are. Years of training is not overcome overnight. You’re the Slayer – it’s in your very nature to hurt him. I’ll admit, that’s why I was immediately concerned to find that you owned a slave at all – much less that it was Spike – and to see his manner with you, well – I suppose I assumed the worst, Buffy.”

She gave him a small, sad little smile. “You weren’t too far off,” she reminded him quietly. Suddenly, she looked up, a puzzled, speculative frown on her face. “Hey. That reminds me. What about the vampires here with you? They’re *your* slaves, aren’t they? What’s that about?”

Giles smiled, almost secretively, standing up from the bench. “As you will soon see…they’re only slaves in the most technical sense of the word, Buffy. Shall we go back inside? I’d very much like you to meet them.”

Returning his smile, Buffy rose from the bench and followed her Watcher back toward the house.

When Buffy and Giles walked back into the house, she was surprised -- and amused -- by the unexpected sight that met her eyes.

Spike was seated on the couch, looking more at ease than she had seen him in a very long time, with Willow on one side and the youngest of Giles' group, the attractive, dark-haired male who she hadn't yet met, on the other. Willow was telling a story which the others all seemed to find hilarious, her voice and face animated and involved.

Spike was sitting with his back turned slightly toward Buffy, so he did not see her come in. As she started quietly toward the little group, Buffy was pleasantly surprised again when Spike raised a finger to interrupt Willow -- quietly, tentatively, but still, he actually interrupted her! -- to interject his own comment into her story.

"No, Red, that's not quite how it happened," he began, and proceeded to make a minor correction to her account of the story as he remembered it.

The three younger vampires were fascinated.

Willow and Tara had been relating stories of the battles Spike had fought with the Slayer, five years before. He had only helped her a few times that year, right after he got his chip, but the two witches seemed to remember every time in vivid detail, as they related the stories to the rapt vampires, whose attention kept shifting between the girls telling the stories and the master vampire they were talking about.

They were quite impressed.

For his part, Spike seemed a bit uncomfortable with the attention at first, but as the girls persisted, he found himself getting caught up in the memories right along with them. And the obvious positive effect it seemed to be having on him was all the encouragement they needed to keep remembering.

Spike had never thought that any of the Slayer's friends had really noticed him at all during the fights they had witnessed. Back then, he had just resented the fact that he was forced to work with the Slayer, just to get in a good spot of violence, and hadn’t really paid that much attention to her friends.

At least, he had told himself that he resented it.

Back then, the Scoobies had merely tolerated him, seeing him as harmless, under control, but still capable of being a menace in many ways. They had certainly not seen him as a friend, or even liked him, as far as he could tell. Now, it warmed his heart to hear Willow and Tara speaking about the times he had all but forgotten, with a warmth and affection that they had not felt – or not expressed – at the time it had actually occurred.

Time had a way of changing things.

The touch of a soft hand on his shoulder startled him, and he jumped slightly with a sudden sense of alarm, immediately stiffening under the touch, but not daring to move.

“Just me,” Buffy spoke softly, reassuringly, behind him, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before coming around the couch and perching on the arm, since all available seats in the room were taken.

There was a momentary pause in the conversation as everyone acknowledged the presence of the Slayer, but Willow quickly went on with her story before things could become awkward, and the others soon became immersed in her story again.

As for Spike, the startled fear left him, but it was replaced by a vague anxiety, slowly creeping in to take the place of the tentative sense of comfort he had been developing. He immediately found himself wondering if Buffy needed anything, if he should rise and give her his seat, if she approved of his casual behavior with the others.

Then, he heard her laugh, saw her eyes light up as Willow got to the funniest part of the story she was telling, and he began to relax a little. She looked so happy, lost in the memories with the rest of them, and the grip of his worries on his mind loosened a little.


If she was happy – he was happy.

He tried to get back into the conversation, turning his attention back to the others and trying to figure out what they were talking about now.

“I think you would have made a very good vengeance demon,” Anya was saying to Willow matter-of-factly. “You’re very creative. And that’s what it’s all about in the vengeance business, really. I mean, someone who just, you know, turns someone into a frog or something isn’t gonna go nearly as far as someone who, say, writes, ‘That’s what you get for being a lying, cheating sack of crap’ on someone’s wall in their own viscera.”

The room was utterly silent for a long moment as some of them tried to process the horrifying comment Anya had just made, and others just tried to forget that they had heard it at all.

Spike decided he had picked the wrong moment entirely to try to get back into the conversation.

“Well…I don’t think I would have come up with anything that…creative,” Willow replied, her eyes wide as she carefully chose her words, giving Anya a weak, self-conscious smile.

Anya shrugged. “Some girls have it, some don’t.”

“I don’t think I’d have been very good at vengeance. But I sure did do a lot of damage,”
Willow went on, laughing softly as she looked off beyond them for a moment, remembering.

*And a lot of good,* Buffy thought to herself, memories of some of the more pleasant effects of Willow’s will-be-done spell coming into her mind. Spike’s lips on hers…his arms around her…that feeling of utter contentment that he was the one she loved, and she was going to spend the rest of her life with him…

She only realized that she was staring at him when he looked up at her hesitantly, a fearful, uncertain look on his face. She realized that he was not sure how she felt about the memories Willow’s story had brought back, and was afraid that she might be upset or embarrassed.

Willow had thought of that herself, but she had started the story before Buffy had come back into the room, and knew that stopping it in the middle because of Buffy’s presence would only have been *more* awkward and embarrassing.

Buffy did not feel awkward or embarrassed at all. When she saw Spike looking at her carefully, she put a small, flirtatious smile on her face and gave him a quick wink, feeling gratified at the look of surprise on his face, followed by a small, tentative smile.

Before long, Tara announced that she was going to make lunch, and headed for the kitchen. Willow and Mara both immediately offered to help and followed her.

Buffy’s friends were all very much aware of the disaster that her attempts at cooking always turned out to be, so she did not feel guilty at all as she promptly got up from her perch on the arm of the couch, only to take the seat Willow had left vacant beside her vampire.

Spike shot her an anxious look, and shifted slightly away from her, as if afraid that he was crowding her. “Can I – can I get you anything, Buffy?” he asked softly, his voice hushed and private as he searched her eyes. “Anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head, giving him a warm smile. “No,” she said firmly. “Just relax.”

As she spoke, she reached an arm around his shoulders reassuringly, pulling him gently closer to her and settling in comfortably. Then she turned her attention back to the conversation, just sitting there casually with her arm around him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

She could not honestly say that she loved him – not for sure. But she knew that he meant a lot to her, and she wanted him in her life, as much more than a slave. And she was determined to make him stop seeing himself as nothing more than that, if it was the last thing she did.

“So you’re the Slayer,” the larger of the two vampires commented, his eyebrows raised speculatively as he gave her a quick up-and-down look.

“Yep,” she confirmed. “And you are?”

“Name’s Aaron,” he replied, meeting her gaze boldly.

Spike was amazed at how openly he was appraising her, obviously sizing her up, impressed -- but not intimidated. He cast a side-long glance at Buffy to judge how she was taking the vampire's behavior.

She did not seem upset in the least. In fact, if anything, the Slayer seemed impressed herself by the fact that Aaron was not afraid of her. He was chipped, a slave, helpless, facing the greatest natural threat to his kind that existed. If she wanted to, she could destroy him without even trying.

And he was not afraid.

Spike heard a soft but sharp intake of breath beside him, and glanced to the side to see that he was not the only one shocked -- and a little scared -- at Aaron's reckless behavior. Julian was staring at his friend, wide-eyed with horror, glancing anxiously between Aaron and Buffy as if he expected the Slayer to strike him down at any moment.

When instead, she suddenly turned her attention on *him*, the little vampire nearly jumped out of his seat. “And what’s *your* name?” she asked him, her tone light and friendly.

“J-Julian,” he responded with a tremor in his very small voice. “Ma’am.”

“Please. Just Buffy,” she corrected gently with a little grimace. I really don’t like ‘ma’am’. It makes me feel older than Giles.”

Julian ventured a small, uncomfortable smile, unsure how to respond to her mockery of his master, even as affectionate and good-natured as the mockery was.

Aaron, on the other hand, laughed aloud, surprised and delighted by her words. “You got that right!” he smirked. “He’s older than dirt.”

Julian glanced anxiously toward the kitchen where Giles had disappeared a few minutes earlier, as if afraid that he might come back at any moment and hear their offensive words.

Buffy frowned, troubled and surprised by his reaction to their gentle joking. She knew that Giles would never hurt these vampires, who seemed to see him as a protector rather than a master to be feared. Yet for some reason, this timid little creature seemed terrified to step outside the boundaries that society had placed on his race, in spite of his master’s different mindset.

Buffy determined that she would ask Giles about it later.

She could feel the tension in Spike’s shoulders under her arm around him, and knew that he too, was so conditioned by slavery as to feel uncomfortable with Aaron’s easy, “disrespectful” manner. Almost without even realizing that she was doing it, her hand tightened gently on his shoulder in a comforting way, and she smiled when she felt him move a little closer, leaning into her casual embrace.

Aaron went on talking, telling some story about something Giles had done to prove his point of how very old and out of touch the Watcher was, but Buffy was only halfway listening to him. Her thoughts were focused elsewhere, consumed mostly by the things she and Giles had talked about outside.

With the exceptions of Angel, and later Spike, she had never before thought of the idea of vampires as anything more than dangerous animals to be destroyed – certainly not as people, with rights, valid feelings, actual potential. She had never personally known any vampires, actually, besides those two – and had never wanted to.

But suddenly, she found herself wanting very badly to know *these* vampires.

Her pensive musings were cut off a few minutes later when Tara’s smiling face appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Lunch is ready, guys. Come on into the kitchen.”

Buffy put her concerns out of her head for the moment and rose from the couch, heading toward the kitchen – and what was sure to be a very interesting meal.


No horrific, bloody battlefield could have been as terrifying to the young soldier as the expression on the face of his superior officer, as he stood before his desk, shaking in his military-issue boots.

“I’m s-sorry, Sir,” he stammered. “I’ve checked every public record I could get my hands on – I’ve cross-referenced every combination of all the names on the list you gave me, and it didn’t bring up anything! I – I’ve tried…”

“Then try…harder.” Riley Finn’s words were calm, controlled, but the way he bit them off with barely bridled rage made the soldier flinch.

“Y-yes, Sir,” he replied automatically, really having no other option. He felt his heart sink with despair, sure that he was going to end up failing in this assignment. Finn had ordered him to locate where the people on the list he had given him were staying – so there was no option but to keep looking.

“Dismissed,” Finn’s voice was full of disgust as he waved his hand derisively at the useless soldier, who couldn’t seem to get away fast enough.

Riley was frustrated.

He sank down into his chair behind his desk with a heavy sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, and his head in his hands. He wouldn’t have thought that it would be so difficult to locate a couple of ordinary civilians. But for some reason, every friend that Buffy had ever had before and during the first months of their marriage seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet.

Except that he knew they hadn’t. They had been with her the last time he had seen her.

Fresh rage filled him at the very memory of it…the way she had just swept in, beating him down without even breaking a sweat, disrespecting and dismissing him, and taking with her the slave who had brought about the breakdown of everything that Riley had treasured. Because of Spike, Riley had lost everything.

To him – power was everything.

He opened his eyes, feeling tired and depressed – until his eyes fell on the papers on the top of his desk. A cold smile spread across his face as he reminded himself of the importance of those papers.

He sat up straighter and smoothed them out, reading them over again, looking as he had a dozen times already for any loophole she might attempt to use against him.

There were no loopholes.

It didn’t matter how far Buffy tried to run, or if she tried to hide from him. Riley knew that eventually, he and his people would find her. And when they did find her – well – she couldn’t very well fight the *law*, now could she?

He smiled down at the papers before him as he murmured to himself with a cruel chuckles, “That’s my girl…blonde as ever…never was one for details, was she?”

Buffy liked to present herself as strong – to appear powerful and invulnerable – but Riley knew better. He had learned well during his years of marriage to her just how to make the Slayer cave to his whims. It was all about finding the weaknesses that she tried to hide.

Except that that last night, when she had left him – she had made no attempt to hide the weakness that he would soon use against her. It was very simple really; it was really too bad for her that she had such a soft spot for lost causes.

Her weakness was Spike.

She had made it very clear through her behavior that night that she cared more for the bleached blonde vampire than she had admitted. Her fury when she saw the evidence of Riley’s discipline had been overwhelming, and Riley was aware that he had been lucky to escape the situation with his life – all of which only went to prove one thing, one thing that he planned to use to his advantage.

Buffy *did* care about her slave, very much.

“Too bad, Sweetie,” he sneered quietly, his fingers tracing the lines of the paper in his hands. “Should have read the fine print.”

He stood up from the desk, carefully folding the papers and placing them back into the envelope he had originally taken them from, the day they had brought Spike back here. No matter what it took – and he was sure that it would not take much – he was going to have his payback against his wayward wife and her slave.

And those simple papers were going to make it easy for him.

Buffy was fairly quiet during the loud, chaotic meal, mostly just observing the behavior of those around her for once. Once the meal was ready for everyone to eat, Giles' vampires all immediately sat down at the table, though she noticed that Julian was a bit hesitant about it. For some reason, the youngest of the group did not seem to be as comfortable with his freedom as the other two had obviously become.

Aaron was by far the most confident of them. He hardly acted as if he had ever been enslaved at all, and joined in the conversation with the humans easily, right down to the good-natured teasing that had always passed so easily among Buffy's little circle of friends.

Mara was not as outspoken as Aaron, but she did not seem the least bit afraid of the humans. She regarded Buffy a bit warily at first, not quite sure what to expect from her. Buffy did her best to put her at ease, joking around with her and drawing her into the conversation, and before long she had relaxed as much with Buffy as she had with everyone else. Buffy found that although the girl was a little on the quiet side, she had a quick, sarcastic wit that was often an unexpected contrast to her huge, innocent doe eyes and delicate features.

Julian hardly said a word the entire time they were eating. He sat next to Giles, and avoided actual contact with anyone else as much as possible. Most of them basically left him alone, but Tara kept trying to catch his attention, or discreetly get him involved in the conversation. Every one of her attempts was promptly shut down by the frightened, insecure little vampire.

At first, Spike had stood awkwardly on the outer edge of the group, not sure what he was supposed to do. He was used to being made to stand near the wall and wait while his masters ate, only being allowed his own meals once he had finished serving them.

Buffy noticed his hesitance as she took her seat, and reached out to take his hand, pulling him gently toward the empty seat beside her. "Come on," she urged him in a whisper. "Sit down."

He did -- because she told him to -- but still seemed quite uncomfortable at first. Gradually, however, he began to relax and enjoy the lively atmosphere that filled the room...although he did not say very much, himself.

After lunch, everyone went their separate ways, but no one went far. Xander and Aaron went back into the living room to watch television, and Anya quickly followed her husband, as usual. Willow and Mara began clearing the table from the meal, putting things away and wiping things down.

When Spike tried to help, they let him, welcoming his assistance gratefully. Buffy joined right in with them as well, wanting it to be clear to Spike that his helping was because he was a part of the group, not because he was a slave.

Buffy noticed suddenly that Tara was not helping them. She didn't mind; after all, Tara had cooked the meal, and they had plenty of help to get the job done. It just seemed odd to her, knowing what she did of Tara, that she was not working with the rest of them. She glanced through the doorway into the living room, and saw why Tara was not in the kitchen.

Tara sat on the sofa with Julian. From where she stood, Buffy could not hear what she was saying, but she could see that she was talking earnestly, meeting the vampire's eyes firmly, trying to make him believe whatever it was she was saying.

Julian kept his eyes downcast, staring at the couch between them as the soft-spoken blonde witch said her piece. When she had finished, he nodded reluctantly, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he was hesitant, afraid, and it was obvious to Buffy that he was not really convinced.

Tara put a gentle, encouraging hand on his knee, leaning in close and speaking softly to him, and after a few moments of gentle coaxing, Julian tried again, this time managing to get the words out.

Well...sort of.

About halfway through, he broke down, tears streaming from his eyes as he struggled to go on, halting, hesitant. Buffy could not hear a word, but it was clear that whatever he was talking about was very difficult for him. Even from across the room, she could see the fear, the desperate insecurity in his dark, expressive eyes.

Tara moved in cautiously closer, putting her hands on his arms in a steadying gesture, and whatever soothing words she spoke seemed to make the vampire's tears flow harder. And then, a moment later, his head was on her shoulder, and she was holding him close to her, lightly rubbing his back and speaking softly to him as he wept.

Suddenly, Buffy became very much aware of the fact that she was staring, watching intently a scene that was very personal, and really none of her business. She turned -- reluctantly -- back toward the kitchen and the others, trying to put it out of her mind. But she could not, not really.

She wondered what terrible things the timid vampire had been through to make him so fearful and vulnerable; she wondered how he had come to trust Tara enough to open up to her when he seemed to keep his distance from everyone else; she wondered specifically what Julian had been telling Tara about that had had him so terribly upset; and what Tara had been able to tell him that had been so helpful to him.

And she wondered if *she* would be able to find the words to help Spike deal with the ghosts of the past that haunted *him*.

By that evening, Buffy had found no answers to the questions forming in her mind, and had picked up a few more at that – but she had no opportunity to ask them. She could not very well ask Giles about his slaves while they were there, right in front of them; it would be ruse to speak about them as if they were not there.

She was surprised when Willow and Tara offered for Giles and his vampires to stay the night at the house. Apparently, when he had first started touring the country giving his lectures and such, Giles had given up his apartment, and mostly stayed in hotels. That had been expensive, he told her, until he began to be in demand as a speaker – and then those who invited him to speak had begun to provide the lodging for him as well.

It had to be nice for him and his group to have the chance to stay in an actual house, among friends, instead of the cold uniformity of a hotel room. Still, Buffy doubted that Willow and Tara had counted on ending up with a half dozen houseguests at once. She wondered how they were going to find room for everyone.

The Scoobies were remarkably resourceful when it came to finding arrangements for everyone, however. Xander and Anya offered to take a few to their house across town, and Aaron immediately accepted the offer.

Giles politely declined, wanting to have a chance to talk to Tara in the morning. She was unofficially his assistant, and a very valued one, when it came to matters of the fledgling abolitionist movement. She was willing to do anything he needed in order to help stop the slavery movement. It had been a long time since he had been able to talk to her at any length about the advances he had been making.

Julian absolutely refused to be separated from the man, and Tara, the only two here that he seemed to trust. Buffy felt a rush of sympathy for the poor, shaken-up little creature, so insecure and fearful all the time. She wondered again what had been done to him to make him that way.

Mara agreed to go with Xander and Anya as well, realizing the limits on the space in Willow and Tara’s house, regardless of their well-intentioned offer, and wanting to do what she could to make things comfortable for the others.

The sofa in the den pulled out into a bed, and they decided that Giles and his faithful slave would sleep in that room, while Buffy and Spike kept the guest room they had been using, and Willow and Tara slept in their room. As the two witches rushed around trying to make sure that everyone had everything they needed to be comfortable for the night, Buffy sat on the couch quietly, waiting.

Spike sat beside her, much more comfortable after this long, pleasant day than she had seen him since she had bought him. She felt a rush of warm affection when she saw that his eyelids were drooping a bit, and his head suddenly dipped forward a bit for a second before he quickly raised it, startled back to wakefulness.

He glanced at her, a little disoriented with his weariness, and she gave him a reassuring smile; she realized that it must have been quite a day for him. He was still recovering from his injuries, and his life had basically turned upside down overnight on him. The poor thing was probably exhausted.

"Come here," she said softly, putting her arm around his shoulder and pulling his head down on her shoulder.

She felt him automatically start to relax against her for just a moment, before he suddenly pulled away from her, his eyes wide and uncertain as he said softly, "No – no, Buffy, it’s okay. I – I’ll just..."

"Spike." Her gentle, firm voice stopped him. "It’s okay. Just relax. You’re tired, and you need to rest." As she spoke, her gentle hands tugged him back into her embrace. "It’s all right, just lean on me."

He really was *so* tired, worn out from the busy, eventful day they had had, and her voice was so soothing and gentle, her arms around him so warm and soft, that his nameless fears began to melt away, and all he wanted was to lose himself in her arms and let the world fall away.

*She *did* tell me to,* he reasoned. *Gotta do as she says.*

So when she pulled his head gently back down onto her shoulder, shifting her position under him to be more comfortable for both of them, he did not resist her, and just relaxed against her as she had told him to.

He was asleep in seconds.

Willow walked back into the living room and smiled at the sight of them. Without a word, she helped Buffy to reposition the sleeping vampire so that he was stretched out on the couch with his head in her lap. That done, Willow took her place in the soft, puffy armchair across from the couch, drawing her legs up under her and leaning back with a sigh.

"It’s been a *long* day," she declared wearily, raising her head to look at her friend again, as Tara walked out of the den to take the seat beside the sofa.

The blonde’s eyes were troubled as she looked over at her lover. "Do you think it’d *really* be breaking the rule about not doing any harm if I just like – blew up Riley’s headquarters with the power of my mind?" she asked, a dark anger in her trembling voice, despite the light words. She glanced at Buffy. "Sorry," she added half-heartedly.

"Don’t be," Buffy advised her, her arm around Spike tightening protectively, her free hand slowly playing though his loose blonde curls in her lap. "I don’t see any harm in that."

"You could *do* that?" Willow asked, her eyebrows raised, prepared to be impressed if her girlfriend confirmed that she had that much power, not phased in the least by the idea of the violence she had suggested.

"No," Tara admitted. "But I’d like to."

"And what brought on this sudden urge to blow things up?" Willow asked, a note of concern in her voice as she searched Tara’s eyes. Tara was usually so gentle and mild, advocating change, but through legal, non-violent means. Something must have happened to make her so upset. "I mean – not that Riley doesn’t deserve to get blowed up. Because he does."

"He *so* does," Buffy agreed quietly, looking down at the peaceful face of the vampire in her lap, soft fingers tracing the line of a nearly healed lash mark on the face she was growing to love.

Tara watched her for a moment, pensive, her eyes softening at the sight of Buffy’s obvious affection for Spike, and the trust that Spike seemed to have somehow developed for her. Buffy *was* trying to make things better, that much was clear.

"Baby?" Willow prompted her, and Buffy’s eyes rose to Tara’s face, becoming self-conscious when she realized that she had been being watched.

Tara gave her a weary, sad sort of smile that was intended to be reassuring, before turning her eyes toward Willow. She was quiet for a moment before she spoke.

"Julian got attacked by a bunch of Riley’s men outside the convention center last night."

"*What*?" Willow sat up straighter, her eyes wide with alarm. "Did they – they didn’t – hurt him, did they?"

Buffy’s eyes were focused intently on Tara as she waited for the other girl’s response. Her expression did not change, but her stomach did a little turn at the thought of Riley’s men hurting the timid, terrified little creature she had just met.

"No," Tara shook her head, looking down at the arm of her chair. "Not really. Just scared him half to death, poor thing." There was a quiet anger in her voice. "I talked to Giles. He said he thinks this is gonna set Julian’s progress back a lot."

"And he was doing so much better!" Willow’s voice was full of dismay.

Tara nodded slowly, her expression grim. She looked up to notice the look of confusion and curiosity in Buffy’s eyes and said, "Giles has been working with him for months now – ever since he bought him – to help him recover from what those monsters did to him."

"His previous owners?" Buffy frowned, puzzled. If that was the case, she wondered, then why was Tara’s rage of the moment directed at Riley’s organization?

Willow and Tara exchanged a look of surprise. "No," Willow said slowly, looking back at her. "The slave trainers."

“The who what-ers?” Buffy asked, no less confused now, and irritated when the witches exchanged another look of disbelief. “What?” she demanded defensively.

Her question was met with silence for a moment; Willow and Tara could hardly believe that Buffy did not know about the slave training facilities. She was *married* to the man who had started them, and yet she seemed utterly clueless of their very existence.

“The slave trainers, Buffy,” Willow said slowly, meeting her friend’s eyes with a certain caution in her own. “Once the vampires are caught and chipped, they train them to be slaves before they’re sold.”

“If you can call rape and torture ‘training’!” Tara added in an angry, disgusted tone.

Buffy’s eyes widened in horror, as she shook her head. “I didn’t know about any training program. I thought they just – you know – caught ‘em, chipped ‘em, sold ‘em,” she explained with an apologetic little shrug for her own ignorance. Her expression became very serious as she added in a small, hesitant voice, “What did they do to him?”

Willow looked down again, uncomfortable and hesitant to answer. “Buffy – it’s bad. Very bad. And – and Riley’s the one who’s in charge of it all. Most of it is his idea, Buffy.” She paused. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“It’s not a matter of *wanting* to know,” Tara broke in, her eyes blazing with righteous fury at the injustices and cruelties they were discussing. “She *needs* to know, Will. All of it.”

Willow nodded her agreement, but did not speak, looking at Buffy questioningly.

Buffy was silent for a long moment. By their behavior, she could tell that the things they were about to tell her were going to change her whole way of thinking – again. She was almost afraid to find out what her husband and his people had done to Julian, to others like him – maybe even to Spike. She looked away from her friend, thinking, her eyes falling on the clock on the endtable.

It was already almost midnight.

She prepared herself mentally for a long night of painful revelations. *You used to stay up later than this all the time, when you were slayer…time to get back in slay-mode, Buffy.*

“Tell me,” she spoke quietly but decisively, meeting Willow’s eyes bravely. “I want to know the truth.”

Willow took a deep breath in preparation to speak, glancing again at her girlfriend, who nodded firmly, her mouth set in a firm line of determination. A part of Willow wanted to spare her friend the hard truth, but Tara was unyielding. Whether she wanted to or not, Buffy needed to know the truth about her husband and the depravities he was responsible for unleashing.

But Buffy *did* want to know.

“Wow,” Willow said, her voice a hushed whisper as she looked back toward Buffy, her eyes focused on the arm of the sofa rather than on her friend’s questioning – and increasingly fearful – eyes. “I – I’m not really sure where to begin.”

“How did Giles get Julian?” Buffy asked after a moment’s pause, trying to give her friend an easy starting point.

“He goes to the auctions every now and then – just to keep aware of the way things are handled there. Or – or if he’s getting discouraged. For – for inspiration. To remind him what he’s fighting for,” Willow replied, her voice soft and hesitant. “He went there a few months ago, and – and Julian was up for sale. Straight out of the training center.” She paused, searching for words.

“He was completely broken,” Tara supplied, in the same hushed tone her lover had used. They were all being quiet out of consideration for the sleeping vampire in Buffy’s arms, but the low tones in the stillness of the room lent a heavy, sober feeling to the scene. Buffy found herself utterly entranced, caught up in the story that had barely begun – yet terrified to hear more.

“Broken?” she whispered, swallowing hard, asking for clarification that she was not really sure she wanted.

“He wouldn’t speak – wouldn’t even look at anyone. Giles found out later,” Tara went on, a dark note creeping into her voice, “that it was because he was *trained* not to. They punish them – bad – for speaking without being spoken to, for meeting the eyes of a human – for – for any sign whatsoever that they have any confidence left at all.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in horror. “For – for talking?”

She glanced down at Spike, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. The thought of Spike being tortured and abused for something as simple as talking was something that she did not want to imagine. She remembered the cocky, arrogant person he had been before all this, and thought with a sinking feeling that he would have been punished often if he had ever been in the hands of the slave trainers. But, she thought hopefully, he had spoken rather freely to her, right from the start, so maybe he had not been put through the training program.

Or maybe they had just failed to break him completely.

Willow went on quietly, “He was – he was limping. He’d been hurt, and was having trouble walking, and he fell – right in front of Giles. The soldier who was leading him was very cruel. He just yanked him up and started beating on him for getting in Giles’ way.”

“But he was hurt!” Buffy was indignant. “He couldn’t help it!”

Tara nodded slowly, then shook her head. “Riley’s men don’t care. The men he’s picked out are cruel, sadistic monsters who get off on causing pain and dominating others. If this was fifty years ago, they’d be Nazis.”

Buffy was silent, sobered by the comparison. She knew that there were many slave owners – Riley included – who treated their vampires very cruelly, but she had never thought of it as being anywhere near the level of the Holocaust and Nazi Germany.

“Well,” Tara went on with a sad, affectionate little smile of memory. “At that point Giles couldn’t stand to leave him there. He offered to pay double the going rate for Julian, then and there, if they would not even put him up for auction, and just sell him to him right then. And – since nothing is more important than the almighty dollar…” Her voice held obvious contempt for the slave traffickers who were becoming rich off the suffering of the slaves. “…of course they agreed.”

“Well, after that,” Willow took up the story. “Giles started working with him right away, trying to convince him that he was safe, that he wasn’t going to be hurt anymore. But it took him a long time to believe it.”

“I think he sometimes still *doesn’t* believe it,” Tara inserted, her eyes serious and thoughtful. “He was scared to death for the longest time that it was all an elaborate trick, that Giles was just trying to get him to break the rules so that he could punish him. But finally, Giles was able to get him to trust him enough to talk to him about what happened to him.”

“And that’s when everything came out,” Tara added, her eyes troubled as they met Buffy’s. “It was hard for him to talk about it at all, harder even than you would think, because they threaten them over and over during their training, that if they talk about the specifics of what was done to them, they’ll be taken back there and punished for telling.”

Buffy frowned. “Why? I mean, if the law says humans can do whatever they want with vampires, what difference does it make if people know what they’re doing to them?”

“Because *most* people wouldn’t *want* to do the things that Riley’s men do to them, Buffy.” Tara’s voice held a warning, telling the Slayer that the “things” Tara was talking about were much worse than she expected. She braced herself for the truth as Tara went on, “Buffy, we’re talking about some sick, disgusting things that no human being who’s not an absolute sociopath would ever want to do to someone else.”

“It’s like I was saying, Buffy,” Willow broke in softly. “About giving people a way to give in to their baser impulses. If someone has some dark, twisted fantasy that they can’t act out with their partner, because, hello -- *jail*…” She shrugged before going on, “No big deal. They can just buy a slave to do it with – they get their kicks, and…” she made finger quotes around the rest of her words. “…no one gets hurt.”

“Except that things like that only get worse with time,” Tara pointed out. “By giving in to it. Those desires just get stronger and stronger until they take control of the person.” She paused. “So we’re developing a society of people who have absolutely no control over their darker nature.”

Willow added with a grim nod, “People who act on every impulse that strikes them, without thought for morality or right and wrong.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with realization, as she spoke in a soft, hushed voice of horror, “We’re becoming the monsters.”

Willow was surprised at her friend’s insight. She had never thought of it quite like that. She nodded slowly.

“Some of us already are,” Tara agreed, her words pulling Buffy’s thoughts back to the training center and Julian.

“So what did they do to him – exactly?” she asked, slowly, cautiously, very sure that she was not going to like the answer.

Willow took a deep breath.

“They kept him in chains, blindfolded and alone for *days* when they first captured him” Tara spoke before she could, her voice carefully controlled, but trembling slightly with emotion. Buffy suddenly knew by her tone that Tara was one of only two people who had ever heard Julian’s story first-hand.

“They didn’t feed him – no one told him what was going on. No one said a word to him at all except to tell him to shut up. Anytime he tried to ask where he was, who they were – tried to talk at all – they’d hit him. Or worse.” She paused, her eyes brimming with angry tears as she went on, her voice lower and full of pain.

“When he finally stopped trying to talk – stopped trying to get away – it had been nearly a week. He was desperate with fear and starvation, and too weak by then to fight them off. They left his wrist chained, anyway. Wasn’t like he could do anything to defend himself. All of Riley’s men are pumped up with some kind of drug that makes them really strong.”

“Stronger than the average vampire?” Buffy guessed with a little grimace.

Tara nodded without smiling. “They forced him onto his knees and took the blindfold off. Of course, they had the room really bright. They did anything they could to make things as terrifying and disorienting as possible for him.”

“Brainwashing techniques 101,” Buffy muttered under her breath, thoroughly disgusted by what she was hearing.

Tara went on, “…and then they offered him blood.” A small, bitter smile crossed her lips as she added, “Only catch was – he had to earn it.”

There was no mistaking the terrible implication in her words. Buffy gasped as the truth of what Tara was saying hit her. She opened her mouth to speak, but could simply find no words.

Tara’s tears slipped down her face as she went on, feeling the pain of her friend as if it was her own, as she recounted the degradation that had been forced upon him. “Of course, he refused. He told them he’d rather starve. As best he could, anyway – he could barely speak by then. He hadn’t been allowed to in nearly a week, and as dehydrated as he was by then – well, it’s a wonder he could speak at all.”

She paused. “And they just hit him for talking. Punched him in the face for daring to speak. They told him that he didn’t have the option of starving – unless they wanted him to. He belonged to them, and they were going to do whatever they wanted with him.” Tara stopped, swallowing back a sob, struggling to keep her emotions under control.

Finally she went on in a voice that was low, measured, “And then they held him down…and they raped him. Every single one of those soldiers…”

Buffy’s eyes were full of horrified disbelief, only growing stronger at the implied revelation. “How many were there?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Tara was silent for a long moment before she could find the strength to answer. “Eight.”

Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth, and she turned her head away, feeling sick. *Oh, God – God, no!*

After a long moment of silence in which they all tried to recover – the shock no less painful for the two who had heard it before – Tara went on. “Then they gave him the blood; they told him he’d *earned* it!” She paused, that bitter smile back in place. “He’d cried and screamed and begged them to stop – until they made him shut up, with their fists. They told him that if he didn’t shut up it was only going to be worse for him – and he tried – but he couldn’t stop crying.”

Tara was crying now as she told the horrific tale, and Buffy realized suddenly that her own face was streaked with tears as well. “So,” Tara went on through her tears, “one of those bastards held his hand over his mouth to keep him quiet while another was raping him. He was too weak to fight them off, but he tried anyway. He fought, and he screamed, and he begged – and when it was over, they called him a whore, and told him he was theirs, and they would do it again any time they felt like it. They threw the blood at him and left him there, bleeding on the floor and too badly hurt to get up.”

“My God,” Buffy whispered, speechless with horror at the images that filled her mind, unbidden.

Willow picked up the story, when Tara seemed too overwhelmed to go on. “Of course – the blood was drugged,” she said, her huge green eyes sober. “He was too starved by then to notice – probably to care. And that’s when the chip went in.”

“And then,” Tara spoke again, with a little more control. “The suffering *really* began.”

There was a long moment of silence before Willow asked softly. “Can you take hearing the rest?”

Buffy stared at her through wide, stricken eyes, hardly registering her words. Could it possibly *get* any worse? She nodded slowly, her eyes focused on Tara. If Julian had had to experience all of this because of her, she deserved no less than to have to hear every brutal, agonizing detail.

“They have ‘classes’,” Tara spoke the word with derision. “where they teach them how to behave around humans – what’s acceptable and what’s not. They tell them over and over how worthless and pathetic they are – that they’re only good enough to serve us. It’s brainwashing, Buffy, just like you said. You tell someone things like that enough – eventually they’re gonna believe it.”

She paused. “Especially when you’re driving the point home constantly with torture and brutality, every time they break one of the rules.”

“If they spoke out of turn, or tried to resist, or even looked at one of Riley’s men wrong – they’d be beaten, or – or worse.” She glanced down at Spike’s face, which still bore Riley’s scars, and said softly, “What Riley did to Spike is a common thing in the training centers. Julian has told me horrible things – vampires who had their hands dipped in holy water for trying to steal blood – and they keep them on the verge of starvation. Blood is used to control them. If they submit and do everything right, *maybe* they’ll get to eat. But one little mistake…” Tara shook her head sadly.

“Of course, they can’t fight back. The chip takes care of that. And if they try to escape – well, Julian tried once – but they caught him.” Her intense gray eyes focused on Buffy as she said, “They crushed his feet. With a sledgehammer. On the starvation rations they gave them, it took him months to heal.”

“Was that why,” Buffy had to stop to choke back a sob that rose in her throat. “was that why he was limping when Giles found him?”

Tara shook her head, a look of grief in her eyes as she said gently, sadly, “No, Buffy. His feet had healed by then. When Giles found him…he had just been…” She paused, swallowing back bitter rage and pain. “He had just been raped by one of the soldiers. That’s why he was having trouble walking.” She was silent for a moment before she went on in a soft voice of quiet rage, her words sending a chill down Buffy’s spine.

“You see – that’s the problem with vampire healing. They heal up exactly how they were before they were hurt.” Her voice broke, as she went on, “When he was turned – Julian was only eighteen – and a virgin in every sense of the word.” Her lips trembled as she lowered her head with a little gasp. “Every time – hurt him *so bad*!”

“Oh, God,” Buffy whispered, overwhelmed by what she was hearing, her eyes wide and distant as she tried to take it in. “Oh my God. Poor Julian!”

“And all the others, too, Buffy,” Willow reminded her, an urgency in her gentle, quiet voice as she met her friend’s eyes. “This happens all the time in the training centers.”

“It *is* just like the Nazis,” Buffy whispered, looking away. “I just can’t believe that – God -- *Riley* -- oh, *God*!” she moaned, overwhelmed as she put her head in her hands. It was just so *much*!

“And when he told me what those men did to him last night,” Tara went on, her voice trembling again with rising anger. “I just wanted to take them apart myself! They told him he was gonna pay for telling us what happened to him. They threatened to rape him again or take him away.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s messed with any of Giles’ vampires,” Willow commented sadly.

Buffy was crying softly, not aware as they continued their conversation around her. She looked up, her eyes wide and desperate. “I’m so sorry!” she sobbed brokenly. “God, I’m *so sorry*!”

“Buffy – this is not your fault,” Willow assured her gently. “You didn’t know what Riley was doing.”

“I thought you did,” Tara informed her in a meaningful tone, meeting her eyes. “Now that I know you didn’t – well, it makes a huge difference, Buffy.”

“It doesn’t make any difference at all!” Buffy argued tearfully, looking up at them through fresh tears. “I didn’t know because I didn’t *want* to know! I didn’t care! I just wanted to stay in my safe little life and not worry about what my husband was doing! I *knew* it was wrong! I knew it, and I…”

“Buffy?”

The small, frightened voice drew her attention instantly, and she looked down as Spike rose quickly from her lap, sitting up and looking at her with sleepy but apprehensive eyes. Only then did she realize that she had raised her voice in self-directed anger.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, deep blue eyes searching hers with concern.

“Yeah,” she sniffled, her hand trailing down his arm as he pulled away, to take his hand in hers reassuringly. “I’m okay.” She looked across at Willow and Tara. “In fact – I’m more okay now than I’ve been in a long time. I’ve been completely blind.” She wiped quickly at her tears as she said in a decisive, firm voice, “I’d all but forgotten who I am – what I’m supposed to do.”

She paused, before going on with fire in her eyes, “Well, Slayer Buffy is back. And it’s time to take down some monsters.”

Giles was unexpectedly awakened the next morning by a loud, insistent knocking on the closed door to the den. He frowned in irritation at being pulled from a much-needed rest as he glanced up at the little travel alarm clock he had set on the end table by the head of the fold-out bed.

It was only 7:30.

Another round of forceful knocking drew him, muttering under his breath in irritation, from the warm comfort of the bed. He had kept reasonably early hours for most of his life; but he had spent the previous day in a flurry of hectic activity, after a thirteen hour drive from Arizona, and as he had no set plans for this day, he had intended to sleep in for a change.

Someone obviously had other plans.

"Coming, I'm coming!" he sighed in weary exasperation as he stumbled sleepily toward the door, aware that his hair was disheveled and his pajamas were rumpled, but thinking resentfully that the sight of him first thing in the morning, pre-grooming, was the least that was deserved by anyone who would be so inconsiderate as to wake him so early.

He opened the door much more forcefully than was necessary, a disapproving look of annoyance on his face for the as-yet unknown person who had the nerve to awaken him at this unearthly hour on a Saturday morning.

Buffy.

He should not have been surprised at her nerve, but he *was* surprised to find her in full-on Slayer mode, smiling at him expectantly, but with a decisive, no-nonsense look in her eyes – and not the slightest hint of apology for waking him so rudely.

"Time to get up, Giles," she said brightly, in a tone that left no room for argument. "No time to waste on sleeping. We have an evil organization to take down."

He stared at her blankly for a moment, surprised by her words. After their conversation the day before, she had seemed quite supportive of his goals, but she had not seemed nearly as fired up about it and eager as she appeared to be now.

“Buffy,” he said in a voice of weary patience, still a bit raspy with sleep. “I rather think that’s been the point of my efforts – for the past *several years* now. We’re going to ‘take the evil organization down’ as you say…but could we possibly do it sometime *after* 9:00 this morning?”

Finally, there was a bit of sympathy in the girl’s sparkling green eyes, but it did not hide the intensity of determination that was there as well. “I’m not talking about legislation and law, Giles, or public awareness. Don’t get me wrong,” she hurriedly added, her voice genuinely sincere. “That stuff’s very important. But I’m talking about taking action. *My* kind of action.”

Her words were met with nothing more than an incredulous look from her sleepy Watcher, who was not quite to the point of wakefulness that made coherent thought possible yet.

She paused, her eyes suddenly downcast for a moment, and when she met his eyes again, he was stunned to see them shining with tears, an unmistakable look of regret on her face. “I know that – that what you’ve been doing to stop them is – is everything that you could. And that – if I had been here, instead of – with Riley, maybe we could have taken them down a long time ago. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I let…”

Her eyes went involuntarily to the vampire sleeping in the big, comfortable recliner in the corner of the room, and she stopped suddenly, her eyes down again as she fought to keep her composure. Finally she looked back up to meet his eyes again bravely. “But I’m ready to take them on now. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to stop Riley and his organization. We need a plan of action…and we need it now.”

There was a righteous fury, a determination, in her eyes that he recognized…and it never boded well for those who were the object of that fury.

A slow smile spread across his face, his exhaustion forgotten. His Slayer was back in action. He nodded slowly, running a hand absently through his hair as a thoughtful look came over his face. “All right,” he agreed softly. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

Buffy nodded in satisfaction. “You can take a little longer than that if you need to. I’m gonna go call Xander and Anya. I’m sure it’ll take them a little while to get here. But we need to get everybody together for a good, old-fashioned Scoobie meeting.” She paused for a moment, a smile that was both nostalgic and anticipatory rising on her lips as she thought of the many times in the past they had had such meetings, and the success she was determined that they would have this time.

“Riley and his organization are going down.”


A little over an hour later, the dining room table was surrounded by all of the members of the original Scoobie gang -- except Willow and Tara who were in the kitchen -- with the addition of a few new friends. Everyone was chatting easily, though there seemed to be a bit of a heaviness in the atmosphere; everyone knew that Buffy had to have something very important to discuss to have called an early morning meeting like this.

The Slayer was not exactly a morning person.

Buffy sat at the head of the table; she was the one who had called this meeting, and she would lead it. Spike sat in the chair to her right, still not willing to be separated from her any more than was necessary, watching her closely, wondering what it was that she had on her mind.

The night before, she had just insisted that she was all right, and had not been terribly talkative for the rest of the night. She had just led him up the stairs to the guest room and put them both right to bed, holding him close to her as he drifted off to sleep again. He had been able to feel the difference in her embrace, knew that something was troubling her, but she had not said a word about it to him, and he did not yet have the courage to press the matter.

Now, it seemed that he was about to find out anyway.

Tara walked in from the kitchen with a couple of platters of home-made cookies -- and Buffy wondered when she had possibly found the time to bake them.

*Perfect Tara strikes again,* she thought wryly, but this time without the resentment she had felt before. Tara's reliable perfection was ceasing to be a source of irritation, and becoming something that actually made her feel affectionate toward the soft-spoken blonde witch.

Willow followed her girlfriend with a pitcher of milk in one hand and a coffeepot in the other -- because what were homemade cookies without milk, and it *was* still fairly early for a Saturday morning; caffeine would definitely be of the good.

Once everyone was present and accounted for, Buffy stood up to call the meeting to order, and the soft murmur of conversation around the table gradually quieted.

"Okay," she began in a soft, uncharacteristically humble voice. "First of all..." She looked down at the table for a moment before looking back up, honestly meeting the eyes of each person as she spoke. "I want to tell each and every one of you that I am truly and deeply sorry. For staying with Riley, for choosing him over the people who truly cared about me -- for allowing him to do the thing's he's done -- to build this -- *empire* -- and not doing anything to stop him."

Her eyes came to rest on Julian's as she finished, not really deliberately, but she saw a flash of painful understanding in his deep dark eyes before he looked down at the table, uncomfortable. He had obviously just realized that someone must have told her at least part of what he had been through. It was not a secret among them; Giles had long ago received Julian's permission to use his story in any way that might help their cause.

And telling the Slayer, enraging her sense of justice and compassion -- that was sure to prove very helpful indeed.

Still, it was embarrassing to him to think that this virtual stranger to him knew any details at all of the ordeal he had been through, and still more disconcerting to him to see the compassion in her eyes.

He had not yet completely let go of the mindset that had been driven into him, that told him that he deserved nothing more than the abuse he received; that he was a dirty, foul creature, with no right to privacy or secrecy anyway, so what did it matter if she knew? What was more troublesome to him than the fact that she knew his secret was the fact that she actually cared.

"I've made a lot of really bad mistakes," Buffy went on, her voice firm and decisive. "But now...I've been doing a lot of thinking over the past few days...and i want to make up for them. I want to stop Riley and his people. *Now.* I *will* stop them, one way or another."

She glanced first at Giles, then at Tara and the rest of her friends, as she went on, "With no disrespect whatsoever to all of you who've been working so hard to change things -- we can't wait months -- years -- however long it's gonna take to see that change."

She paused for a moment to allow her words to sink in, searching the eyes of her Watcher and her friends, seeing with relief that they agreed with her words. "We have to find another way to stop them, as fast as possible.” She was quiet, looking around at the faces of her friends and waiting for their response.

There was silence for a long moment before Giles was finally the first to speak. “I – I agree with you, Buffy. If there is a faster way of stopping the slave trade – I would be in full support of it. But – are you quite sure there *is* a faster way?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Buffy said. “I *know* there is. There has to be. And I wanna find it.”

“What we’ve been focusing on lately,” Tara spoke up slowly, meeting Buffy’s eyes with rising interest in her own, and Buffy could see that she was starting to warm to what she was saying. “is getting the word out to people of just how cruel their practices are – how dangerous this whole thing really is. I just know that if people really *knew* just what goes on in those places, Riley would be out of business like that!” She snapped her fingers.

“The problem is,” Anya added, nodding. “All we’ve got to prove it is the word of a couple of vampires – and no offensiveness intended from the ex-demon here,” she reminded them in a matter-of-fact voice, “but it’s not exactly like vampires have a lot of credibility these days.”

“Not like we ever did,” Spike pointed out quietly with a little huff of mild derision, and Buffy was pleasantly surprised that he had entered the conversation at all.

“That’s right,” Xander added with a nod. “And Riley is very careful to keep everything hush hush. That’s why they go to such great lengths to be sure that even the slaves themselves don’t ever tell anyone about what they do to them. He doesn’t want what he’s *really* doing behind the closed doors of the training facilities to ever get out to the public…because he knows that it would destroy him.”

She nodded slowly, thinking. “What we need then,” she said, her eyes widening with the beginnings of an idea, “is hard and fast evidence. Proof positive that no one can deny.”

“Like…official records? Videotapes?” Willow suggested, her green eyes lighting up at the mention of something that just might fall into her field of expertise.

Buffy nodded, meeting her eyes with rising excitement. “Is there any way you can try and hack into their computer systems?”

“I can try,” Willow agreed, practically bouncing in her seat, a smile spreading across her face. “It might take a while but I should be able to do it.”

“Riley is an evil, conniving bastard,” Anya pointed out, a frown on her face as she shook her head in warning. “But unfortunately he’s not stupid. I highly doubt that he’s going to have any kind of records where there’s any possibility of anybody getting to them. It wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t keep any records at all that say anything about the really bad stuff.”

Buffy sighed, realizing that she was probably right. “Oh, well,” she shrugged, going on in a firm voice, “Can’t hurt to try.”

Willow nodded her assent, that she would begin right away on her part of their barely developing plan.

“Next step – some kind of video or audio recorded evidence…” Buffy mused.

“Not likely,” Spike interjected, looking at the table. He looked up, self-conscious, when the room grew silent, to see every eye in the room on him. “Well, it’s not likely the man’s gonna leave anything like that just lying around, is it?” he pointed out, a bit defensively, glancing around the room until his eyes met Buffy’s, uncertainty clear in his gaze. He added in a softer, hesitant voice, “I’m not trying to be negative…”

“No, you’re right,” Buffy encouraged him, just glad that he was growing confident enough to participate at all, and especially to express disagreement with a human.

Taking her cue, wanting to support Spike’s positive step, no matter how small, Giles nodded his agreement. “Yes. I seriously doubt that Riley would have anything of that sort. Too easy to get out to the public, in the hands of a dismissed employee, for example…he just wouldn’t allow that sort of evidence to exist. Very good point, Spike.”

“Then we might just have to *make* it exist,” Buffy spoke emphatically, looking around the room at them all to gauge their reactions to her suggestion. “Just how secure are these training facilities?” she directed the question to any of the vampires in the room.

“V-very secure,” Julian replied, his voice hushed and tentative, his eyes downcast. “It’s next to impossible to get out.”

“What about getting in?” she pressed gently. “Did you ever notice how the soldiers would enter the center? What sort of access codes or whatever they might have had?”

He shook his head, still not looking at her, and Mara did the same, though she had no trouble meeting Buffy’s eyes as she indicated that she did not know, either. When the Slayer looked at Aaron, he just shrugged carelessly.

“I never was in the place – and never tried to get in,” he said with a dark little laugh. “So – I really wouldn’t have a clue.”

Buffy was a bit surprised to hear that, and made a mental note to ask Giles about it later. *Well, *that* explains a lot,* she thought, beginning to understand why he was so much more confident than the others.

“Well,” she said aloud. “Somehow -- we need to find out.” To the questioning looks that met her words, she smiled slyly. “I think it’s about time we pay Riley’s training center a little visit.”

“Okay. So – the idea is to get into the *secret* training center – somehow – and get some kind of rock solid evidence against Riley and his organization – somehow – without getting caught, and – and here’s the most important part – get *out* with said evidence, and get it to the knowledge of the general public before Riley puts out a hit on each and every one of us to silence us. Is that basically the plan?” Anya asked, her tone matter-of-fact.

Buffy stared at her for a long moment, slightly annoyed. Trust Anya to find all the reasons why the plan *wouldn’t* work. But then, she reminded herself, they really did not have much of a plan at this point. And it was actually a good thing to have someone on the team who would notice things like that. Better to find the glitches now, when they could still be fixed, than once they were in the training center, surrounded by the enemy.

“Basically,” she replied slowly, flatly. “It’s still in the planning stages.” Her voice was only a little defensive.

“Okay,” Xander broke in, his voice calm and patient, expertly easing the slight tension that had arisen between the love of his youth and the love of his life. “So let’s tackle the glitches – one at a time. Getting in. How are we gonna figure out how to get into the training center?”

“There has to be some sort of code, or key, or something that the soldiers use to get in.” Buffy glanced up at Mara and Julian, the nearest that they had to experts on the training centers. “Are you sure you never saw *anything*? When the soldiers were coming and going, you never saw them swipe a card, or use a key, or *anything*?”

She was trying hard not to sound impatient; she really was.

Both looked apologetic and a bit uncomfortable, but were obviously unable to provide any more information on th issue than they already had.

“They weren’t allowed to look at the soldiers, love,” Spike reminded her softly, a gentle sympathy in his low voice.

Buffy’s eyes immediately went to him, but his own were focused on the table top, his mouth set against revealing some emotion – anger? Fear? Pain? Buffy could only guess. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she felt a sick feeling beginning in the pit of her stomach.

How did Spike know about the rules at the training facility? He had been sound asleep when she had been discussing it with Tara and Willow, and she did not think that he had taken the opportunity to talk to the other vampires about it – she did not think he had left her side long enough.

She stared at him until his uncertain look at her reminded her that she *was* staring, and she forced herself to turn her attention back to the meeting, making a mental note to talk to him about it later.

"Okay...so we're basically going into this completely blind -- aren't we?" Willow pointed out with a little grimace.

"Not necessarily," Xander countered, raising a finger in a gesture to wait, his eyes widening as an idea occurred to him. "We have someone here who probably still has access to Riley's house..." He looked up at Buffy with a sly smile. "Weren't you still needing to go back to get some of your stuff from the mansion?"

Buffy stared at him for a moment, her thoughtful frown fading into a slow smile as she realized what he was saying. "Yes, I *do* still need to get my stuff. Riley can't say anything about that, can he? Anyway, I can go when I'm pretty sure he's not gonna be there, and take a look around while I'm there...see if I can find anything. Good idea, Xander."

Giles nodded with a small smile. "It just might be the best lead we have at the moment."

“Okay. Then that’s step number one. I’ll go back to the house this afternoon. Riley’s always at work until late, so I should have a few good hours to look around. The house should be empty except for his slaves.” She shrugged, a bitter, sarcastic smile rising to her lips. “And if any of Riley’s little whores get in my way – hey, I’ve got my Slayer duty, don’t I?”

She was caught off guard by the stunned silence that met her flippant comment. Her friends were staring at her, aghast. Giles cleared his throat, looking away, before taking off his glasses and reaching for his handkerchief. She glanced around the room quickly, bewildered.

“*What*?” she demanded.

Julian’s eyes were downcast, and he swallowed hard, his mouth working with emotion, and as she looked at him, Buffy began to understand with a sick feeling in her throat just why they had reacted as they had. She opened her mouth to apologize, a sense of shame washing over her at her thoughtless words.

“You think they *want* to be there?” Mara suddenly spoke up in a quiet, trembling voice, her dark eyes flashing with fury and glistening with tears. “They’re *not* whores, they’re *victims*! They have no choice! How can you call a *rape* victim a whore?” she demanded, her pain-filled voice resounding clearly in the silence.

Buffy had no response, faced with the startling truth that that was indeed what she had just done. She had never thought of it like that, her personal involvement in the situation only allowing her to see Riley’s slaves as rivals for his affections – not as victims of his twisted, sadistic desires. She simply stared down at the table, her own eyes welling with tears of shame.

Giles replaced his glasses on his face and cleared his throat again, drawing the attention of the group. “Buffy is the Slayer,” he said in a voice of quiet authority. “She has been chosen to vanquish evil – vampires in particular – and has spent most of her youth doing just that. She is now just coming to terms with the recent – changes – in our society, and – what they mean in regards to her position.” He looked at Mara, his eyes speaking volumes as he went on, “You can’t expect her entire mindset to change overnight…”

“Yeah, but in the mean time,” Aaron broke in. “how do we know whose side she’s gonna take when it comes down to it?” His tone was heated, his eyes full of alarm, but he did not seem to hold the anger at Buffy that Mara did.

“Oh, please!” Spike spoke up angrily, startling everyone with his vehemence. “She’s bloody well on *our* side, you git! Why do you think we’re *here* in the first place, having this whole soddin’ discussion? Because *she* called this meeting, because she wants to help!”

“Yeah – as long as it’s someone she knows and likes!” Mara countered. “If it’s just a random vampire, or one she *doesn’t* like, then she doesn’t care about helping *them*!”

“They were *sleeping* with her soddin’ *husband*!” Spike nearly shouted, over-pronouncing the words in a patronizing way that was infuriating to the female vampire. “I’d wager she’d like to shove a stake through the heart of a human woman what done that, too!”

Suddenly Mara stood to her feet, glaring at Buffy as she snapped in a trembling voice, “Then she should start with me! Cause I’ve slept with her *husband*, and it was absolutely against my will, and I hated every moment of it, and hate *him* with everything in me, but this freaking chip in my head means I couldn’t fight him off! But if that makes me a whore in her eyes, then that makes her a heartless, self-righteous monster in mine!”

Silence fell over the room again, even Spike’s passionate defenses of Buffy shot down by Mara’s stunning words. No one knew what to say, how to ease the tension that had arisen in the room – so no one said anything.

Finally, Buffy spoke, her voice soft and clear in the stillness. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I’m sorry, Mara. For what Riley did to you. For what everyone else who works for him has ever done to you. And whether you believe it or not, I *do* want to help. I want to stop Riley from ever hurting anyone again – human or vampire. If I’ve insulted you – I’m sorry. But – Giles is right. This is all so – so new to me. I’m dealing as fast and as well as I can, and if that’s not good enough…”

Her voice broke off, as her tears fell to streak her face. She swallowed hard, sniffing and wiping at her eyes before she looked up to meet the furious vampiress’s eyes firmly. “I’m going to bring the slave trade down. Any of you who *want* to help me – I want your help. I need it. But I’m doing this with or without it.”

She paused. “I’m going to go to Riley’s house this afternoon and find whatever I can to help us get into the training center.” She stopped, looking down again before she looked up and around the room at all of them, a controlled anger smoldering in her eyes. “I’m going to go get ready. So that when you guys go on talking about me like I’m not here – I’ll actually *be* not here.”

With that, she turned and headed for the door. Giles and several of her friends began to speak at once, trying to stop her, but it was Spike’s voice that made her halt, just inside the door to the dining room.

“*Buffy*.”

She did not respond, just stood there, waiting for him to speak, her back still turned to them all. She braced herself for the argument, the plea to stay that she expected to hear.

“I’m going with you.” She was surprised, and pleased in spite of her feelings of the moment, to hear the firm determination in his voice. “To the mansion,” he clarified, just in case. “You don’t need to go alone. I’m going with you.” She had not heard him speak with such surety in a very long time.

It was a shame that she was going to have to shut him down.

She turned to face him, her expression gentle but firm. “No, you’re not,” she told him. “It’s too dangerous. If I happen to run into Riley…”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he finished for her, meeting her eyes with his own full of concern and conviction. “I want to go with you, Buffy.”

“Spike – no,” she said in a tone that was right on the edge between patience and irritation, and left no room for argument either way.

And without another word, she turned again and left the room.

But before she did, Spike could clearly see the trembling of her lower lip, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall. She had left at that precise moment, not to keep him from having the chance to argue his case further, but to keep them all from seeing the complete and utter breakdown of the Slayer.

He sat there for a moment, staring after her, indecisive. Buffy was clearly hurting and embarrassed, and wanting to be alone. But was that what she *needed*? He knew that, as she had said, she was dealing with a lot of changes, all at once – and deep down, he knew that what she really needed was a friend to talk to.

The part of his mind that was accustomed to slavery and doing only as he was told, told him to just stay there and wait for her to return; she had not asked for his presence, and it was not his place to intrude. But the part of him that was clinging to the promise of friendship she had offered him, and wanted to be there for her in this situation and all others, told him to go after her, get her to talk to him about this.

In the end – friend-Spike won.

He rose from the table without a word to any of the others and walked out into the living room. She was not there, so he headed up the stairs, checking the bathroom, but seeing no sign of her.

He found her in the bedroom – slamming her fist repeatedly into a pillow on the bed. As he stopped in the doorway, the battered fabric gave way and a cloud of feathers engulfed the seething Slayer. The scene gave him only a moment’s trepidation before he stepped into the room.

Mostly – it was just funny.

She turned her resentful glare on him, but he was only a little afraid. Most of his fears of her hurting him had faded away after the tenderness of the past few days. She was trembling with rage and pain as she stared back down at the demolished pillow.

“I figured it was better the pillow than Mara’s face,” she muttered by way of explanation, with a listless shrug as she wiped furiously at the tears that were still determined to fall.

“Not her fault,” he reminded her softly, moving cautiously toward her, his eyes focused on the mangled pillow as well.

Buffy was silent for a long moment, and he glanced up at her, wondering if he had angered her. Finally she spoke softly, slowly, “I’m trying. I’m really trying, Spike.”

There was a pleading note in her achingly broken voice, and he found himself instinctively going to her. As she watched him approach, the Slayer dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs, and he put his arms around her comfortingly. Any anxiety he felt about the gesture faded away when she turned and clung to him, sobbing out her confusion and frustration against his chest.

After a long moment, she looked up at him through red, tearful eyes. “It’s all just so confusing! I’m the Slayer! I’m supposed to fight evil – except I can hardly tell what that is anymore! I mean – I know Riley’s organization is evil – but – does that mean that vampires aren’t?”

He could not take offense at her honest question. The poor girl was having her very foundation shaken out from under her; she could hardly be expected to choose every word carefully in the process just to avoid offending anyone.

As she had proven so well downstairs in the dining room, he thought with a grimace.

The truth was, he had no answer for her question. Vampires by nature *were* evil. But – chipped and unable to harm humans – he knew that he himself had changed. He no longer had the *desire* to harm most humans – Riley and his soldiers being the exception. He had learned that it was possible for vampires to change.

So where did that leave the Slayer?

For the moment – in his arms.

“It’s all right, love,” he murmured softly, gazing down into the sparkling green eyes searching his for reassurance. “You’ve just gotta work it all out for yourself, in your own mind. It’ll be all right.”

As she continued to stare up into his eyes, he watched her expression change, realization and affection rising in her eyes. “*You’re* not evil,” she said softly. “You can’t be.” She paused. “Not and love the way you do.”

He looked away, suddenly self-conscious, as her hand rose to gently stroke down his cheek.

“Spike,” she said softly, earnestly, “please look at me.” The “please” meant the world to him, though she didn’t know it, and he raised his eyes to meet hers again, uncertain, but revealing the depth of his feeling for her.

“I was – thinking about this – last night,” Buffy began, her voice halting but her eyes never leaving his. “And – and I can’t treat you like a slave. Not anymore. You – you’re so much more than that to me.”

He felt a familiar hope rising in him, but could not bring himself to ask the question her words inspired.

*What *am* I to you?*

“I want to set you free, Spike,” Buffy said, her tone soft but decisive. “I would – officially – if I could without leaving you at the mercy of anyone who wanted to claim you. So – officially,” she repeated, speaking slowly as she tried to make her thoughts clear to him. “you’ll be legally mine, until we can end this slavery for good. But – I want you to know that -- *I* see you as free, Spike. You don’t have to ask my permission; you don’t have to agree with me or do everything I say – unless we’re in a situation where it’d be dangerous not to – because anyone outside this house right now has got to still think you’re a slave.” She paused. “But I want you to know that to me – you’re not some – some lesser creature. You’re not beneath me. You’re a *person*, Spike – and one I’m glad to call my friend.”

He swallowed hard, tears rising to his own eyes at the words he had never expected to hear. He was silent for so long that Buffy became concerned.

“Spike?” she whispered, trying to catch his eye. “Are you all right?”

He did not respond for a moment. “It’s just a – a bloody lot to process, love,” he said in a voice barely over a whisper. “You – you want me to – to be *free*.” The word was spoken with a sort of awe, as if the concept was so out of reach to him by this point as to be completely foreign. “To make my own choices. Be – my own man.”

She nodded slowly, feeling choked, an ache in her chest at the fact that he even had to wonder. “Yes, Spike. That’s exactly what I want.”

She searched his downcast eyes as best she could, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. And she was surprised – though she realized a moment later that she shouldn’t have been – to see a certain level of fear and insecurity mingled with the hope in his eyes.

When he raised those crystal blue eyes to meet hers, she instantly knew the cause of it – and how to remedy it.

“But – Spike,” she went on, hesitantly, a tender plea in her voice. “I – I know I can’t promise you anything. I’m too mixed up right now to be sure of much of anything. But – I *am* sure of this. I want you to still be – mine. If you want to be.”

It was clear to him that what she was talking about had nothing to do with slavery.

He could see in her eyes, hear in her voice, the emotion she could not yet put words to – and it filled his heart with an overwhelming joy. The smile that spread across his face made him positively glow, Buffy with awe as he whispered his response.

“Always.”

His eyes wide with amazement at what was happening between them, he cautiously leaned toward her, his eyes moving between her lips and her eyes until he captured her lips tenderly with his won. She responded immediately to the soft but intense pressure of his tongue against her lips, granting the entrance he sought, relishing the welcome invasion as he cautiously took the lead in the tender moment building between them.

He did not pull back until they were both breathless and gasping. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment in stunned amazement, scarcely able to believe the need and desire he saw there, mingled with a tenderness and longing that was beginning to reveal itself, with or without her consent.

After a little pause, as they both began to recover from the intensity of the kiss, he said softly, “My own decisions. My own choices.”

The words were a question, a request for her to re-affirm what she had already said. She nodded. “Yes. You’re free to make your own choices.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his eyes down. Suddenly he looked back up at her, with an expression of determination that she knew would not be denied in his blue eyes, and a little smirk of triumph on his lips.

“Right, then. I’m going with you!”

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” Buffy muttered in irritation that was nothing more than a manifestation of her worry. “This is too dangerous. You can’t fight humans with that chip in your head. If Riley’s home…”

“It’s only six o’clock, pet,” he reminded her with a patient smile. “G. I. Git was never home that early the whole time I was here. Not likely he will be now, with no one to come home to!” Almost before the words left his mouth, he winced inwardly, realizing his mistake.

Riley *did* have someone to come home to, even with Buffy gone – that had sort of been the problem, hadn’t it?

But Buffy did not seem to notice his little slip; she was laughing too hard, having never heard Spike’s unique little nickname for her soon-to-be ex-husband before. “That’s great,” she smirked. “I like it.”

He smiled tentatively, pleased that she was pleased, and that she had not noticed his thoughtless words. Then his smile faded a little as he went on, “Besides – you aren’t *letting* me do anything, pet. Remember?” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes held an uncertainty that told her that her simple comment had re-awakened his doubts, causing him to wonder if she had really meant it when she had “set him free”.

She gave him a teasing pout as she asked, “Is it too late to change my mind?”

Her tone and her laughing eyes made it clear to him that she had no intention of doing any such thing, that she was only joking, and he easily returned her smile, responding in a playfully reproving voice, “Bloody right it is, pet. No turning back now.”

She found herself suddenly captivated by those stunning blue eyes, so much more incredibly beautiful like this, sparkling with mingled laughter and adoration, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him.

*No turning back,* she thought to herself. *Ain’t *that* the truth!*

Riley’s car was always kept in the garage, so they really had no way of knowing for sure if he was home or not until they actually got into the house. Spike was right; Riley was usually much later than this getting home, but still Buffy was worried. They had waited until sundown to go, just so that it would be safe for Spike to be outside, but now she wondered anxiously if it would have been better to go earlier in the day.

They walked up to the front door, trying to act as natural as possible. Buffy held her breath as she put her key in the lock, releasing the breath slowly when the handle turned easily. At least Riley had not changed the locks – yet – though she would not have put it past him. She glanced nervously up at Spike, in a moment of unspoken communication, and he nodded his understanding.

*Just act natural…nothing strange here…just a woman and her slave come to get her things from her estranged husband’s house – and look through all his things for incriminating evidence and private pass codes while she’s at it…that’s all.*

The house was quiet as they stepped into the foyer, no sign of life – or unlife – in sight. They both breathed a huge sigh of relief, though they knew that they were far from safe. Buffy tried to shake the dark feeling of foreboding that had settled over her, reminding herself that Riley’s only source of greater strength than hers had been – well, *hers* -- and even if they *did* run into him, he would not be able to overpower her this time.

Still, she had a vaguely unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach as they made their way up the stairs to the room that had been hers. After all, she *did* actually need to get some things; she couldn’t very well wear the same outfit she had on for the rest of her life.

As she packed her clothes and toiletries into the small travel bag she had brought, a weighted silence fell over them. Buffy’s mind was drawn to the recent memories of this room. The night she had discovered Riley’s first abuse of Spike, and gone down to confront him, only to catch him in the act of infidelity.

Her mood darkened further as she remembered how he had blown it off, insisting that it was normal, and no big deal. After only a few days away from his influence, she wondered how she ever could have accepted that.

She realized all at once that she hadn’t, not really.

Her mood became sad and pensive as she recalled her reaction, her way of dealing with Riley’s hurtful actions – how she had come back up here to her room and used Spike – she *had* used him; there was no other word for what she had done – to ease her own heartache, when he had loved her so much even by then.

Spike could sense that she was troubled, and wanted to help her, but was uncertain of how to go about it. Finally, as she was latching her suitcase shut, she noticed the anxious look he cast her way, and gave him a bravely reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m okay.” But she would not quite meet his eyes.

“Liar,” he replied gently, and she looked up at him in mild surprise at his frankness – and that was when she saw the pain in *his* eyes – he was remembering, too.

She wanted to apologize, wanted to tell him again how sorry she was for the disregard and careless cruelty with which she had treated his love. But she had already spoken those words, more than once, and knew that it would not help the insecurity she saw in Spike’s eyes to say them again.

But hopefully, she knew something that would.

She set down the suitcase and stepped purposefully toward him, meeting the anxious question rising in his eyes with a reassuring smile -- in the moment before she pulled him into an intense, powerful kiss. It was emphatic -- meaningful -- speaking volumes more than words could have in that moment. He stood very still for just a moment, stunned by the unexpected gesture, before his arms instinctively went around her and he kissed her back, gently, tentatively.

Buffy would have none of that.

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him firmly back until his back was to the wall, her mouth desperately searching his, trying to express to him what she could not yet say aloud. She pulled away from the kiss before she needed to, but he was breathless, staring into her eyes with his own wide and shocked by the passion she had displayed.

"I want *you*, Spike. And only you," she told him in a whisper, meeting his eyes openly and searchingly, willing him to see that she truly meant what she was saying. "I want you to know that when I kiss you -- when I touch you -- it's *you* that I'm touching...and no one else."

He had no words; what she had said spoke directly to the need and insecurity that had come back to him with the memories of that first night they had spent, when he had openly confessed his love to her, only to have it ignored, and then forcefully pushed away. The pain of realizing that he had just been a convenient substitute, something there to ease the pain of her feelings for someone else, had almost been more than he could bear.

And now, she was doing everything in her power to undo the damage she had done that night.

It meant more than he could express, and he really had no idea what to say. He looked away from the intensity of her gaze, feeling choked with emotion. She seemed to be waiting for a response, the look in her eyes open and vulnerable, hoping that he would believe her heartfelt attempt to make amends.

He nodded, feeling inexplicably shy at her gentle attention. It still felt very strange to him to have any sort of positive attention focused on him at all. The best a slave could hope for in most cases was to be mostly ignored by his master or mistress. In the past, when he had managed to draw the attention of his owners, it had almost never been a good thing.

Buffy put her hand behind his head and drew him closer, gently guiding him into another soft kiss, her hand gently stroking through his hair, and then coming around to stroke down the side of his face as they parted, her eyes shining with affection. Her lips parted slightly, and a little breath caught in her throat.

He realized suddenly that she wanted to say something, but was having trouble putting it into words – or maybe just bringing herself to say it. He held his breath for a long moment, searching her eyes, waiting – hoping.

When she still said nothing, finally he took pity on her awkwardness and uncertainty. He gave her a soft, disarming smile, shrugging lightly as he stepped back, putting a little bit of distance between them.

“We’d best be going, love. We’ve got incriminating evidence to find, don’t we?” he spoke in a low, teasing tone that almost managed to cover the emotion in his voice.

As he pulled gently away from her, turning toward the door, Buffy opened her mouth to speak, painfully aware that she was missing a precious opportunity to bring them closer to each other, that she was disappointing him by failing to give him what he so desperately craved from her.

But how could she give it when she wasn’t even sure she *had* it to give?

As he stepped through the door into the hallway, she tried to put it out of her mind and followed after him. He was right, after all. They had work to do. The place for soul-searching and trying to make sense of this increasingly complicated relationship and just what it meant to her was in the safety of Willow’s and Tara’s house – not here in the enemy’s den.

Buffy caught up to him, stopping him silently with a hand on his arm, and slipping ahead of him. Though she did not say a word, he knew that she was concerned about his safety, and wanted to go ahead of him to be sure that if they *did* run into Riley – she would run into him first.

They stopped outside the door to Riley’s office, and Buffy glanced anxiously up and down the hall as she reached for the doorknob. No one was in sight. She tried the knob – and found it, surprisingly, unlocked.

“Stupid git,” Spike muttered in derision, and Buffy could not help but smile as she cautiously opened the door.

The room was empty, so they stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind them. No sense inviting unwelcome attention. Buffy moved across the room to a large gray filing cabinet, while Spike went directly to the desk and began inspecting the piles of paperwork that covered it.

The first few folders she went through were nothing of any interest – Riley’s personal financial records, personnel files for his organization, other random paperwork that did not seem very useful. Suddenly, Buffy had a thought, and reached for the personnel file again, opening it and flipping through the papers inside.

A slow smile crossed her lips as she scanned through the stack of profiles, one for every one of Riley’s employees. Information was listed down each page such as their names, birthdates, histories – and pass codes. It only made sense that Riley would have access to that information, so that he could know who was coming and going in his facilities. Buffy smiled to herself.

She was about to get some wanna-be Nazi in serious trouble.

She glanced across at Spike with a smile of triumph. “Paydirt,” she announced – her voice suddenly trailing off at the look on his face.

He was staring down at something on Riley’s desk, his eyes wide with shock, his lips slightly parted and trembling. He did not look up when she spoke to him, just kept his eyes focused on whatever it was that he had found.

“What is it?” she asked softly, setting the folder down on top of the filing cabinet and heading toward him. He still did not respond, as she moved to his side and put a steadying arm around him, looking down as she did to see what it was that he was looking at.

*God, he’s shaking like a leaf!* she thought with alarm, instinctively tightening her arm protectively around him as she picked up the papers that seemed to have caught his attention and given him such a shock.

“What is it?” she asked again, her eyes scanning the official-looking document quickly – then widening in stunned dismay when she realized what she was looking at.

Spike’s ownership papers – signed by Riley Finn as the purchaser.

Buffy’s mind raced back to the day she had bought Spike. *She* had bought him – hadn’t she? *With Riley’s money,* she thought with a sick realization. She could not remembering actually signing anything, herself – because she hadn’t. At the time, it had not seemed all that important.

But now, it was. Life-or-death important.

While she had been reading the dangerous document, Spike’s wide, downcast eyes, focused on the desk, had spotted his own name on yet another piece of paper on the desk, and he picked it up with trembling hands, reading it quickly.

Buffy did not notice until she felt him go completely rigid under her arm, and then nearly collapse, his shaking intensifying. She looked at him in alarm. “What’s wrong? What is it?” she asked, taking the second paper from his hand just as his trembling fingers would have dropped it.

The second document was worse than the first. It was an officially worded report, claiming that Spike had been rebellious and had “not responded to his master’s attempts to discipline him”. It was full of false details, incidents that had never happened, all designed to prove that Spike was a problem – a danger – and ordering his *return* to the training facilities for *re-conditioning*.

The importance of those two words was not lost on Buffy as she read through the paper. So it was as she had suspected. Spike *had* been through the training center before. She had known it, deep down, but had not wanted to believe it. She looked up into his panicked eyes with concern.

Yep. He had been through training. The look in his eyes left no doubt in her mind. And he was clearly terrified of returning there.

Buffy dropped the paper on the desk and turned to put her arms around him completely, just as his shaking legs refused to support him anymore, and he sank down to sit on the edge of Riley’s desk chair, resting his head against her stomach, his hands clutching at her waist.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice a broken sob that tore at her heart. “Please, don’t let him – don’t…” His voice failed him halfway through the desperate plea.

“Shh,” she whispered, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, the other on his shoulder, as she held him close to her protectively. “I won’t, Spike,” she assured him. “I promise. I’m not gonna let him *touch* you!” Her voice was trembling, but determined. No matter what she had to do, she was not going to let Riley hurt Spike again. She slowly disentangled herself from his desperate embrace, to crouch down in front of him and meet his eyes.

“Spike,” she whispered. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

His terrified blue eyes were pleading as he looked up at her, still struggling to catch his breath between sobs. Until now, he had tried not to let her know the horrors he had experienced, but faced with the threat that that simple piece of paper represented, his pride shattered, crushed by overwhelming fear.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “I – I can’t – I can’t go back there! I *can’t*! Please!”

Buffy’s own eyes were wide and serious as she met his, one gentle firm hand moving to the back of his neck, the other reaching out to clasp his hand tightly in hers.

“You’re *not* going to!” she declared clearly and firmly, a promise in her eyes and her voice. “Spike, I will *never* let that happen! Okay?”

He nodded, still shaking, but trying hard to regain control, his free hand rising to rest on her arm.

“I promise, Spike,” she whispered. “I will not let him hurt you.” She paused, seeking his downcast eyes until he reluctantly met her gaze. “Do you believe me?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes, but she could tell that the response was little more than automatic.

“Spike.” Her tone was gentle, but forceful enough to make him open his eyes again and look at her. “Do you trust me?”

This time his answer was not so immediate, as he stared deep into her eyes for a long moment. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice a little stronger when he replied, with more conviction than before, “Yes, Buffy. I trust you.”

Buffy nodded slowly, searching his eyes, and seeing something there that satisfied her, as the beginnings of a plan began to form in her head. “Okay. I have an idea,” she said, looking up at Riley’s computer on the desk. “We’re gonna beat that miserable, sadistic bully at his own game!” Her smile became sly and calculating.

He looked up at her in confusion and uncertainty. “We – we have to get out of here, Buffy! What if he comes back? We need to leave!”

“Spike,” her calm, gentle voice stopped his panicky insistence, and he was quiet, waiting for her to go on. “Trust me,” she reminded him softly, leaning in to place a brief, tender kiss on his lips.

When she drew back, he looked at the floor, calmer, but still worried. “He’s gonna be back any minute,” he persisted softly, not meeting her gaze.

But his eyes shot up to hers again when she spoke her next words, her voice sure and strong, with a strange smile on her face.

“I hope so. I’m kind of counting on it.”

Buffy swore softly under her breath as she hit the back space key -- again -- deleting her latest error from Riley's computer screen. "I *really* wish I'd paid more attention in typing class back in high school," she muttered, frustrated by her own failure.

"Can't see as how it'd have held your interest," Spike shrugged. "You're more about action than words. Always have been, pet."

There was a gentle affection in his quiet voice, an admiration that reminded her that there were other areas in which she was more than talented enough to make up for her lack of computer skills. Again, she marveled at how Spike always seemed to know how to make her feel better.

If only she could make *him* feel better.

In spite of his light tone, his gentle teasing with her, his voice was still strained, revealing the anxiety and fear he was still struggling with. He was trying to trust her, to believe that her plan would work, but his eyes were still anxious and uncertain, as he looked over her shoulder to study the document that was slowly, painstakingly coming together on the screen.

After a minute which included about a half dozen more backspaces, three more soft curses of frustration from the slayer, and a kick to the hard drive -- fortunately *without* the force of her Slayer strength -- Spike spoke hesitantly. "If you'd like, I -- I could give it a try, love."

She looked up at him in surprise. "You know how to use a computer?"

The look he gave her was surprised, and a little offended. "Bloody right I do," he replied, a bit defensively. "I did actually *live* through the past fifty years or so, pet...well, in a manner of speaking." He shrugged, glancing up at her with a question in his eyes.

“So did I,” she pointed out dubiously, looking away from him and back to the screen. Then, suddenly, she stood up, pushing her chair back and stepping away from the frustrating equipment. "Okay," she relented. "Go ahead. You *have* to be better at it than I am, because I suck!"

The fact that her usually quick-to-compliment, eager-to-please vampire did not argue with her assessment of her typing skills told her just how bad they really were. As Spike took her seat at the desk and immediately picked up where she had left off, long graceful fingers played over the keys with such skill and accuracy that she found herself awed -- and a little annoyed.

He glanced up to see her watching him, noticing the expression on her face, and then quickly refocused his attention on the screen in front of him -- but not before a small smile turned the corners of his mouth up a little. He was clearly pleased with himself.

"Show off," she muttered, but her tone was good-natured, as she turned to pick up the file folder she had left on top of the filing cabinet.

While Spike worked on the new document they were making, she went to Riley's copy machine and made copies of all the information from the personnel file that she thought would be useful to them. She intended to leave the originals; Riley would certainly know that they had seen or taken *something* from his office – he wasn’t *that* stupid – but she did not intend to make it easy for him to figure out.

She was just carefully replacing the folder in the file cabinet, being sure to leave it exactly as she had found it, when she felt, rather than saw, Spike's approach from behind her. She was getting better at sensing him, she realized with a pleased smile. She turned to face him, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw the completed document he was proudly holding up for her inspection.

"You're done already?" she said incredulously, taking it from his hand and walking back toward the desk to compare it with the handwritten original they had quickly composed on a piece of scratch paper.

It was word for word perfect, and looked every bit as official as the signed ownership papers that they had found on Riley's desk. She laid the paper down carefully on the desk, then took the copies she had made and folded them, putting them in the outside pocket of her suitcase and zipping it closed. Then, satisfied that all evidence of their activities had been concealed, she turned her full attention back to Spike with an appreciative, admiring smile.

"You are incredible, you know that?" she told him, her voice soft and affectionate as she slowly stepped toward him.

He looked down with a shy sort of smile, clearly pleased with himself, but still not used to accepting praise or positive affirmation from a human.

She was going to change that.

"You are so awesome, I could just..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes sparkling as she shrugged, "Why not?" she mused, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him.

He felt a rush of warmth flow through him at the combination of her kiss, and her words, which filled him with a sense of pride and security that he had all but lost long ago. Buffy had no idea how much such a simple thing could mean to him; she had no idea how long it had been since anyone had appreciated any good thing he had done.

But to Spike – it was life-changing, almost beyond belief, to be treated with the gentleness and affection she had been lavishing on him lately.

He gratefully, enthusiastically returned her kiss, pushing forward until her hips hit the side of the tall desk, and she leaned back against it for support, pulling out of the kiss for a moment, breathless, as his hands began to rove slowly over her body, coming to rest on her hips and pulling her gently closer to him.

"God!" she gasped, feeling every individual tiny point of contact between his body and hers, every sensation intensified by the desperate need for him that his touch was awakening, catching her by surprise. But – they were still in Riley’s office, and they had to be ready for him when he got back. "Spike...we...can't..."

"Got to," he muttered, and the sound of his voice, low and longing, only intensified the desire she was trying to control. The cautious reverence in his manner was giving way to an intense yearning for her, a determination to have her, and that realization sent a rush of desire straight through her very core, as his mouth lowered to her throat, sucking gently on the soft skin directly above her pulse.

“Need you, Buffy,” he whispered, the light touch of his cool breath against her skin driving her wild with her own need. “Need you so much…”

“We can’t…” she tried again – failing utterly, as her body betrayed her mind. “*God* -- I want you!” she gasped, the voice of reason in her mind that had been insisting that this was a very bad idea, suddenly very confused, and very interesting in finding out for itself.

One of his hands slid down to stroke with a teasingly soft touch across the front of her jeans, while the other reached behind her head to rest at the back of her neck, pulling her throat closer to his mouth, his blunt human teeth nipping lightly at her throat before caressing it with feather-light kisses.

There was such a primally possessive feeling to the way he was touching her, it took her breath away. The Slayer in her recognized the passionate need that drove him, not only to *be* possessed, as he had been for so long, both willingly and unwillingly – but to possess, to *have* her completely.

That same part of her was warning her to flee – here was the danger she was supposed to destroy wherever she found it, and to escape if she could not destroy it – but certainly never to allow to get so near, to touch her like this until her senses were on fire and she was past the point where resistance was even an option.

The Slayer in her realized that if Spike had wanted to kill her in that moment – she would have been dead.

But despite the natural sense of danger that just seemed to come with the territory, another part of her, another need equally primal and ancient, cried out for him to take her – own her – make her his and his alone.

He wanted her – wanted to claim her as his own, then and there. Every sense he possessed told him that she would not try to stop him, that she would consent, that she wanted him to do it. But his basic instincts that told him to go ahead and do it were locked in battle with the conditioning of pain and humiliation that told him that he did not dare so such a thing to a human woman, his mistress. Only suffering could follow such an action.

*Mine,* his innermost being cried out, with a ferocious need, absolutely desperate for her – and he did not realize that he had actually growled out the word aloud, in a passionately possessive whisper, until he heard her little gasp of shock at the sound of it.

Her shock was mostly at the overwhelming desire that the single word had awakened in her – to *be* his – to have him claim her with more than his words. Her subconscious had realized that that was where they were headed, but until that moment she had not realized how badly she wanted it.

Spike completely misunderstood.

As quickly as the moment had come upon them, the spell was broken, as he drew back from her suddenly in alarm, his eyes wide and apprehensive as he took several steps back away from her, shaking his head slightly.

An actual attempt at biting a human, let alone anything even resembling a claim, was considered to be the worst offense that a slave could possibly commit. And although he had not actually tried to bite her, his training and conditioning told him that at this point, all he could expect in response to the simple whispered word was brutal punishment.

He knew that Buffy would not hurt him – but still, the memory of the things that had been so deeply instilled in him in the training center made the entire situation confusing and frightening for him. He was sure that at the very least, she would be very angry with him for his presumption.

*How could you let yourself lose control like that, you stupid git?* he chided himself frantically, dropping his gaze and retreating a few steps further, as Buffy stepped cautiously toward him.

His voice was soft and hesitant as he finally found the nerve to speak. “I – I didn’t mean to…I – I’m sorry, Buffy, I…”

“No,” she interrupted him, her voice still breathless from the power of the broken moment, but her eyes full of concern as they searched his face.

She wasn’t sure exactly what was causing this reaction, but she was willing to bet it had something to do with the threat of his “training”, so much more prominent in his mind at the moment due to the papers they had found, evidence of Riley’s cruel intentions to return him there.

More than anything, she wanted to be able to ease his fears, to make him trust that he was safe. “No, don’t be sorry. I…” She paused, seeking the right words – not exactly finding them. “I…didn’t mind.”

She had almost said so much more, and did not really understand why she changed the words in her mind before allowing them out of her mouth. To say that she “didn’t mind” had to be the understatement of the century. But the Slayer in her, that part of her that had to be in control, was terrified to surrender that control to any vampire, even if it was Spike, just could not admit – not yet – just how desperately she had *wanted* the claim he had almost completed.

Unaware of her internal conflict, Spike went on in a soft, desperately insistent voice, “I – I didn’t mean it like that, Buffy.” He was sure that even if she *did* see him as a free person now, he had certainly overstepped the boundaries of their relationship. “I – I…”

“Yes,” Buffy interrupted firmly, her eyes gentle but serious as he finally raised his own wide, startlingly blue eyes to meet her gaze. “You *did* mean it like that.” She *wanted* him to mean it like that.

Before she could go on, he once again misunderstood her words, misreading her serious tone for an accusation, and replied immediately, his voice trembling, “I’m sorry…Buffy, I’m sorry…”

She frowned, frustrated that it was so difficult to break through the false ideas that had been so firmly planted in his mind by the brutality he had experienced. At first she blamed herself for the wrong words, but she was beginning to think that it would not matter what words she chose – Spike was determined to make himself at fault for this.

And there was not even any “fault” to be had.

“Spike,” she tried again, a gentle urgency in her voice, as she closed the distance between them, reaching out to put her hands firmly on his arms.

Instinctively he tried to pull away, feeling trapped and self-conscious, aware from her tone and her expression that she at least partly knew the demons of his past that he was struggling with, and that knowledge making him feel exposed and vulnerable.

“Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head, trying to pull away, unable to resist much against her superior strength. “Buffy, don’t…”

“Spike, listen to me!” she insisted, her voice a bit more forceful than she had intended, cringing inwardly when he flinched. *There you go, Buffy,* she thought with harsh sarcasm. *Why don’t you freak out the vampire with post-traumatic stress disorder just a *little* bit more?*

“*Buffy*?”

The familiar voice from the doorway immediately drew their attention from the personal situation they were dealing with, to the uncertain, questioning face of the man framed in the doorway, looking for all the world like a very confused, completely non-threatening ordinary guy, although perhaps a bit surprised at the presence of his soon-to-be ex-wife and her slave in his office.

He looked nothing like the absolute monster that both of them knew him to be.

“Riley!” Buffy said in a surprised tone, a falsely pleasant smile on her lips, her attention still mostly focused on Spike, despite her husband’s arrival. “Hi.” Riley seemed determined to maintain the façade of normalcy for the moment, so she did not think he was an immediate threat – and soon he would be no threat at all.

Spike, apparently, disagreed.

At Riley’s appearance, already shaken up from the events that had been taking place between him and Buffy before the soldier’s entrance, flinched back a little with a little gasp of fear, wild, pleading eyes falling on Buffy, begging her wordlessly for her protection, protection that, at the moment, he did not think she would want to give him.

*Okay,* Buffy thought. *Gotta get this under control, *now*!*

“Spike,” she said, her voice low and firm, moving in close to him, so that only he would hear her whispered words, “Calm down. It’s okay. I need you with me on this, okay?”

He nodded, his eyes wide and panicked as they focused on hers. “Okay,” he whispered. “Please – please, Buffy, don’t let…”

“Spike,” she repeated slowly, warning him before he could say or do anything to give them away, and he was immediately silent. “I promise,” she reminded him in a whisper.

When he nodded his response, she looked at him for a moment longer, until she was satisfied that he was back in control enough to help her. Their personal issues could be dealt with at home, later. Right now, she had an evil ex-husband to deal with.

She turned to face Riley with a bright, disarming smile as she stepped casually toward him, carefully staying between him and Spike. This was it, she thought with determination. Spike’s future safety, future presence in her life, was dependent on what she did now – and although she knew she was about to cross a line, there would be no turning back.

*This is it,* she thought. *Showtime.*

“Hi, Riley.” Buffy kept her tone light and easy as she turned her attention to Riley. “What’s up?”

A strange, perplexed sort of smile came over his face as he looked at her, stepping slowly nearer. “I was sort of hoping you could tell me, Buffy,” he replied, his voice calm and even. “What exactly are you doing here?” he asked with a soft little laugh, shaking his head slightly in amused disbelief.

“I just came home for some of my things,” she explained with an innocent little shrug, meeting his steps toward her with a few of her own, not wanting to appear intimidated or afraid of him in any way.

After all – now that her Slayer-strength was back where it belonged, she could knock him senseless with her pinkie if she wanted to.

“Huh.” Riley did not sound at all convinced. “Find a lot of stuff that you left in *my office*?” he asked pointedly, his tone mild and teasing, but his eyes dark with anger and suspicion he could not quite conceal.

“Just thought I should check everywhere,” she replied. “I’m not planning on coming back anytime soon. So I figured I’d better be sure I have everything when I go for good.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, glancing past her at the frightened vampire behind her, still standing by the wall, his eyes downcast. “Bringing back some things of mine, too, I see.” Riley smiled when Spike flinched slightly.

Buffy’s own expression darkened, her eyes narrowing and her smile becoming cool. “I didn’t leave with anything of yours,” she informed him with a soft intensity. There was a quiet threat in her voice, and a wiser man would have heeded it.

Riley, on the other hand, was not exactly a wise man. He persisted, stepping closer to her and a little to the side, as if to pass her. Although she smoothly stepped into his path, not allowing him to get any nearer to Spike than he already was, the shaken vampire still drew back in alarm at Riley’s subtlely menacing move, and the larger man smiled in satisfaction at achieving his desired effect.

“I think you did, Honey,” he laughed softly, his cold eyes never leaving Spike’s face. “And I’ve got the papers to prove it.” His eyes finally came to rest on Buffy again, wanting to see her reaction to his words.

The Slayer was utterly unphased. “Yeah,” she sneered softly with a single nod. “I saw those. I wasn’t terribly impressed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Riley’s irritation was clear in his voice. He had expected his revelation to at least shake her up a little. He had not counted on her snooping around in his office and finding out ahead of time what he was planning, robbing him of the pleasure of seeing the expression on her face when she found out what was going to happen to her precious pet.

And why was she not any more upset over it than she was, anyway?

Buffy just shrugged, that infuriatingly calm smile still on her face. “Just that I’ve got some papers of my own that I’d like *you* to see.” She walked slowly toward the desk, knowing that she had provided just enough information to arouse his curiosity, and that he would undoubtedly follow her to the desk.

He planned to – but not without a little detour first. He took a single step toward Spike, who flinched back against the wall behind him, terrified at his approach, not as much by Riley himself, as by the threat that he represented. Riley’s recent torture had been agonizing and terrifying, but was nothing compared to the suffering he had experienced in the training center.

And he knew that Riley had the power to send him back there any time he felt like it.

Riley smiled, enjoying the effect he had on the well-trained slave, planning to enjoy it even more before all was said and done – but before he could take a second step toward Spike, Buffy caught his arm and yanked him back around to face her, startling him with her strength, her hand on his arm painfully tight.

“If you try to go near him again…I’ll break your arm,” she said sweetly, with a wide, false smile – but her eyes were deadly serious.

Her patronizing manner was absolutely infuriating to him, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Buffy released his arm as suddenly as she had grabbed it, and turned dismissively back toward the desk, her attention back on the papers scattered over it -- and Riley’s curiosity got the better of him in spite of himself.

He walked up to the desk, and she stepped aside to allow him closer, standing behind him and a bit to the side with an expectant smile on her face as he picked up the paper she indicated and began to scan it quickly. Buffy and Spike both held their breath, waiting for his response as Riley read through the legal arrangement she had come up with.

Then – Riley laughed out loud.

“Buffy,” he gasped after a moment, giving her an incredulous look, still laughing. “You – you can’t be serious!”

“I am,” she insisted, her voice still calm and even, but her eyes sparking with anger.

Riley’s eyes widened when he realized that she was indeed absolutely serious, and turned his eyes back to the paper in his hand, looking it over more closely for a moment. “Buffy,” he said in a slow, overly patient voice, without taking his eyes off the page. “First of all – this is ridiculous. Like I’d ever just sign over my rights to an expensive slave like him to you! I mean, come on, Buffy. Why don’t you try actually thinking for a second for a change?”

The patronizing tone, the insulting way of speaking that he had used with her for so long, that she had gotten used to while living with him, now was terribly offensive and utterly unacceptable to her. She could hardly believe that she had put up with it for as long as she had.

Clearly, Spike found it unacceptable as well. They were all surprised – himself included – by the low growl that suddenly rose in his throat, as he stared intently at the man who was speaking so derisively to the woman he loved.

Riley’s eyes narrowed in fury and he turned his attention to Spike – but Buffy’s recent threat was still fresh in his mind, and he knew that now, she was capable of carrying it out. So he did not make a move toward the vampire, just gave him a cold, menacing smile.

“See,” he remarked in a tone of mild amusement. “That’s why you need a trip back through training, Spike. They'll teach you to show a little respect again.”

The words had their desired effect, as the anger in Spike’s eyes faded into fear, and he dropped his gaze, stepping back again, and shook his head slightly, whispering, “No…no…”

It was stunning and heartbreaking to Buffy to see how quickly he backed down when faced with the threat of the training center – and it enraged her to see how badly Riley and those who worked for him had damaged Spike, and so many others.

“That’s *not* going to happen!” she snapped, her tone furious, and strained with the effort of keeping control of her anger. If things went as she expected them to, she would get the chance to vent her wrath on the sadistic prick she was married to soon enough. Of course, her rational mind reminded her that the best case scenario would not exactly involve violence.

This was one time when she did not hope for the best.

Riley looked at her and laughed in disbelief. “I don’t see how you think you’re gonna stop it from happening, Buffy,” he said, a cold, hard sound coming into his voice, though it lost none of its amusement at her words. “See – you have a little problem, Sweetie. This cute little piece of paper is missing a signature.”

His eyes hardened, his smile fading away as he paused to allow his meaning to sink in; he had absolutely no intention of signing the paper she had composed. “Like it or not, he’s *mine*. And I’ll send him back through training again if I feel like it.” He looked back at Spike with a cruel smirk and added, “And I think I *really* feel like it!”

Buffy took a deep breath, looking at the floor for a moment, before meeting his eyes again coolly. She was trying very hard not to show any reaction to Spike’s obvious distress at Riley’s threats; she knew that appearing to care too much would give Riley an advantage she did not want him to have.

Of course, her next words were going to make it all too clear just how much she cared.

“Riley,” she said slowly, her tone and eyes becoming serious. “I have an offer for you, and I’m only going to make it once. If you choose to turn it down – all bets are off.”

A mocking smirk rose to his lips as he asked her in a patient, indulgent voice, “Okay then. What is it?”

“If you’ll sign those papers – I’ll sign over all my rights to any alimony or support of any kind. From now on. If you’ll give me ownership of Spike right now – I’ll consider that our divorce settlement, and won’t ask for anything else.” Buffy’s voice was soft, clear, as she made her startling announcement, her eyes honest and open as they met those of her husband.

Spike could not hold back a little gasp of shock. After what had just happened between them, the terrible mistake he was sure he had just made, for her to make such a sacrifice, just to save him from the misery Riley wanted to inflict on him – the thought was overwhelming. He felt tears of gratitude spring to his eyes, and he swallowed back the lump that rose in his throat, wide blue eyes staring at her in grateful disbelief.

Riley’s eyes widened, also disbelieving at her words. For a moment, he seemed to consider her offer. After all, he was a very wealthy man. What she was giving up, realistically speaking, amounted to millions of dollars, the very least that she would certainly be granted in even the smallest of divorce settlements. He would be a fool not to even consider her stunning offer.

Then, a slow, smug smile came over his lips, and Buffy knew his decision before he said a word. “You know, Buffy,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It’s tempting – but it’s just not worth it. This is just gonna be too much fun to pass up. Besides – when you’ve got as much as I do – what’s a few million? I’d really rather give you the money.”

Buffy’s smile was unexpected, and unnerving. “I thought you’d say that,” she replied, and the threat in her eyes was revealed in her voice as she stepped toward him. “I *hoped* you’d say that.

Riley’s eyes widened in surprise – and fear – as he realized exactly what she meant. Her Slayer strength made her much stronger than he was. He was not on the same strength-enhancing medications that his men were on – unlike them, he knew about the potential nasty side effects that came along with the super-strength. He took a step back away from her in alarm, obviously aware that things had just taken a dangerous turn for him.

And then, things began to happen very quickly, all at once.

Spike saw Riley’s hand reaching back toward his pocket, and opened his mouth to warn Buffy, realizing with alarm that he must have a weapon concealed there. At the same moment he stepped forward, intent on stopping Riley, though he knew that he could not do anything to hurt him. What happened to him did not matter; all he cared about was keeping Buffy from getting hurt.

But the Slayer had spotted the threat for herself, and before he could say a word or make much of a move, she had caught Riley’s wrist in her hand, an inch from its goal. Smiling into his eyes, she reached her other hand around and into his pocket, pulling out a compact, black pistol.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Riley!” she gasped, with exaggerated shock and hurt in her voice. “What in the world were you going to do with this?”

For the first time during the whole encounter, Riley’s smile faded completely, and he swallowed hard, his eyes widening at the sight of the weapon in his wife’s small hand. “Buffy,” he said softly. “I wasn’t reaching for that. I carry it for protection. Please put it down.” His voice was carefully measured, calm, as if he were speaking to some deranged, psychotic person.

She found it terribly annoying.

“Maybe you’re right,” she went on in the same mockingly serious tone, shifting the weapon in her hand, at the same time using her hold on his wrist and her greater strength to maneuver them both around so that his back was to her, and he was facing the desk, with her standing behind him. “It’s probably not safe for me to have this. Being just a clueless little woman and all; it’s not like I have any experience in combat or anything.”

The angry, sarcastic note in her voice made him close his eyes for a moment with a little grimace, remembering just how skilled Buffy *was* in the art of violence – though he did not believe that she was anywhere near the expert he was in actual cruelty.

He hoped he was right.

“I really *don’t* have a clue how to use this thing,” she confessed in a secretive tone, leaning in close in a confiding sort of way. “Never really had much of a chance to practice, what with guns not being the usual weapon of choice against monsters.” She paused, suddenly pressing the gun to his temple, smiling when he winced at the contact, and added, “But I’ve learned recently, Riley – there are all kinds of monsters.”

He did not resist her, his demeanor and expression remaining calm, his military training warning him against doing anything to startle her while the gun was in such a dangerous position. “Buffy – you *really* don’t want to do this,” he warned her quietly, calmly. “You’re about to cross a line you can’t go back from. Right now, you can still just walk out of here, and we’ll just act like this never happened…”

“Right,” she smirked. “You would love it if we just walked out and forgot this whole thing, wouldn't you? Considering that *you're* the one who decided to pull a gun on *me*. I think you’re the one who’d have some explaining to do if this little incident came to light. I was the one threatened; all *I’m* doing is defending myself. And to tell you the truth -- I'm not ready to leave yet," she informed him with a smile, "so why don't you have a seat,” as she spoke she put her hand on his shoulder and shoved him forcefully into his desk chair, “and we’ll finish this conversation. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said softly, very much aware of the gun that was still in her hand, though she had removed it from his head. “What exactly do you want, Buffy?”

Wordlessly she took the sheet of paper that he still held in his hand and laid it on the desk in front of him, smoothing it slowly, then taking a pen from the holder on his desk and placing it pointedly on top of the paper, giving him an expectant look.

Riley stared at it for a moment, and then laughed softly. “That’s all?” he asked with a mocking note in his voice.

“That’s all,” Buffy affirmed, fighting back her irritation and keeping her voice calm. “What more do I need? This paper affirms that you’re signing your ownership of Spike over to me, relinquishing any and all control over him into my hands.” She shrugged. “And that you’re signing this of your own free will, without any form of duress or intimidation.” She could not suppress the smirk that rose to her lips at the humorous irony of the statement.

Despite his situation, neither could Riley. He shook his head slowly, looking down at the paper. “You don’t call this duress?” he asked her, his mocking expression telling her that he still really didn’t see her as much of a threat. “Well, of course not,” he answered his own question with a sneer. “You don’t even know what ‘duress’ means, do you, Sweetie? That little baby in your hand right there pretty much qualifies.”

His mocking, derisive tone, talking to her as if she were a stupid child, infuriated her. “You know,” she said softly. “you’re right. Guess I’d better ditch this thing, huh? Never liked them anyway.”

She looked up at Spike, who was watching the situation intently from that same spot by the wall. Catching his eye, she tossed the weapon to him, and he caught it quickly in his hands, giving her a questioning look. “Just hold it,” she told him gently, looking back to Riley, who was looking incredulously between Buffy and Spike.

“You know you’re no good at this whole strong-arming thing, right?” he sneered. “He can’t even use that thing!”

“That’s kind of the idea,” Buffy shrugged with a smile. “The gun’s out of play. They make me nervous.” Suddenly she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, smiling into his eyes. “And I don’t need it anyway.”

Riley winced in pain, as she picked up the pen and pressed it into his hand. “Buffy, you don’t know what you’re doing here. I’m a very powerful man…”

She only yanked his head back harder, so hard that another inch would snap his neck. “You don’t look very powerful to me right now, Riley,” she said softly. Then her voice hardened as she snapped, “Now shut up and sign it!”

Riley was obviously restraining his natural instinct to fight her, knowing that it would prove to be futile. His knuckles were white on the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. He did not respond for a long moment, closing his eyes. Then, surprisingly, he opened them, smiling oddly.

“Okay…okay, Buffy, just…just relax. I’ll sign your paper. Okay? Just ease up.”

*Well. That was easy.*

Buffy frowned, a little suspicious, but not about to argue when she was so close to her goal. She released her grip on his hair, stepping back a little. “Go ahead. Sign it,” she urged him.

Smiling at her coldly, not even looking at the paper, he scrawled his signature onto the line she had indicated. “There ya go,” he smirked. “All set.”

Her frown deepened, as she searched his expression. “What are you smiling about?” she demanded, suddenly feeling very apprehensive.

At exactly that moment, the door burst open, and about a dozen armed men flooded the room, guns drawn and aimed at the Slayer and the vampire, as Riley slowly stood from the chair and took a step away from her, a smirk on his face as he replied smugly, indicating the men with a wave of his hand.

“That.”

No one moved for a long moment as Buffy took in the situation, her warrior's mind racing ahead, trying to come up with various scenarios, possibilities of escaping this situation. She had no weapons except for a couple of concealed stakes, and a vampire who couldn't fight humans -- and she had to get both of them and her suitcase full of evidence *and* the signed ownership transfer papers out of Riley's office, past a dozen armed men all focused on them.

Nothing immediately sprang to mind.

A fierce determination suddenly came over her as she glanced back at Spike, who was clearly very frightened, but was watching her closely, ready to move at any signal from her. In that moment, she was absolutely certain that no matter what, she was not going to let anything happen to him.

She was the Slayer. She had lived under Riley's thumb for too long, and was certainly not going to allow him to defeat her now. If he was going to hurt Spike, she would go down herself first. And if she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting.

She looked back at Spike again, and saw his questioning look as he subtlely shifted the gun in his hand, knew what he was wondering. She shook her head slightly as she turned her attention back to the guards. He could not use the gun himself, but if he tried to throw it to her, his sudden movement might draw the fire of Riley’s men – and she was certain that their guns would be equipped with the standard issue wood-tipped bullets that all of Riley’s men were given.

She was determined that no matter what happened, they were *both* going to walk out of here alive. Well – not dead, anyway.

She kept her eyes on the guards and her voice calm and even as she addressed Riley without looking at him. “Panic button?” she guessed.

He nodded with a satisfied smirk. “Should’ve checked under the desk, Sweetheart,” he chided her.

“You panic easy,” she muttered with resentment, never taking her eyes off the armed men who stood perfectly still, their weapons trained on her and Spike, but waiting for Riley’s command.

“You had a gun to my head, Buffy,” he reminded her slowly, with exaggerated patience. “Who *wouldn’t* panic?”

She shrugged in a display of false unconcern. “Okay. You’ve made your point. We’ll just be getting out of here now.” As she spoke, she quickly slid the signed paper off the desk into her hand, still watching the soldiers as she crumpled it and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.

Wrinkles in the paper did not matter – only the signature mattered.

Riley saw what she was doing and reached to stop her, forgetting for a moment that she was no longer the powerless, submissive girl she had been until recently. Her vicious elbow to his ribs reminded him, driving home the foolishness of his attempt, as he doubled over in pain.

Gasping for breath, unable to speak, Riley gestured frantically for his men to attack – just as Buffy launched into action.

The command was completely unnecessary, as the soldiers had just been attacked themselves by a furious Slayer on a mission – not something that any of them wanted to mess with. Fists and feet flew in too many powerful blows to count, as the men still attempted to surround her, to subdue her, only to end up becoming targets of her well-aimed assault.

She began to wonder when they did not even attempt to use her guns, choosing instead to try to match her blows and fight her without the use of weapons. It was a foolish move on their part, she thought with a shrug, but she was not complaining.

*Works for me!*

Five minutes into the fight, three of the men were unconscious, two more were injured too badly to stand – and the Slayer was still going strong on the remaining seven. Riley stood behind his desk, watching, knowing that his strength was nothing compared to that of any of the combatants. Spike stood near the wall, watching intently, determined to join the fight if she needed him, regardless of the chip. As it was, however, she was holding her own, and he knew that to join in now would hinder her more than it would help her.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers who had been knocked to the ground, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle and unable to rise, struggled desperately up on his arms, turning his body around to face the Slayer. With trembling hands, gasping for breath, he reached for the weapon he had holstered at the beginning of the encounter.

Riley had ordered them to take her alive, but it was clear by this point that without the use of their weapons, they were all going to die.

Buffy never saw the gun as it was raised in the soldier’s hand and he took aim at her back.

Riley saw it, and yelled out in a voice of fury, “*No*, you fool! Stop!”

Spike saw it too, his eyes widening in helpless horror as the soldier raised his second hand to steady the first around the weapon, preparing to fire. And in that moment – when he saw the deadly weapon trained on Buffy, who was completely lost in the battle, never suspecting that she was seconds away from death – something snapped in Spike.

What happened to him – the unspeakable pain he knew the chip would cause him if he tried to defend her – did not matter. All that mattered was Buffy, and saving her from the fate she did not even know was about to befall her.

He raised the small black pistol in his hand and took aim at the back of the soldier’s head, pulling the trigger without a moment’s hesitation. Immediately, he cringed, his hands going to his head in anticipation of the terrible agony he knew was coming, to punish the unpardonable offense of taking the life of a human being.

Absolutely. Nothing.

That was what he felt, in the next few seconds. Not even the slightest electric tingle emanated from the tiny leash in his head, despite the violence of his actions. He looked up at where the soldier had been, wondering if he had possibly missed? But no, he thought, that should not make any difference, as the punishment of the chip was based on the intent, not the success or failure, of his actions.

His eyes widened in shock as he stared at the spot where he expected to see the bleeding body of the man he had just shot – and instead saw an unmistakable pile of vampire dust.

*Must have blown the bugger’s head clean off!* he realized with a measure of pride, even before the magnitude of what had just happened fully hit him.

And then it did.

Riley’s guards were vampires! But…how was that possible? he wondered. All vampires were required to be chipped. So how were they able to carry guns, to attack Buffy as they had done? He did not have time to think about it now.

“Buffy!” he shouted, trying to catch her attention above the noise of the battle still going on, as he jumped into the fray himself without any further hesitation, keeping the gun in his hand.

He was a better shot than he had realized, he thought with pride – and vampires, he could fight. He was not useless to her anymore, unhampered by his chip against this particular enemy, free to fight for her and come to her aid in the fight against the half dozen guards who remained.

And not a moment too soon.

It had taken her a while, but finally, the Slayer was growing weary – and more than a little distracted. The roar of the gunshot had scared her badly, knowing that there was no way the sound could be good. If it was one of Riley’s guards’ guns going off, and she was not shot, there was only one other person they could have been aiming for – and if it was the gun in Spike’s hand going off, he would not be much better off, with the chip in his head.

She had wanted to check on him, but the remaining few soldiers were relentless in their assault, and she had been too busy fighting for her life, unable to risk looking over her shoulder and giving them any advantage at all.

The sound of his voice was a tremendous relief to her, and she felt a tremor go through her body at the welcome sound. But she still had no time to enjoy it now. “What?” she called, throwing another – weaker – blow at the soldier standing in front of her at the moment, struggling to get a grip on her to restrain her.

Suddenly, she felt a hand slip into her back pocket and gasped in shock, nearly whirling around to face her accoster.

“Just me, Slayer,” Spike said quickly, holding up the stake he had just liberated from her pocket. “They’re vamps! We can take ‘em, love!”

“What?” Buffy asked, stopping for a moment in disbelief, staring at him.

It was all the opportunity the soldier she was grappling with needed to strike her a stunning blow, knocking her backwards a few yards to the floor.

*Well *that* was bloody helpful, mate,* Spike sarcastically berated himself, taking up the fight where Buffy had left off with the unlucky vampire, fighting him back. Unlike the weary Slayer, Spike was fresh and ready for the fight – the first he had had in far too long.

Buffy shook her head, dazed, as she struggled back to her feet, amazed at the sight that met her eyes. She watched in shocked disbelief as Spike plunged the stake into the heart of the soldier he was fighting, and he disintegrated into dust before her eyes. She was no less stunned than she had been at the sight of her first dusted vampire.

“They’re vampires,” she whispered, still barely able to comprehend it. “But – how…?”

“We’ve covered that, love,” Spike said tersely, throwing a couple punches at another advancing vampire soldier, trying to get past him to the distracted Slayer. “As to the latter – we’ll get to it later. We’re a bit busy at the moment, in case you’d forgotten,” he reminded her as he dusted the vampire easily.

Four to go.

Galvanized into action by his words, and by the beautiful sight of Spike, in all his fighting glory, every bit as amazing as he had ever been in battle, Buffy leapt back into the fight, determined that he would not fight alone.

A huge vampire lunged for her at that moment, as another one swung at Spike with a heavy club. Buffy managed to get in a couple of good blows at the towering giant of a vampire, but he was incredibly strong, and he struck her a powerful, stunning blow that slammed her back into the wall.

“Buffy!” Spike yelled, turning to help her – and taking a vicious blow in the back with the vampire’s club. He whirled around with a grimace, knowing that he would not be much help to her if he was dead – he had to focus on the fight he was currently in the middle of first.

“Buffy! Are you all right, love?” he called, frantic with fear when she did not respond.

She couldn’t. The breath had been knocked from her body by the vicious body kicks of the lumbering vampire above her. Spike glanced over his shoulder again, enraged by the sight of the fallen Slayer, struggling uselessly to rise against the savage beating she was currently being dealt.

He was further enraged when his own opponent struck him again with the club. Without hesitation, he turned to face him again, pressing his pistol directly against the vampire’s throat and pulling the trigger – indeed, blowing the vampire’s head completely off. Not wanting any further distractions, he aimed the weapon at the remaining two, already advancing on him, and eliminated them with two carefully placed shots, before turning his attention on Buffy’s attacker.

He reached up to grip the giant’s arm and spun him around with an effort. He shrugged lightly up at the furious vampire, suggesting, “She looks about done, mate. Why don’t you try a real fight?” He punctuated his words with a brutal blow to the vampire’s face with the gun in his hand.

Within moments, they were locked in a violent struggle, as Spike tried to move the fight away from the fallen Slayer, tried to give her time to recover. But she was not moving; she seemed barely conscious. He wanted to go to her, but had to defeat his enemy first. Back and forth they fought, neither really able to gain an advantage. The other vampire was bigger, but he was faster and smarter. He could not as easily dispatch this opponent, because he could not aim as precisely as with the other, smaller vamps he had decapitated with the gun.

Finally, he managed to get back a little distance between him and his opponent, aware that his back was to the wall, but thinking that it would not matter in a few seconds. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet sailed straight and true into the vampire’s throat -- but did not decapitate him. Still, the big vamp was effectively out of the running, collapsing to the floor, gasping in an old reflex reaction, desperate for breath he did not need.

It was only then that Spike noticed Riley, standing directly behind where the large vampire had been – directly in the path of the gun. A million thoughts went through his head at that moment. It would hurt, yes – badly – but he could eliminate the threat that Riley posed right now with a single action. Buffy would forgive him – would probably not even mind. He could do it. It would be worth it, he thought.

And in that moment – Spike’s thoughts betrayed him.

The moment that he decided that he was *going* to shoot Riley – with the gun aimed at the man’s chest – the chip fired with a vicious intensity, and he gasped in pain as his legs failed him, and he collapsed to his knees on the floor, the gun still clasped tightly in his hand as both hands raised to clutch at his head. He was utterly unaware of anything but the pain as Riley slowly walked up to him, smiling cruelly, and took the weapon from his hand.


Buffy struggled against the wave of darkness that had overwhelmed her, beaten badly by the huge vampire, the blows she had taken to her head claiming her consciousness. But after a few dazed minutes, wakefulness gradually returned.

Where was she? What had happened? Why was she on the floor? She vaguely remembered the fight, the giant that had been attacking her – Riley – and *Spike*! She opened her eyes suddenly, struggling awkwardly to rise from the ground.

“Spike,” she whispered, her vision still a little blurry as she pulled herself up, bracing herself on the wall for support.

As her vision slowly cleared, her eyes widened in horror at the sight that met her eyes.

About ten feet away, Riley stood smiling at her coldly, his arm outstretched toward something on the floor. As her vision came into focus, she realized what “it” was.

Spike.

He was kneeling on the floor, leaning against the wall, gasping in pain. It was obvious after seeing it enough times that he was recovering from the aftermath of the chip’s assault. But his eyes were downcast, and he was frozen with fear.

The gun in Riley’s hand was pressed hard against his temple, forcing him into the wall menacingly. Spike was defenseless against him, a human, and clearly terrified of the wordless threat Riley was making.

Buffy’s mind raced, horrified by the sight. *It couldn’t kill him,* she reminded herself. *Couldn’t kill him. Not by shooting. It’d be horrible but – he’d survive.*

Riley looked up at her, smiling coldly, and spoke softly, as if reading her thoughts.

“Ever wonder what would happen if you shot a vampire in the head?”

Buffy stood frozen with fear, staring at the weapon in Riley’s hand, pressed against Spike’s head. She could not breathe; she was certain that her heart stopped beating for a few moments. The image before her, and the ones it evoked in her mind, was more terrifying to her than anything Riley could have done to her.

*What is *wrong* with you, Buffy?* she thought frantically. *Move! *Move*!* her mind screamed at her, and she forced herself out of her reverie of horror and started purposefully toward Riley, intent on delivering her vampire from his merciless hand.

“One more step and I swear I’ll pull this trigger,” Riley informed her without hesitation in a cold, hard voice, pressing harder with the pistol, shoving Spike’s head harder into the wall and causing him to wince in pain. The cruel light of triumph in his eyes told Buffy that Riley was not bluffing. He really would do it.

She stopped short. “You pull that trigger and you’ll be dead five seconds later,” she informed him, trying to keep her voice calm, but unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. She meant every word. If Riley hurt Spike – she *would* kill him.

“Yeah – but it’ll be done already – won’t it?” Riley pointed out with a wicked grin. “So I’d suggest you stay back.”

He was right, she realized grimly. He held all the good cards at the moment. She could and would make Riley pay if he shot Spike – but what good would that do Spike?

The blonde vampire’s startlingly blue eyes were wide and panicked as they focused on Buffy’s, both terrified and trusting. Her heart rent with the pleading look he cast her way, and she knew that he was utterly defenseless against her husband, and counting on her to help him.

She could not let him down.

“I’ve tried it before you know,” Riley went on, his voice chillingly soft, a cold, malicious smile on his lips. “But I’ve gotta say, I never did manage to decapitate a vamp with a bullet, Spike.” There was a false admiration in his deceptively gentle voice, as he leaned in a little closer to the trembling vampire, who flinched slightly at his nearness, although there was no where to go.

He was completely trapped.

“You’ve got a pretty good aim there,” Riley nodded appreciatively with an almost friendly smile. And then, the smile faded completely, as he removed the terrifying pressure of the weapon at Spike’s temple – just to slam it down brutally across his face, his lip curled back in a vindictive expression of satisfaction at the little cry of pain he managed to get from his victim.

“Too bad it was my vamps you were aiming at, huh?” Riley sneered, a hard note of menace in his voice making it clear that he was furious at his loss, and intended to take it out of the defenseless creature at his feet.

Buffy was furious at the sight of the cruel blow, dealt to the helpless, kneeling vampire that she had taken under her protection. She charged forward again without thought – only to stop short again when the weapon was instantly placed back against Spike’s head, and Riley’s cold eyes met hers in a challenge.

“Change your mind, Buffy?” he asked softly. “Maybe you don’t want him so bad after all.”

“No,” Buffy replied immediately, hating the tremor that was still in her voice, wanting to present a more menacing image to Riley, but simply terrified at the thought that he might hurt Spike. “No, Riley – don’t,” she whispered, her eyes focused again on Spike’s already-bruising face.

Riley ignored Buffy’s quiet plea, his attention already re-focused on his torment of his prisoner. “See – I think it’s all in the placement of the weapon,” he mused speculatively, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, as he moved the gun slowly from Spike’s temple, eliciting a fearful gasp when he pressed it hard against his throat instead, at a slightly upward angle.

“I think if you aim right…about…here,” Riley suggested softly, meeting the eyes of his terrified captive, “that might do the trick.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing a random scientific experiment, rather than the life of the frightened vampire before him.

To Riley – that was all it was.

“Riley…Riley, stop it!” Buffy snapped, her voice trembling with rage at the heartless way he was terrorizing Spike. “Riley, let him go!” She wanted to stop him herself, but was afraid that if she tried to he would pull the trigger – and she would lose Spike forever.

The sadistic soldier’s voice softened even more as he asked softly, “What do *you* think? Is that about right?” Cold ice-blue eyes focused on Spike’s face with a cruel smirk, enjoying the reaction of terror he was earning.

Spike’s eyes were closed against the oppressive presence of the man who was responsible for his broken state, and he choked back a sob of fear, not responding. He couldn’t breathe…couldn’t move…was simply too terrified to do anything at all.

Riley’s eyes narrowed with anger and menace. “I asked you a question, slave,” he snarled in a threatening tone that made Spike’s stomach turn. Then his voice suddenly returned to that mild, disarming tone as he asked, “Is this right?”

Shaking uncontrollably, having the terrible feeling that he was signing his own death warrant, Spike was forced to answer the cruel question. He nodded faintly, his response coming out in a breathless sob, “Yes…*please*…”

Buffy’s mind raced, desperate to find some way to stop this vicious display. Reasoning with Riley was out of the question; the man was clearly sick. He was enjoying every moment of his twisted little game, as Buffy helplessly watched the weeks of progress Spike had made drained away by Riley’s brutality.

If she attacked him now, she risked Spike’s life. She knew Riley well enough to recognize the look he had worn when he had threatened to shoot her vampire – and she knew that he had meant it completely. It would not phase him in the least to dust Spike, on a whim.

And she could not let that happen.

Without turning her head, keeping her attention focused on the cruel scene playing out before her, she discreetly glanced at the few vamp soldiers that were still unconscious on the floor – and the guns they had dropped when they had fallen.

If she could somehow get to one…

“See, when I tried it,” Riley went on in that same casual, conversational tone that was so much more terrifying than open menace would have been – emphasizing how small a thing it was for him to destroy the vampire without a second thought. “I aimed the gun just like this,” he explained, moving the weapon back to Spike’s temple. “Didn’t take the head completely off,” he shrugged, with a cruel smile. “Sure made a helluva mess though.”

Spike cringed as Riley crouched down beside him, grabbing him around the back of the neck and pulling him even closer to the weapon. His eyes were wide with mock amazement as he said softly, “Did you know that you could regenerate half your brain if I blew it away right now? I mean – it wouldn’t be like it was. We’re talking severe brain damage…jury’s still out on whether or not you’d ever completely recover. The ones I’ve tried it on haven’t yet. They still can’t talk, motor skills a little off.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, outside of the range of Buffy’s hearing. “Can you imagine how much fun the boys at the center would have with a little retard vamp who couldn’t even talk?” His smile became colder, more threatening, as his hand left the back of Spike’s neck to rest low on his back. “Especially a little pretty boy like you?”

Panic seized the terrified vampire and he jerked away from Riley’s touch, slapping weakly at his hand, wincing at the little jolt of pain that shot through his head at the small defiance. “D-don’t touch me!” he gasped, jerking back against the wall – because there was nowhere else to go.

Furious, Riley grabbed his hair and jerked his head back hard, snarling, “Don’t you *ever* hit me, you little idiot!” He struck him in the face again with the gun, hard, splitting his lip, then slammed his head into the wall brutally.

When he leaned in close again, Spike flinched back against the wall, trembling as Riley got right in his face to sneer, “You’re gonna pay for that. And I’m really gonna enjoy making you do it.” As he spoke, his hand moved deliberately back to the spot he had touched on his back, and then slid lower, proving his point.

Spike shuddered at the cruel, suggestive note in Riley’s voice, and the violating touch of his hand – but he did not dare move again. He had been through the training center, and a slave for years after that; rape was not a foreign torment to him. Finn had never touched him in that way, and he knew that that was not really the direction in which Riley’s interests lay – but he knew that he would do it, if he thought it would break the vampire’s stubborn will.

And Spike was very much afraid that it would.

He opened his eyes, seeking out Buffy – and forcing himself not to reveal anything in his expression when he saw her slipping a few feet away from where she had stood, her attention slipping between Riley’s face – and the gun of one of the fallen soldiers. He immediately closed his eyes again, not wanting to give anything away to Riley of what his wife was planning.

Fortunately, Riley was too distracting with tormenting him to notice Buffy’s painstakingly slow cautious movements.

And Spike intended to make sure he stayed that way.

He fought through the terror that consumed him, through his deeply ingrained training, as he tried to come up with some way to help Buffy. Above all else, one thing mattered to him – he could not let Riley hurt her. He knew that one wrong move on Buffy’s part, anything that startled the soldier while he had the gun in his hand, could result in her being shot.

And though a bullet might not kill *him* -- it *would* kill the Slayer.

His options were very limited. He could not fight the git physically; he could strike one blow, and then he would be useless for the rest of the fight, leaving Riley free to turn the gun on Buffy. No, at the moment, his fists and fangs were restrained by the tiny piece of metal in his head and the minor technicality that was Riley’s “humanity”.

So the vampire turned to his third weapon of choice – his words.

Inwardly quaking at the thought of what Riley might do to him for what he was about to say, he made his tone as derisive as possible and sneered, “Bloody well *bet* you’ll enjoy it, you great soddin’ poof!”

The soldier’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock – emotions which were slowly joined by a look of pure rage. As Spike had intended, the Slayer, now directly behind Riley, was completely forgotten for the moment, as the soldier jerked Spike’s head back harder, demanding in a low, menacing voice, “What did you say?”

Spike had the overwhelming desire to back down right then and apologize, plead for mercy, though he knew there would be none. He also had the nearly irresistible compulsion to look at Buffy, whom he could see out of the corner of his eye, just bending down to take a pistol from the still hand of an unconscious vampire soldier just a few feet behind Riley.

He resisted both impulses, determined to keep Riley distracted as long as Buffy needed him to.

“I’ll translate it for you so you can understand, you stupid git!” he smirked, despite the pain of Riley’s fist mercilessly wrenching his head back, and the terror inspired by the gun still at his temple. He knew he was risking his life with every word. “I’m calling you a bleedin’ pansy ass faggot who’d rather be with me than with the beautiful woman you married – who, incidentally, would *also* rather be with me!”

He knew that, sexually speaking, Riley was as straight as an arrow, and had no interest in him beyond breaking his pride. But he had chosen his words not for their accuracy, but for their ability to anger Riley enough to hold his attention, keep him focused enough on Spike that he would forget all about Buffy.

It worked.

With vicious fury, Riley released his hold on Spike’s hair, only to slam his fist into his face with brutal force, then again without pause, knocking his head into the wall hard enough to make him nearly black out.

Dizzied, he could not have offered any resistance if he had wanted to, as Riley snarled, “Get up!” and yanked him to his feet, grabbing his arms in a bruising grip and slamming him against the wall with breath-taking force.

The confused haze that had fallen over him with the repeated blows was suddenly cut through with a cold chill of terror as Riley pressed the pistol painfully hard against the front of his jeans.

Smiling coldly into the panicked blue eyes that rose to meet his, Riley asked in a deadly soft voice, “You think you’re a big man, Spike? Huh?” His voice was taunting as he added, “Cause all I see is a pathetic, worthless little slave who’s about to be just a little *more* of both!”

Spike gasped in pain as Riley vindictively pressed harder with the weapon, smiling at his reaction as he leaned in to whisper close to his ear, “Think she’d still want you then, Spike? She doesn’t care about you. You’re just a convenient replacement in her bed. What do you think she’ll do if you’re not so convenient anymore?”

Spike flinched and shook his head, his eyes closed against the vicious but well-chosen words Riley was speaking, and the tears they brought out. His plan, everything was forgotten in the violence of Riley’s assault and the cruelty of his words.

“Please,” he whispered brokenly, his false bravado abandoned. “Please don’t…” He was begging more for the end of the heartless words than the violence.

Riley seemed to understand that, as he went on, repeating Spike’s words in a mocking tone, “ ‘Please, please don’t!’” His eyes and and voice became hard as he continued, “Listen to you. Pathetic little coward, begging for your own worthless life.” He smiled cruelly, softening his voice to a whisper again as he said, “She can hear you, you know. She can see just exactly how pitiful and weak you really are.”

Neither of them noticed Buffy slipping up behind him, the gun ready in her hand. Spike had broken down in tears of pain and humiliation at Riley’s last words, which he was certain were all too true. And Riley was still going on, his voice still cruel and soft, but loud enough for Buffy to catch his next words.

“You’re right about one thing, Spike. She *is* a beautiful woman. A *powerful* woman. A woman who deserves a man who can fight with her – who can take up for himself.” He paused. “You’re not a man, Spike. You’re nothing. How can you think that she could ever feel anything for you – but pity?”

The calm, cruel words hit their mark, and Spike flinched, tears streaking his face as he thought about his foolish actions just before Riley had entered the room. *What was I thinking?* he wondered with shame and anguish. *She’d never want to be mine…never…*

Riley opened his mouth to go on, but stopped suddenly, his breath catching in his throat, when he felt the chill of cold steel against his own head.

“You know, you kinda had me with you there on the whole beautiful, powerful thing,” Buffy informed him, her light tone a sharp contrast to the deadly weapon she had pressed to his temple. “Right up until that last part – which was basically a load of crap.” Her tone was instantly hard and cold as she ordered, “Drop the gun, Riley.”

“Wanna see who’s the faster shot?” Riley smirked, defiant in spite of the situation, still thinking that he could use Buffy’s affection for Spike – the affection that he had denied out of sheer cruelty, but knew was genuine – to turn the situation back to his favor. He pressed the gun harder against Spike’s already-bruised groin.

He bit back a cry of pain, not wanting to show how bad it hurt him, not wanting to do anything to influence Buffy badly. He was not worth her giving in to Riley.

Buffy did not appear affected by Riley’s threat, though Spike could hear her heart racing, and knew that it had frightened her.

“He’ll heal,” she stated calmly, flatly, her eyes narrowing as she added, “You won’t.”

Riley did not respond, knowing that she was right but hating to give in to her.

“*Now*!” the Slayer snarled, pressing harder with the gun.

Knowing that she was very serious, Riley dropped the gun, and Spike felt a tremor of incredible relief go through his body as he leaned back against the wall, breathing hard.

“Back up,” Buffy ordered Riley. “Get away from him.”

Riley obeyed, his hands held cautiously away from his body to indicate his surrender.

“Spike.” Buffy’s voice was sharp, but the anger was not intended for him. Still, he looked up at her quickly, trying to shake off the pain and trauma of the incident enough to listen and obey her. “Get over here behind me,” she said firmly, gesturing with her hand to where she wanted him. She did not want him anywhere near Riley, and wanted to be sure that she stood between the two of them.

He obeyed her without question, his eyes troubled and downcast again. Riley’s words were still echoing in his head. He was useless to her – a waste – simply a helpless, needy burden for her to worry about. She had not wanted him to come on this trip, and she had been right – all he had caused her was trouble.

The dozen armed guards that she would have faced alone – that he had slain half of himself – did not occur to him, in his Riley-induced shame and insecurity.

“Get on your knees,” Buffy ordered Riley, the gun still pressed to his head.

He gave her an incredulous look. “Buffy,” he protested.

“Do it!” she snapped, and he winced as she jabbed him again with the gun at his head. She was much stronger than he was, but he was bigger than either of them, and a skilled fighter; she was taking no chances of his somehow managing to get the gun away from her.

Riley reluctantly obeyed her. His expression remained calm, as did his voice, but she could detect a hint of fear in it as he asked quietly, “So you’re gonna kill me now? Is that what this is?”

She was silent for a long moment, and Spike looked up at her in surprise – and alarm. As much as he felt that Riley deserved it, the thought of Buffy committing cold-blooded murder – as it would be if she shot him like this, execution style on his knees – was troubling to him. An act like that would change her for the rest of her life.

He knew.

Spike could hear Riley’s heartbeat accelerate with his fear when Buffy did not respond, and both men held their breath, waiting to see what she would do.

Buffy stared down in cold fury at the man she had once thought she loved. If all that he had done before had not already, the cruelty she had witnessed over the last few minutes had shattered any traces of affection she might have still held for him.

“No, Riley,” she said finally, her voice low and controlled. “That’s what *you’re* good at. Killing – rape – torture of the helpless. The way things are right now,” she went on in disgust. “I couldn’t kill you. You’re too *helpless* and *pathetic*.” She deliberately emphasized the words he had used to hurt Spike so deeply.

A slow smirk came over Riley’s face as he glanced at the vampire standing miserably behind her, shaken and ashamed. “And we know you’ve got a soft spot for that type, don’t you?” he sneered at Buffy, his smile widening when Spike flinched.

Furious, Buffy drew back her foot and delivered a powerful kick to Riley’s groin, doubling him over, gasping in unexpected agony. She crouched down beside him and pulled him up by the hair to face her, smiling coldly, her voice like a thin steel blade.

“Not for you. I don’t have a soft spot for you, Riley.” She paused, giving him a few moments to recover enough to hear her, before going on in a voice of quiet surety, “If you ever -- *touch* -- Spike again…I *will* kill you. That’s a promise.”

Leaving him still moaning in pain and clutching his injured manhood, Buffy stood, looking at Spike and gesturing for him to come to her. As he slowly did, limping and with a hesitancy that she did not understand, she turned back to Riley and with a single fluid motion, slammed the pistol down across the back of his head – knocking him out cold.

Spike stared down at him in silent surprise, his eyes wide – and impressed.

Buffy shrugged, a little defensively. “Can’t have him calling the cops before we can get out of here.”

He nodded silently, not looking at her.

She frowned, concerned – but there was no time now. They had no idea if Riley had more guards, or if any of his slaves might have heard the commotion and called the police already.

They had to get out of their and back to safety, now.

Wordlessly Buffy reached out to take Spike’s hand in hers, and led him quickly toward the door.

Buffy did not let go of Spike's hand until they had safely reached the minivan that Willow usually drove, and had bravely, or foolishly, depending on one's perspective, allowed Buffy to drive for this little mission. She unlocked the passenger side door for him before hurrying around to the driver's side and climbing in, turning the key in the ignition before he had even closed the door.

Neither of them had spoken a word since leaving Riley's office.

At first, it had been a matter of practicality; they needed to escape the house as quickly as possible, without drawing any attention to themselves, so keeping quiet had simply been the wisest choice. But somewhere along the way, the silence had taken on a heavy, uncomfortable air, and it followed them throughout the drive home.

Buffy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wincing inwardly at the sight of his bruised, bloodied face, evidence of the brutal pistol-whipping Riley had dealt him. She pressed a bit harder on the gas pedal, wanting to get them to safety as quickly as possible so that she could care for his injuries.

Not that he would want her to touch him, she thought with self-disgust. Not after she had failed him like she had. She had promised him that she would never let Riley hurt him, *touch* him, again -- no matter what -- and she had broken that promise, not managing to stop the vicious abuses Riley had committed that night. In spite of her well-intentioned words, she had allowed Spike to be beaten and terrorized -- while she stood looking on.

She had let him down.

Spike kept his eyes averted, his head turned toward the window, still struggling for control of his ravaged emotions, still taut and on edge from the psychological torment Riley had inflicted on him. The tears that he had to fight back even now only reminded him of how pathetic and weak he really was. The soldier was right, he thought. Buffy would never want a useless creature like him -- not like he wanted her.

And he had dared to even consider the idea of claiming her!

He was bloody lucky in the first place that she had not staked him on the spot for *that* little mistake. And then to top it all off, his reactions to Riley's treatment -- pleading and flinching and crying like a pitiful child -- had proven to her once and for all that he was not the strong, powerful man she would need, and never would be -- he was simply not worthy of even the affection she had barely begun to show him.

He had let her down.

When they reached Willow and Tara's house, Buffy finally spoke, her voice quiet and controlled, obviously struggling with her own emotions. "I'm not sure if we'll be able to stay here. We can't risk putting everyone in danger."

In his shame and turmoil, Spike did not want to say anything. He wanted to disappear rather than argue with her at the moment, but his concern for the others in the house made him speak up, cautiously, still keeping his eyes averted. "If he knows to look for us here -- they're already in danger, pet. Seems to me they'd be safer with the Slayer around."

She was quiet, realizing that he had a point. "We'll see," she said softly. "I need to talk to Giles, see what he thinks we should do." She paused before adding in a soft voice of regret, "And you're hurt. We need to get you taken care of."

He read the sorrow in her voice as disappointment rather than guilt, and bowed his head in shame, swallowing hard to keep from giving in to his tears again.

She read his averted gaze, the tight set line of his mouth, as anger and hurt at her failure, and fought back tears of her own as she got out of the car and closed the door, a bit harder than she had meant to -- an action that was also immediately misinterpreted by the broken-hearted vampire in the passenger seat. In silent misery, he opened the door and got out, following her to the front door of the house.

"Oh my God," Tara said softly as she opened the door, and saw Spike's battered face. "What happened?"

"Riley happened," Buffy muttered as she strode past the girl into the house, Spike following behind her.

They were both immediately beset by the whole group, who had been gathered in the living room and now gathered around them, asking a million questions all at once. Buffy did her best to answer the questions, as quickly as possible, her main concern lying with her injured vampire, who was still standing near the door, apparently trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

His very subdued manner made Tara frown with concern, and a little suspicion. "Let me see," she murmured, approaching him while the others kept questioning Buffy. As she did, she automatically reached toward him – and her frown and her concerns both deepened when he flinched away from her.

"Don't," he said in a low voice, barely over a whisper, taking a step back away from her and refusing to meet her eyes.

"Spike, that looks really bad," the blonde witch argued, a trace of anger showing in her gentle voice, though it was not directed at him. "We need to take care of that..."

As she spoke she stepped toward him again, and the traumatized, shaken vampire drew back away from her, repeating softly, "No, Tara...don't..."

Even as she tried to deflect the well-meaning interrogation of her friends, Buffy’s attention was still focused mostly on Spike. She was trying to get enough of a word in edgewise to tell them all that this conversation would have to wait until Spike had been cared for, when she heard his timid, trembling plea to the blonde witch.

Buffy knew that Spike trusted Tara, that he was not afraid of her; she could easily understand how he felt right about now, remembering times when she had been injured or afraid. She knew that he was not afraid that Tara might hurt him, but simply feeling vulnerable, and not wanting to be touched at the moment.

Despite all that, despite the fact that she knew Tara only wanted to help, the broken, fearful sound of Spike’s voice was all it took to make her come undone. She had been standing with her back halfway to them, quickly filling her Watcher in on a brief version of what had happened, but she suddenly whirled on her heel and was in Tara's face in two steps, moving between her and Spike as her words came out in an angry snarl.

"He said no, Tara, now leave him alone!" she snapped, a clear threat in her dark green eyes, blazing with fury and shining with tears.

Tara was a bit taken aback by the sudden aggression, but although she knew that Buffy could break her two in an instant if she wanted, she was not about to be intimidated. "He's hurt, Buffy! Look at him!" she informed her, the hint of an accusation in her voice as she added, "*Someone* needs to take care of him..."

Her strong sense of guilt over the entire situation making her misread the comment, nearly flinching at the unintentional reminder of how she had failed to “take care of him” mere minutes before, Buffy stepped nearer to Tara angrily, her eyes welling with tears as she replied in a low, trembling voice, "I. *Tried*. He had a gun, Tara, I did all I could, and I got both of us out of there *alive*. Okay? That was the best I could do!"

The room fell silent at the sound of the powerful emotion in her voice; no one was really sure what to do to diffuse the situation that had sprung up so unexpectedly between the two women. Willow cautiously stepped toward them, wanting to be on hand in case she was needed – by either of them.

Tara’s eyes softened with realization, and she said softly, “No one’s saying you didn’t, Buffy. All I was trying to do was get him taken care of while you were explaining things to the others. I was just trying to help.”

“Well, I don’t need your help with this, okay?” Buffy snapped back, but some of the fire had gone out of her voice, which was now trembling dangerously, on the edge of tears, as the traumatic reality of all that had happened began to sink in for her.

The last thing she wanted to do was to break down in front of Tara; she had to get out of that room – now.

“Come on,” she said shortly, taking Spike’s hand and pulling him toward the stairs, missing his little wince at the sudden motion, which both startled him and sent a jolt of pain through his ravaged body.

Still, he did his best to keep up with her as he was propelled by the Slayer’s angry speed toward the bathroom and the first aid supplies kept there.

Tara’s eyes widened in alarm when she saw what Buffy did not, how badly Spike was limping, struggling to keep up with her, and started forward. Willow’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Baby…I think they need some time. Okay?” she told her gently, and Tara reluctantly backed down as Willow put her arm around her. She was silent for a moment, watching the stairs from which her friends had just disappeared. “Buffy’s trying; she really is,” she reminded her. “She just needs the chance to work out how to get it right.”

Tara let out a weary sigh as she looked at her lover with troubled eyes, concern and anger mingled in her soft voice as she turned away from the stairs to join the others again. “Let’s just hope she figures it out before she destroys him in the process.”


Buffy did not stop, did not turn around, until they reached the upstairs bathroom. Her emotions were in a dangerous state of turmoil, anger and guilt and fear and pain all mingled to form a state of confusion, so that all she had known was that she had to get out of there, *now*, before the others saw her fall apart.

When they reached the bathroom, she finally released Spike’s hand, leaning with both hands on the counter for a few moments, her eyes closed, gasping for breath as she tried to control the sobs that rose in her throat. The battle for control of her emotions was taking its toll on her, and she could feel her resolve weakening – but she had to think about Spike.

This was not going to be another time like the others, she told herself firmly, when she found herself seeking comfort from him, when he was the one who needed it so badly.

“Buffy,” he gasped out breathlessly. “Love, are you all right?”

The concern in his voice was almost her undoing again, but she swallowed back the sobs she wanted to release, and took a deep steadying breath before turning to look at him.

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight that met her eyes. Spike was leaning on the counter too, very heavily on one violently shaking arm – and his legs didn’t seem to be doing much better. The look on his face was clearly one of pain, though he was trying not to show it, and his breathing was labored and gasping.

Since she knew he did not *have* to breathe – he had to be in a lot of pain.

Her eyes fell to where his other hand rested unconsciously over the front of his jeans, and she remembered with a sick feeling just how Riley had hurt him. He had taken several blows to his face and head with the gun – but that was not why he had been limping. Her mind flashed to moments earlier, in her haste and desperation to get away, to save her own pride, dragging him behind her up the stairs at a speed that had to have been difficult for him.

And he had not made a sound of protest, had simply done his best to obey her silent demand – and the result was the agony she saw in his eyes now.

Her eyes softened with her affection for him, and she gave him a sad little smile. “I’m okay,” she assured him. “You’re the one who’s hurt.” Her petty issues with Tara, with her own failures, could wait. Spike was the one who had faced the greater ordeal tonight, and she needed to focus her attention on him.

Being the focus of her attention made him very uncomfortable at the moment. As she carefully cleaned the dried blood from his battered face, he stood completely still, his eyes focused on the counter he was leaning, Riley’s cruel words echoing in his head.

*You’re not a man…she doesn’t feel anything for you…nothing but pity…*

He had never felt so utterly unworthy as he felt then, as her warm, gentle hands worked over the wounds he had suffered, her tenderness and compassion a sharp contrast with the cruelty of her husband. He knew he did not deserve it. He was weak, pathetic, a useless burden to her – and every careful touch of her hand seemed to burn him with the shame of that knowledge.

When the blood had been cleaned away, Buffy stepped back a bit to assess her work, her eyes welling with tears at the dark bruises that stood out in stark relief against his pale skin. “Oh, Spike,” she whispered with regret, reaching up a gentle hand toward his battered cheek.

She was not really surprised when he flinched, moving quickly to the side, so that he was no longer between her and the counter. She did not blame him, after what he had been through, if he did not want to feel closed in, or be touched at all.

“No,” he whispered softly, his eyes downcast. “Buffy, don’t.”

It was the overwhelming shame in his pleading voice that troubled her, as it began to dawn on her that maybe there was more than she had thought to the tension she had seen in him the whole time she had been tending his wounds, more than simply being skittish at being touched – though she was sure that was a part of it.

“Spike,” she whispered, stepping closer to him, seeking his downcast eyes. “What? Don’t what?”

He just shook his head as he continued to move backward away from her along the counter, his eyes focused on the floor at her feet. “Please, Buffy,” he whimpered, on the verge of tears, his emotions heightened by her tender treatment of him, to the point that he knew he was on the edge of breaking down. “Please don’t – I – I can’t – don’t…” His words broke off in an anguished sob as his back hit the corner where the counter and the wall met, and he could retreat no farther.

Buffy’s eyes were concerned and questioning as she continued her cautious movement toward him, confused by his reaction, which seemed sudden to her, although it had been building up inside him all night. As she reached him, he held his hands out in front of him slightly, as if to ward her off.

“Don’t what, Spike?” she whispered again, her hands reaching out slowly to close over his trembling ones for a moment, before moving slowly upward to rest on his arms, her touch firm enough to steady him a bit. “Don’t what?”

He stood there for a long moment, frozen by his fears, swallowing hard in an attempt to control his emotions. Finally he whispered in a voice so full of mingled fear, pain, and self-disgust that it almost hurt to hear it, “Touch me.”

The tone of his voice made it clear that his aversion to being touched was not because he was afraid of or disgusted by her. The look on his face, the tears that streamed silently from his eyes, made it obvious that he felt that he was the one who was repulsive, disgusting – unworthy.

She was not surprised that he did not want to be touched. After all, he had experienced first hand the horrors of the training center that she had only heard about. Undoubtedly he had been forced to submit to the sadistic whims of the soldiers while he was there. And she had not missed the cruel sexual implications of Riley’s threats; he had made a point of the fact that he could and would touch Spike anyway he wanted, and there was nothing he could do about it.

With the vile, horrific memories that Spike was no doubt reliving right now, Buffy didn’t wonder that he didn’t want her to touch him.

It was the other emotion in his voice that bothered her – the self-disgust and shame, at what, she had no idea. Nothing that had happened that night – or in the center – had been his fault. She wanted to comfort him, to put her arms around him and make him know that he was safe, and cared for – but she knew that he would not want anyone’s touch at the moment – even hers.

She also knew that he desperately needed it.

She kept her motions slow and even, not wanting to frighten him as she slid her hands gently around him and leaned in to embrace him. She felt his body go absolutely rigid under her touch, but she did not back off, just kept her protective arms around him firmly.

“It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s okay, Spike.”

He shook his head slowly, denying her words, and she could feel the tremors that went through his body as he fought for control of his emotions against the breaking power of her tender touch. “No,” he whispered. “no…”

She did not ease or intensify her embrace, just kept her arms around him, offering him the steady support of her strength. “*Yes*,” she said in a firm whisper. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” Realizing how empty those words probably sounded to him after what had just happened, she went on softly, “I know I let you down. I’m so sorry.”

Before he could protest, she went on emphatically, passionately, “I’m sorry I let him hurt you. But I swear to you, Spike, I would *die* before I would let him take you from me! I will *never* let him do that!”

The battle was lost – or won – with those words, as he broke down, giving in and leaning against her – a moment before he collapsed completely, sinking to the floor against the wall, sobbing.

She went down with him, her arms holding him close to her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, her own tears flowing. “I’m so sorry, Spike.” It was only a few moments before she realized that the deep, wrenching sobs that shook him were for more than the pain and fear of that single day.

Pain and fear had run roughshod over Spike’s life for years – beginning on the day he got the chip.

He clung to her desperately as he sobbed out his confusion and pain in her arms, his shame at her seeing him so broken overwhelmed by his sheer need. As he released the agony of spirit he had been holding back for so long, she fell into silence, one hand gently running up and down his back, the other tangled in his damp, blonde hair.

When his tears finally began to ebb, she pressed her cheek to his as he rested his head on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear soothingly, reinforcing the words with a tender, chaste kiss to his bruised temple. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Because it felt right, she kept on talking soothingly to him, punctuating her words with gentle, feather-light kisses, intended to comfort and reassure him.

Her heart was full to bursting with such a powerful, fierce devotion and affection for the broken creature she held in her arms. Her mind barely dared to put words to the feeling, but she longed to speak the words to him. Yet she held back, unsure and afraid. She would not risk hurting him again, acting on emotions to fulfill *her* needs, and leaving *him* devastated in the aftermath.

Never again.

So she limited her words to tender reassurances that he was safe, and she would never let him be taken from her, her tone and the tender caress of her lips to his temple, his cheek, his throat, telling him what she could not yet find the courage to speak in words.

After a little while, he began to hope that maybe – maybe Riley had been wrong. Maybe she did care for him. She really did seem to, judging from the way she was lavishing her affection on him.

“Spike,” she whispered, as if reading his mind, “You know – you know you mean so much to me…” The words came haltingly, hesitantly. “I – I – care about you…so much. You know that…right?” She did not wait for a response, her eyes closed against the answer in his eyes that she was afraid to see, as she lowered her lips toward his cheek again.

But at the last moment, he turned his head, offering her his lips instead, returning her kiss, at first tentatively, barely daring to respond. The soft little sigh that escaped Buffy’s lips as they parted to allow him entrance to her mouth encouraged him, and he became bolder, turning and putting his arms around her.

Then, before he knew it, he was kissing her with a desperate, intense thirst, his hands urgently pulling her closer to him. She found herself responding, could feel her desire for him rising up inside her – but something was warning her, at the edges of her consciousness.

They had to stop – they shouldn’t – not now -- *why* not again? she wondered almost frantically, her desire for him driving rational thought from her mind for a moment. Her hand fell to the base of his spine, pulling him in closer to her – and he could not hide his little wince of pain.

And she remembered.

She pulled back with an effort, instantly feeling the loss of his soft, hungry lips on hers. “Spike,” she gasped breathlessly, her hands resting on his shoulders, pushing him gently back. “We can’t…we have to stop.”

He froze, as his mind went back to the moments before Riley had entered his office – Buffy’s imagined rejection of his advances then, which he still thought to be real. His eyes widened with a look that was almost panic, as he silently berated himself for his foolishness and weakness.

*Again!* he thought with a vicious disgust at his own actions. *You’ve done it again, you *stupid* wanker!*

Buffy watched in confused astonishment as he pulled back away from her against the base of the counter, his eyes downcast. He tried to get up once, but his injuries put up too much of a protest to allow it, and he gave up, leaning as far back against the counter as he could, his head turned away from her.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he whispered, his voice wretched and miserable. “I – I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry…”

She stared at him for a moment, as the same memory that had already occurred to him came back to her mind, and understanding began to dawn on her, as she understood *what* was bothering him – just now *why*.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, still looking down at him, her expression unreadable when he glanced up, in spite of his knowledge that he had messed up, surprised that she was actually getting up – leaving him. His heart sank when she *did* turn around and walk slowly toward the door, and he bowed his head, swallowing back the despairing sob that rose in his throat.

In the whole miserable existence that his life had become, he had one protector, one ally – and he had just driven her away.

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried not to break down again. He was surprised when a shadow fell over him again, disappearing just as quickly, and he looked up – to see Buffy, down on her knees beside him again.

He gave her a puzzled, amazed look, and she glanced back at the door – now locked.

“Can’t have someone walking in on us, now can we? This could take a while.” Her voice was soft and gentle, but matter-of-fact.

When he still looked confused, she scooted cautiously closer to him, reaching out and taking his hand in hers as she met his eyes with a reassuring smile. “You’re more important to me than you realize, Spike,” she informed him, and he felt the lump rise up in his throat again – and the hope in his heart.

“If you’re hurting – if you’re struggling – that matters to me,” she went on softly, holding his gaze, reaching one hand up to lightly caress his cheek – and he did not pull away, as she finished what she was trying to say, a determined light in her eyes.

"Talk to me.”

Spike stared at the Slayer in shock, hardly able to believe that she had not left him as he had feared, that she was still right here, with him, looking at him with the compassionate but expectant expression on her face.

*Talk to me,* she had said -- and he tried to wrap his mind around the concept.

During the long years of his slavery, the idea had been driven home again and again that what he felt and thought did not matter. He was nothing but a possession to be used, and he *had* been, more times than he could count. He had been beaten, tortured, raped, abused in every way he could imagine, and many times he had been driven to tears, to breakdowns such as this.

But never had any of his masters -- not once -- shown the slightest concern, asked him what was wrong, how he felt -- asked him to say anything at all beyond, "Yes, Master."

And here was this perfect, beautiful vision, destined to be the killer of his kind, yet on her knees on the floor, her eyes full of concern and affection, her face streaked with tears -- tears she had shed for *him* -- and she was asking him to open up to her, to talk to her about the pain that had been building up inside him for so long.

He had tried to push it back -- and had succeeded for a very long time. He had done what he had to do to survive one hellish nightmare of servitude after another, submitting where he had to submit, resisting in what small ways he could, and all the while trying to pretend that it did not affect him, that he was strong enough to take whatever the human monsters who owned him threw his way, and not break under the weight of it.

But he *had* broken -- a little at a time, as tiny pieces of his dignity and self-worth were slowly chipped away on the inside, until he began to believe that he never had been and never would be anything more than the slave that he was now. He had kept up the facade to a point, on the outside, managing to maintain a bit of his old reputation among his fellow slaves, and even to keep a bit of his pride around some humans -- though certainly not the ones who owned him.

Until Buffy.

From the very start, there had been a difference in the way she treated him, compared to his past masters. She had actually seemed to care about his well-being, his safety, and had even treated him like a friend -- a *person*, not just a *thing* to be bent to her whims. Gradually, he had begun to think that maybe he could trust her -- that just maybe, things could get better for him. Maybe -- someday -- she might even be able to...

No. He had never *really* believed that -- could not even find the courage to put the thought to words now.

But, he argued with himself, with a wistful sort of sadness, he *had* believed it -- for a few brief moments in her arms. Right before he had dared to speak words a slave should never have spoken to his mistress, and dashed his own dream to pieces. Right before she had struck him down, a look of cold anger in her eyes, for trying to make it right.

The look in her eyes now was nothing like the look she had worn that day.

There was such tenderness and affection in her eyes now, that he found himself daring to hope again. She had not said the word. Not out right. But the things she *had* said led him to believe that maybe -- just maybe there was a chance.

"Come on," she gently urged him, her voice soft and coaxing, as she gave his hand in hers a gentle squeeze. "I want you to tell me what this is all about."

"What..." he began, stopping when he realized that he did not even really know exactly what to ask. What *what* was about? There were simply so many different feelings and fears, so much confusion in his heart and mind right now, that he had no idea what to tell her.

"I -- I don't even know where to begin, pet," he gave up with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the counter, harder than he meant to, and with a soft little growl of frustration. "Ow," he added a moment later.

The slightly pouty frown on his face made her smile in spite of everything, and she found her attention being drawn, against her will, to those oh-so-tempting lips, wanting to just lean in and...

*No. Be good, Buffy!* she snapped at herself, forcing her focus back up to his eyes, open again and looking at her with so much emotion, so much vulnerability, that it was suddenly very easy to place her attention back where it needed to be.

She looked down for a moment, carefully formulating exactly what she wanted to say in her mind, wanting to make it as easy for him as possible, and not wanting to pressure him. Finally she looked back up at him and asked quietly, "How about starting with telling me exactly what you're sorry for? Why you suddenly started apologizing and trying to get as far away from me as possible?"

His eyes shot up to hers suddenly, an expression of surprised confusion on his face, unable to believe that she did not already know -- followed by an uncomfortable look, as he realized that that meant he would have to tell her.

"I -- I -- was completely out of line, pet. You -- you didn't want to -- to...I was -- pushing it, and..." His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words, shaking his head slightly, as he tried to sum up what he was trying to say. "I stepped out of my place, love." He paused. "I'm sorry."

Buffy's expression was calm, thoughtful, as she regarded him for a moment before speaking. "What exactly would you say that 'your place' is, Spike?"

He gave her a blank look for a moment, caught off guard by the question. "I -- well..." he began, unsure of how to respond, looking away. Suddenly, piercing blue eyes met hers with an intensity that took her breath away, as he asked softly, "What *is* my place, Buffy?"

Suddenly, she was the one who was on the spot, not knowing the answer to the question he had turned around on her. She looked down for a moment, her mouth opening to speak long before any words actually came out.

“I – I don’t know, Spike,” she admitted in a quiet voice of controlled emotion. “I – I know I have feelings for you.” She looked up to meet his eyes again honestly. “I just – don’t know for sure if – if they’re what you want them to be.”

He searched her eyes for a moment, and she could see a strange mixture of hope and disappointment in his. It was *not* what he had wanted – but it was more than he had expected.

“But I do know,” she went on, her voice stronger, “That your place is *not* behind me, or beneath me, or in any way -- *less* than mine, Spike. If you want me to tell you what this is – what we have here – I can’t,” she admitted, meeting his eyes firmly. “But I know that you are *not* a slave to me. Not anymore. You are nothing less than – my very best friend.”

Her words stunned him, and he felt the emotions building up inside him again, vying for release against his determination to get through this conversation without any further breakdowns. A warm, secure feeling enveloped him at the comforting words, and a small, hopeful smile crossed his lips.

“But,” she went on, her own eyes searching now, her expression serious. “I kind of thought – we’d already covered that, Spike. And in case you didn’t notice, *I’m* the one who kissed *you* tonight, Honey…so even if there was some line to cross…I crossed it, not you. So – why are you thinking that I’m gonna all of a sudden reject you…again…”

Her voice trailed off, the last word of her statement answering the question for her, as a sense of guilt came over her, remembering how she had treated him before. She couldn’t blame him for not being sure that she was not going to change her mind at any second and take back the tentative promises she had made him.

But they both knew that it was more than that.

“I – I don’t deserve you, Buffy,” he said after a long pause, his voice barely over a whisper, his eyes focused on the tile floor between them. “I – I can’t fight…I can’t…can’t even keep from…I…” He stopped talking, looking up at the ceiling with a repressed sigh of frustration at his own betraying emotions, determined not to give in to them again.

“Can’t fight?” she echoed in disbelief. “How can you say that? Did you *see* yourself tonight?” She paused, frowning. “Well, obviously you didn’t, but – but you were amazing! Spike – you saved my life tonight.”

“G.I. Git kicked my bleedin’ arse,” Spike muttered with equal parts resentment and shame. “Guess I’ve no right to call him that, do I? I’m the soddin’ ponce that couldn’t do anything but just sit there like a coward…”

She cut off his unconscious echoing of the words Riley had used to demean him, with a hand held up in interruption, shaking her head as she said, “Don’t even go there, Spike. We both know that Riley has an unfair advantage in all this. If it wasn’t for the chip, you could take him like *that*!” She snapped her fingers.

“But we don’t know that, do we?” he pointed out matter-of-factly. “Because I do have the chip. And he kicked. My. Arse.”

“Well,” Buffy went on with a sad little smile at his vicious self-deprecation, with which she completely disagreed. “judging by the way you took out nearly a dozen vamps all by yourself…since I was unconscious on the floor for a good part of that time…I’d say you could have taken Riley easy if not for the chip.”

Spike shrugged, knowing deep down that she was right, but unwilling to let himself slide just yet on what he still saw as a pathetic display of weakness. After a moment he went on softly, “I fell apart in there, love. I let him play his soddin’ mind games and – and take me right back to – to that…*place*…” His voice trailed off as he looked at the floor – and it was clear that he was going there again.

“Spike,” Buffy said firmly, the slightly sharp note in her voice drawing his attention, as she leaned forward to take his shoulders in her hands, turning him to face her. “You are *not* in that place anymore. And you never will be again. I promise.”

“Love,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, and the pain in his eyes when he looked up at her again sent a stab through her heart with his words. “I never left.”

She was speechless, not knowing how to respond to that. The look in his eyes made it clear that in a very real sense, he was right. The pain and torment of that place had followed him everywhere he had gone since. She felt a deep longing to help him, to make things right for him, though she hadn’t the first clue how to go about it.

“I – I want to – I want to help you through this, Spike. I – I care – so much, and – and it kills me to see you like this…if I can do anything to help you – anything to – to take the hurt away…” She struggled for words, her eyes welling and her throat aching with the tears she tried to hold back.

He just stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression, knowing what it was that he needed from her – not knowing if she could give it.

“Buffy,” he whispered, unable to look at her as he said his next words. “You – you know I love you. I’ve made no secret of it. You know that – you’re – you’re the reason I – I even try to keep on going. You know that, right?”

When he heard no response, he looked up at her with a painful vulnerability in his eyes. He was putting his heart out on display, for her to do with as she would. Her own head was lowered, tears streaking her face, but she nodded slowly.

She knew.

“If – if I thought that…that there was even a chance…that maybe…someday…you might…” His words came out choked and halting, as he struggled against the tears that rose to his eyes. He was losing ground, unable to go on.

There was a long silence before Buffy looked up at him through tearful eyes and whispered in a voice of sorrow and regret, “Spike…I – I don’t know if I can give you that. I don’t – after Riley…and…and Angel…” She paused for a moment, shaking her head. “God, Spike, I’m so confused!” she admitted. “I have feelings for you. I know that. I just -- I don’t even – I’m not sure I even know what love is anymore.”

He was quiet for a moment. He knew she was being completely honest with him, and that alone gave him reason to hope. If she did not love him – she *wanted* to…and she cared enough not to say it if she wasn’t sure that she meant it.

“I know what love is,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, even in the stillness that had fallen over them.

She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke he was startled by her words. “Tell me.”

He blinked, a bit taken aback, but then he looked down, pensive. After a moment he spoke softly. “When – when you care about someone so much – that if they’re hurting, or sick, or – or in danger – you’d rather it was you than them…you’d give your own life, just to make it right again for them…” The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes made it clear that he was speaking from experience – very recent experience.

When his voice trailed off for a moment, she looked up at him with a weak little smile. “Check,” she said softly. “What else?”

He felt hope rising up in him again at the intense gaze she was giving him, waiting breathlessly for his next words. “If – if they’re the most important thing in your world. If you had to choose between your food – your next breath – your very life’s blood, and them – you’d choose them…”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, before she gave a slow, decisive little nod, meeting his eyes as she stated matter-of-factly. “Yep. That too. Anything else?”

He could hardly find the strength to speak, stunned and amazed by her words, by the affection for him shining in her eyes as she moved slightly closer to him, focused completely on what he would say.

“If – you can think of – spending every moment of every day – for the rest of eternity – with them – and it doesn’t scare you…doesn’t make you worry if you’d regret it – just makes you happier than anything else you can think of doing for the rest of your life…” His eyes were focused on hers intently, and she knew that he was telling her exactly how he felt for her, speaking his heart aloud for her to hear.

He was speaking hers, too.

The uncertainty, the vulnerability in his expression, wide hopeful, fearful sapphire eyes searching her face, made it impossible for her to hold back anymore. She leaned forward, sliding her arms around his waist again, gazing into his eyes with a sober, searching look. He scarcely seemed aware of her touch; he was too focused on her eyes, her mouth, his very future hanging on what she would say.

A soft smile came over her lips, now inches from his, as she whispered, “Guess what?” with a little quirk of her mouth, before leaning in to tenderly, gently kiss his lips, expressing the emotion, the intensity, of this encounter with a single kiss.

He knew what her words had meant – knew that she had finally realized, after all this time, that she *did* love him – and he returned her kiss with a fervor born of his relief, his joy, at the revelation, turning them slightly and pushing her back against the base of the counter, urgently plundering her mouth with his own, his hands on either side of her head, pulling her in deeper with a desperate intensity.

When he pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, they were both gasping for breath. His eyes closed, breathing hard, he whispered softly, “Say it.”

She looked up at him through desire-darkened forest green eyes, taking a moment to process what he was asking – no, demanding.

Then, in an instant, the demand faded from his voice, replaced by a pleading note as he whispered, the raw emotion in his voice going straight to her heart, “Please…if you meant it…” he gasped. “I – I need to hear it. Please…”

She raised her hands to pull his head back away from hers, so that she could meet his eyes, her own full of the feeling she had yet to put into words. She had not wanted to take a chance, not wanted to say it until she was absolutely sure that she meant it. Now, there was no longer any doubt in her mind. She knew it.

She was sure.

“Spike,” she whispered, holding his gaze unflinchingly. “I do mean it. I do.” She paused, the words, but not the feeling, still coming hard for her after all the times she had been burned by it in the past.

Somehow, in her heart, she knew that this was different, as she spoke the words his heart ached to hear.

“I love you.”

"I think we'd better get back downstairs," Buffy finally whispered apologetically, with a soft, dazed sort of smile as she pulled reluctantly away from the latest of countless sweet, tender kisses that they had spent the past thirty minutes indulging in. "They're gonna be worried about us."

Spike and Buffy had not moved from the bathroom floor since they had first sat down there nearly an hour earlier. Her powerful revelation of her feelings had been naturally followed by more slow, passionate kisses, as she reaffirmed to him again and again with her lips and her embrace just how deeply she had meant her words.

Now that she had finally admitted to him and to herself the way that she really felt, she could not seem to take her hands off him, and he seemed to return the sentiment. The soft, almost reverent brush of her kiss, her warm, encircling arms around him, told him clearly how much she cared for him -- that at long last, she really did love him.

But he still made her say it, over and over, just needing to hear it again, to convince himself that it was really true. It was all just so beautiful and amazing, he could hardly believe it was really happening to him. Every few moments, he would break his lips away from hers, whispering breathlessly, "Tell me again."

And she would gladly comply, her heart aching with the depth of emotion that now, she could hardly believe she had ever denied. "I love you, Spike. I love you so much."

But now, as much as they hated to, they knew that they had to end their little tryst, and face the situation at hand. Riley was sure to be more of a problem to them now than ever, after the incident at his house, and they had to fill the others in on what had happened, and figure out exactly what they were going to do about it.

He nodded, breathless, as he reluctantly drew back from her. "Right. S'pose we haven't got much choice, have we? Still got Captain Cardboard out there to take care of -- probably on the warpath now that he’s been bloody well humiliated." The smirk that he could not suppress at that thought faded quickly as he added, “More dangerous than ever.”

"Yeah," Buffy agreed as she got to her feet, pointing out quietly, "And we need to find out what's up with those vampire guards, too. Nobody's legally supposed to own unchipped vampires. It's considered a hazard. So obviously he's up to something that he’s been keeping a secret -- until now."

As she spoke, she reached carefully to help him to his feet, remembering that he was still injured. He winced slightly as he stood up, but did not seem to have as much difficulty as before, or to be in nearly as much pain.

"How you doing?" she asked sympathetically, wrapping her arm around his waist and drawing close to him in a tender, loving way that sent a thrill through his heart. Yet another reminder to him of the feelings she had just declared to be true.

"Better," he said with a nod and a reassuring smile. "I heal quick, love."

"Good," she replied with a secretive little smile of her own, lowering her head to kiss him gently on the neck, pulling up slowly to look him in the eyes with a sultry expression in hers. "How much better do you think you’ll be feeling by tonight?" she asked him in a tone of innocence that was so clearly *not*!

The low, husky tone of her voice, and the sparkle in her eyes that was both teasing and enticing, sent a rush of desire straight through him. His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, staring at her, as he realized just exactly what she was saying.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be completely healed by then,” he nodded quickly, his eyes focused on hers, feeling a bit breathless again.

Her smile became a smirk at the effect she was obviously having on him, as her hand around his waist dipped down to play along the line of the waistband of his jeans. She leaned in to place several more quick kisses along his neck, before looking up to whisper, “You sure?”

He drew in a little gasp at the contact, before he finally managed to get out, "Oh, I'm bloody positive, pet!"

"Good," she whispered, releasing him and sauntering slowly ahead of him toward the stairs.

He watched her for a moment, fascinated by her. It was almost frightening, the intensity of his feelings for her. No. Not almost. It was bloody terrifying. His mind flashed back to the first time he had seen that seductive, enticing look on her face -- right before they had spent that first night in her bed.

As they reached the door, he gripped her arm suddenly, surprising her with the force of the move as he spun her around to face him, giving her a deep, searching look with serious eyes of dark blue.

"Tell me again," he whispered.

She studied his face for a moment, reading in it all the insecurities and uncertainty, weaker than they had been before -- but still there. And it was her fault that they were there. She stepped slowly, deliberately toward him, standing directly in front of him and gazing up into his eyes with a firm assurance in hers. The playful seductress had vanished for the moment, and in her place was the loving woman, determined to prove her devotion, no matter how long it took.

One hand rose to rest behind his head as she spoke in a soft, clear voice of complete certainty. "I. Love. You." She pulled him down into one last tender but passionate kiss, not releasing him until he was gasping for breath. "Convinced?" she whispered, affection and amusement in her eyes at the startled look of awe in his as he stared down at her in utter amazement.

He nodded quickly. "Yeah. Right. Just checking," he said with a little shrug, trying for light nonchalance, but still a bit dazed as they headed toward the stairs.


"Riley's guards were vampires?" Giles was absolutely shocked by their news, as Buffy and Spike filled him and the others, gathered around the dining room table, in on what they had discovered. "Fascinating! That puts a whole new light on the whole situation, doesn’t it?"

"How is that possible?" Xander asked, frowning. "I mean -- he's all about keeping the vampires under control, right? *Not* letting them have the power to fight back. So why would he keep unchipped vamps around? Isn’t that pretty dangerous for him?"

"I think the better question is why would they keep *him* around," Mara countered, a dark note to her lowered voice. When the others seemed puzzled as to her meaning, she clarified. "He has to have put them through the training center if they're obedient enough for him to think they’re okay to have in his own house. After everything he's done to them, if they're not chipped -- why don't they just kill him the first chance they get?"

Her blunt question was only a little startling. They all knew that she had good reason to want to see Riley dead, and it was hard for her to understand why another vampire in the position to make that happen would not gladly take the opportunity.

"The whole thing just doesn't make sense," Buffy shook her head. "I know he's got to be up to something that he's not letting the general public in on. Officially, any unchipped vampires are supposed to be captured and sent to the training centers, right? Mara’s right; an unchipped vampire in a human home would be considered too much of a hazard."

Giles nodded. "Right."

Willow frowned thoughtfully for a moment, and then her eyes widened with memory. "Hang on a second," she said. "There was something....be right back!"

She jumped up from the table and hurried to the living room, returning in a matter of moments with that morning's newspaper. She scanned hurriedly through it, flipping pages quickly as she tried to find the specific article she was looking for. Finally, she found it, pointing at the place on the page with a triumphant air.

"There!"

"What is it, Will?" Buffy frowned, looking over her shoulder curiously.

“Here – let me read it,” Willow said, adjusting the paper in her hand and beginning. “ ‘The body of local politician Stephen Rhodes was found in his Sunnydale mansion late Tuesday night. Puncture wounds found on his neck, as well as other injuries, were consistent with a vampire attack.” She looked up at Buffy expectantly, wondering if she would have the same reaction that she had had.

Giles was the one who reacted, surprise and dismay in his voice. “Stephen Rhodes? How very unfortunate. He was one of my strongest political supporters in the abolitionist movement – and a very good man.”

“It says here,” Willow went on. “That they suspect it was one of his own vampires that did it. They think one of their chips malfunctioned, and that’s what allowed the vamp to do it.” She looked up at Buffy. “I took it at face value that that’s what happened – until you mentioned that *some* of the slaves might not have chips at all!”

“So you think,” Buffy began slowly. “You think this guy’s death could have been deliberate? Planned?”

“Mr. Rhodes was running for state Senate this fall,” Giles nodded grimly. “He was very openly in support of abolishing the slave trade. And with the support that we’ve been building for the idea – he may very well have been able to get it accomplished.”

“Well,” Spike said dryly. “Bloody convenient for Finn for him to suddenly be taken out of the way, in’nit?”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed. “The only vampires Rhodes owned were – well, quite like mine,” he said with a quick smile of affection toward the vampires in question. “He never treated them as slaves. He only owned them for their own protection. I can’t see how it would have been to the benefit of any of them to kill him.”

“Riley on the other hand,” Buffy added thoughtfully. “stood to gain a lot by taking this guy out of the picture. Didn’t he? There was a good chance that this Rhodes could have done him a lot of damage.”

“So you think that he planted an unchipped vampire in this guy’s mansion to kill him?” Xander frowned, troubled by the thought, which still seemed a bit far-fetched to him.

“It’s possible,” Giles nodded slowly. “That, or sent one of his own unchipped vampires in to do the job.”

“Funny that this isn’t on the front page,” Willow mused with a frown, looking down at the paper again. “I mean – he’s an up-and-coming politician; you’d think it’d be bigger news.”

“Unless somebody’s trying to keep it quiet,” Anya observed matter-of-factly. “It would be too suspicious if the story wasn’t in the news at all. So they put it back on the fifth or sixth page, in small print like that, and a lot of people miss it completely. Doesn’t even seem like a big deal.”

“Money talks,” Xander nodded grimly. “And it sure looks like Riley would have a lot to want to hide in all this.”

“It *does* appear that Riley is definitely involved in some things of a much darker nature even than we were aware of. If he is indeed keeping a number of unchipped vampires in his service, for purposes that would require them to commit acts of violence…”

“Then that could be exactly the bombshell we need to bring him down for good,” Tara finished the thought, an excited note coming into her voice. “I mean, this could shut his business down completely. If it got out to the public that Riley’s involved in something like this, Riley would go to prison, and the organization would fall apart.”

“One problem with this whole theory, though,” Buffy said with a frown. “How could he keep unchipped vampires under control? I mean – it’d just be too easy for them to decide to go after him. Riley wouldn’t risk that kind of danger, not right in his own house.”

“He must have some other way of controlling them,” Aaron said darkly, his tone setting the mood for the others, wondering what sort of method of control Riley might be using, knowing that whatever it was, it was probably as horrific as his other methods.

“Well, one thing is certain,” Giles said in a no-nonsense tone, after a heavy pause. “We’ve got to get into that training center. See what information we can gather. All of the vampires that Riley releases to be sold go through there. It only stands to reason that that would include any of the unchipped variety as well.

“Ooh!” Buffy perked up suddenly, hurrying out to the living room for a moment, before returning with the bag she had taken to Riley’s house. “Here – I think I’ve found our way in.” She took out the copies from Riley’s personnel files, with the names and passcodes of all of his employees.

“Will – if you could come up with something to make me *look* like one of these people – I can use one of these passcodes to get into the place,” she suggested.

Willow nodded. “Simple glamour. No problem, Buffy,” she assured her.

“So I pick somebody in this file with a really high clearance level, and go in there and see for myself what Riley’s up to,” Buffy went on. “See if I can get a lead on this whole unchipped vamp theory.”

“I’ve got an idea, Buffy,” Giles broke in. “I work with a lot of people of various – talents, and with access to many types of resources. It’s possible that I could get a very small camera, almost invisible, actually. If you could wear something like that into the center – you could come out with more than enough evidence against that infernal place.”

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea.”

“Give me a day,” Giles said. “I’ll have the camera for you.”

“That’s another thing,” Buffy said with a frown. “Are we gonna be safe here for that long? I mean, Riley doesn’t know where you guys live,” she looked at Willow and Tara, “but I don’t think it’ll take him long to find out, once he starts looking. And – I *did* sort of – hold a gun to his head and threaten to kill him,” she blurted out in a rush, the look on her face somehow both sheepish and smug. “He could call the police or something, or just send his guys after us – and I don’t want to put you all in danger.”

“Don’t worry, Buffy,” Willow assured her with a self-satisfied smile of her own. “We’ve got it covered. He’ll never find this house.”

Buffy gave her a puzzled look.

“Shortly after we got involved in the abolitionist movement,” Tara explained with a smile at Willow that said clearly just how proud of her she was. “as soon as we realized how dangerous it could be – Will put a few precautionary measures in place.”

“There’s an elaborate glamour over this house – all of our ID’s, that sort of thing. On the official record – none of us exist,” Willow explained to a stunned Buffy. “Until it’s safe for us to again.”

“Riley could search to his little heart’s content to find any trace of our addresses, phone numbers, social security numbers, anything,” Xander added with a little laugh, still impressed even after so much time with the skill that his best friend possessed. “And he wouldn’t find a thing.”

“Officially,” Willow said with a grin. “This house belongs to an elderly couple named Peter and Bonnie Reynolds.”

“Who – don’t…actually…exist,” Buffy said slowly, trying to comprehend what they were telling her.

“Exactly,” Willow grinned, very pleased with herself.

“Wow,” Buffy said, her eyes wide and solemn as she looked away, trying to fathom it all. “So this house is – a safe house. Completely untraceable.”

“Well isn’t that convenient,” Spike remarked quietly, obviously impressed. “Neat trick, Red.”

“Thanks,” she smirked.

“Okay. Well that settles that then,” Buffy said decisively. “As soon as Giles can get me that camera, I’m going into the center. And until then, I think we should all just kind of sit tight, try and stay as close to this house as possible. So there’s no chance of anyone’s getting hurt. Riley would have no problem at all using one of you to try to get to me.”

The others quietly agreed, and the meeting began to break up. Willow and Tara disappeared somewhere or other together, and Giles went off to use the phone. Xander and Aaron went off to watch TV in the living room, while Buffy, Spike and Anya helped Mara and Julian get the dining room straightened up.

“Well, I’m glad we finally have a plan,” Anya commented as she picked up a few empty coffee cups from the table. “It helps to actually be able to *do* something instead of just talking about it.”

“I agree,” Mara said as she leaned down in front of the ex-vengeance demon, wiping down the table with a damp cloth. “All this talk and not enough action was starting to get…”

She suddenly stopped, freezing completely, her eyes wide and focused.

“What?” Buffy asked, turning around to see why she had stopped talking, a frown of concern on her face when she saw the girl, still bowed over slightly, silent, apparently – listening.

“What is it?” Anya asked her, frowning. “What’s wrong, Mara?”

The female vampire slowly straightened up, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Anya with a sparkle in her eye. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your doctor, Anya?”

“Well, I don’t really go to the doctor much, unless I’m sick. And what does that…”

“Not your regular doctor, Anya. Your women’s specialist,” Mara clarified, an odd little smile on her face.

Anya actually looked a bit offended. “Well *that’s* a bit of a personal question!” she remarked. “Not really appropriate for a public conversation.” The air with which she said it made it obvious that she had been told that herself many times. “I mean, why would you even think about that? I’m not sick, Xander’s and my sex life has been *amazing*, no problems at all, and I’m not pregnant or anything, so….”

Her voice trailed off, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened as she stared at Mara, and whispered breathlessly, “Why do you ask?”

“You might wanna go,” Mara said with an outright grin of excitement now. “and get that last part checked out, Anya.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in. “Cause just now, when I was leaned over close to you – I distinctly heard *two* heartbeats!”

Anya just stared at the girl for a very long moment, her eyes wide with shock, not quite processing her words just yet.

"Oh my God, are you sure?" Buffy asked, her voice excited. "Wow! Anya!"

She looked at her friend with an expression of delight -- to see that Anya's expression had not changed. She was still standing absolutely still, staring at Mara, her lips parted slightly in a little "O" of shock, one hand unconsciously resting over her still-flat stomach.

"Anya?" Buffy's tone quickly changed to one of concern, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Are you all right?"

Anya's expression did not change, but she managed to speak, finally. Well -- sort of.

"Chair," she squeaked out weakly, one hand suddenly on the table, supporting her weight as her legs became shaky. "Now!"

Spike moved quickly, grabbing a chair from the table and shifting it to directly behind her, as Buffy helped the shaken girl to sit down, still wide-eyed and utterly stunned.

"Anya?" Mara seemed concerned. "Are you okay?" She glanced anxiously at Buffy. "I -- I didn't mean to," she said in a small, nervous voice, staring at the woman who sat at the table, staring off into space in absolute shock.

"Get Xander," Spike suggested quietly, his intent gaze focused on Anya, as was everyone else's, and Julian was the one who hurried to fulfill the request.

Within moments, Xander came rushing into the kitchen, a look of concern coming over his face when he saw Anya. He hurried to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to get her attention. "Ahn? Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

He was only further worried when her only response was to shake her head slightly in disbelief, staring across the room at the far wall. "What is it?" he pressed urgently, crouching down beside her and taking her hand, trying to get her to look at him. "Ahn? Honey? What is it? Baby?"

The final word seemed to catch her attention, and her wide, stricken eyes suddenly focused on him in wonder. "Baby?" she whispered back, the uncertain note in her voice making him misunderstand.

"Yes, Anya, Honey, I'm right here. What's the matter? What is it?" Xander was nearly frantic, very shaken by her unusual behavior -- even by Anya-standards. "What is it, Baby?"

"Baby," she repeated, her voice hushed and almost reverent, staring down at the space between them, her hand pressing slightly against her stomach, as if feeling for any swollen sign of the life that Mara had detected there.

Xander frowned, puzzled and worried by her apparent fixation on the word. "Okay, Ahn, you're starting to scare me. We covered that. Please, Honey, tell me what's..."

His voice suddenly trailed off as her brilliant green eyes rose to meet his, shining with tears and softened with joy as the reality of it began to sink in for her. Something in her eyes helped him to finally put the pieces together. The word she had fixated on echoing in his own head, in combination with the tender way she was holding her stomach, and the utter happiness on her face, told him finally what she could not find the words to say.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly in an echo of her original reaction. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Oh my God, Ahn...*Baby?*" he echoed, wondering if he was really understanding her correctly.

She nodded slowly, biting her lip anxiously, searching his wide dark eyes for his reaction, seeking the same joy that was overwhelming her, sending her to a place far beyond words.

"A -- *our* baby?" he gasped, his hands rising to hold her by the shoulders, returning her gaze earnestly. "Really?" The hope and expectation, the joy to match her own, that she saw in his eyes was all the reassurance she needed.

"Yes," she whispered, almost mouthing the word, barely audible, nodding as happy tears fell from her eyes. "Yes!"

Xander's eyes slowly drifted from her eyes, to fall reverently on her stomach, trying to fathom the idea that his child, the result of their love and their union, was slowly growing inside her. Slowly, cautiously, he stretched a hand toward her stomach, brushing over it in the lightest of touches, before looking back up at her, tears shining in his own eyes as his hand rose to her cheek, rubbing gently over a tear that remained there.

He leaned in very close to her, his lips inches from hers, to whisper in a hushed voice of intense love and gratitude, "Thank you." And then, knowing no other adequate way to show her how grateful he was for the marvelous gift that only she could give him, Xander leaned in and covered his wife's lips with his own in a tender kiss.


“I’m so happy for them.” Buffy’s voice held a peace and contentment, in spite of the turbulence of their current situation, that Spike had not heard in her words since she had bought him. “I mean,” she chuckled softly, “that kid’s going to have a very, um…unconventional home life, but – but it’s going to have so much love…it’s going to be so happy…Xander and Anya are gonna make wonderful parents…”

The wistful note in Buffy’s voice worried him – and then, suddenly, his stomach turned inside him and he felt very sick, as he thought he understood what might be bothering her. He looked down at the bedspread, worrying it anxiously between his fingers, his mouth working as he tried to find the words to say what he was thinking – and failed.

Buffy turned away from her dresser, toward him, a soft, sad smile on her lips. “They deserve a little happiness…after everything,” she said in a near whisper, sitting down on the bed beside him and wrapping her arm around his waist, her own secret pain making her fail to notice his concern.

But finally, he had found words, and he turned his head to look at her, pulling away slightly so that she had to sit up and look at him.

She frowned at the look of distress on his face, the tears shining in his eyes. “What?” she whispered, her hand moving to rest on his leg. “What is it?”

“You do, too, Buffy,” he replied in a soft, trembling voice, meeting her eyes firmly although their was a deep pain and regret in his own. “You deserve that – that happiness. That – I can never give you.”

She frowned for a moment, confused – but then, her eyes widened in understanding, and a look of dismay came over her face. “Spike,” she said softly, shaking her head with a sad, ironic little smile through tears. “no. No, it’s not like that…”

“No,” he argued, looking down at the bed again, struggling to say the words that he felt were true, but were so difficult for him to voice aloud. “No, Buffy, you – you deserve – someone who…can give you that dream. After all you’ve done – for this bloody worthless world – giving your youth, your dreams, so that everybody else can stay happy and safe, the least you deserve is a child of your own, Buffy. And I can’t give that to you. Ever.” He looked back up at her, a sad resignation in his eyes, “But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

She studied his face for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she looked down at the spot where his fingers toyed with the bedspread. “Riley didn’t think so,” she said softly.

His eyes shot back up to hers suddenly in surprise. “Buffy?” he gently prodded her. “What do you mean, love?”

“He – he never wanted children. We talked about it. I told him how bad – how much I – I wanted to be a mother. He just said – kids weren’t a part of his world, and couldn’t ever be. He said he knew he’d be a terrible father. He – he laughed. ‘Face it, Buffy…people like you and me aren’t made to be parents’, he said.” She let out a sad, bitter laugh of her own. “Guess he was afraid to see what kind of a mess I’d have made of his kids.”

Spike’s eyes flashed with anger at the cruelty and insensitivity of the man who had stolen so much from the beautiful woman who sat before him, in tears from Riley’s heartless dashing of yet another dream.

Spike’s own insecurities no longer mattered. He knew very well that he could never be a father – not anymore. And he knew that if her dream was going to be fulfilled, it would mean the utter devastation of his own. But all he *really* knew was that Buffy was sitting here before him, in tears, with an ache in her heart, a need so deep and primal that no one had the right to deny it to her.

Least of all him.

“Buffy,” he said, his voice stronger as he turned completely toward her, taking her arms in his and giving her a gentle shake that drew her tearful eyes up to his again. “You are going to make an *amazing* mum someday.” He spoke the words clearly, emphatically, wanting to eradicate the self-doubt and insecurity that Riley had planted there.

He hesitated over the next words, which were painful for him to speak, looking down for a moment before he looked up at her again to add, “Just ‘cause that bloody wanker didn’t want children – and he’s right about one thing, he’d be a soddin’ awful dad – doesn’t mean that – that there’s not someone out there who will. I – I can’t imagine why he’d be so bloody daft as to refuse you. Any man alive would love to – to father your child, Buffy.”

He paused, his eyes downcast as he released her and finished in an aching whisper, “I know *I* would.”

Buffy’s eyes widened as she took in what he was saying, surprised and confused at the words. “Spike,” she whispered. “What are you…I mean…do you think…?” She stumbled over the words as understanding dawned on her, and her mouth set in a firm line of determination.

If it was the last thing she did, she was going to break him of this unworthiness complex he seemed to be unable to shake.

She reached toward him, mimicking his pose with her moments before as she took his arms and said softly, “Spike, look at me.”

He obeyed, though she could see the hurt and sorrow in his open, vulnerable eyes.

She tried to put all her devotion and affection into a single look as she stared at him, a firm conviction in her voice as she spoke. “I want *you*. More than anything else in this world. More than children. More than a ‘normal life’…” She spoke the words with derision at her former foolishness, hoping for something that she never could have had, and that she would have hated had she ever really found it.


“If children are not in our future…which it’s pretty safe to say, they’re not,” she added with a soft, sad little laugh. “then they’re just not in our future. But I don’t want *any* future that’s not with you!”

Spike stared up at her, amazed at the depth of her devotion. “But Buffy,” he whispered. “You – you could have so much more! You are such a powerful, beautiful woman – and you have so much to offer a child…you could give them anything…”

“Except life,” she finished for him softly, her eyes downcast again.

The words stopped him in his tracks, frowning slightly, uncomprehending. “What – what do you mean, love?” he asked her gently. “What do you mean, you can’t…” His eyes widened as he took in the sad, shameful set of her shoulders, her downcast eyes focused on the bed – as he finally began to understand.

A silence fell over them for a few moments, until she finally spoke in a soft, clear voice, carefully calm. “Riley didn’t want to take any chances. He didn’t want children – and he didn’t want to worry about it. So – he wanted me to – to have it taken care of. So that it – it wouldn’t be an issue.”

She was silent again for a long moment, before she looked up at him with a world of pain and guilt in her eyes. “I – I had an operation. It’s – it’s not even an option anymore.” The tears welling in her eyes slipped down her cheeks as she gazed at him with firm devotion in her eyes, in spite of her pain and added, “So don’t even think that you’re keeping me from having children. Because I can’t have them anyway.”

Spike was utterly stunned, aghast at the cruelty that would make Riley take something so precious from the woman he had claimed at one time to love.

“Buffy…love…” he whispered. “I – I’m so sorry…”

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, but a soft smile of affection on her lips. “Don’t be,” she whispered. “Riley took that from me…not you.” She paused, leaning in closer to him, as she added in a hushed whisper of awe, “All you’ve done…is give back. I have so much that he took from me – all because of you.”

And she kissed him then, with a hunger and need that ran deeper than anything she had shared with him before, as they fell to the bed in each other’s arms, losing their pain in the safety of their embrace.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Spike didn’t know if it was the beautiful words themselves, or the tone of hushed awe with which they were spoken, or the wide-eyed look of absolute devotion in her shining green eyes, that left him needlessly breathless. Maybe it was the combination of the three. All he knew was that during his years of slavery, he had never imagined being this happy, ever again.

Scratch that “again” – he had never been this happy.

They had spent the last thirty minutes in each other’s arms on top of the bed, simply drowning in each other’s kiss, as Buffy desperately drank in the love and comfort that he offered her, and gratefully returned it, wanting him to know just how very much he meant to her – what a profound and powerful difference he had made in her life.

She lowered her mouth to his again, her hands gently moving to his hips as her tongue tenderly explored his mouth again, and his arms slipped around her, pulling her closer to him. Suddenly, the sparse clothing they still wore seemed infinitely too much, as Buffy’s hands left his body to find the hem of her thin cotton camisole, lifting herself up off of him just enough to slide the garment off over her head, before lowering her body back down onto his.

He gasped at the pleasure of her smooth, hot skin against his cool, bare chest, as her warm hands slid to the waistband of the loose fitting sweat pants he had changed into for bed. Her words earlier had promised that they would eventually be removed, but he was still not quite confident enough to make that assumption on his own.

As if reading his mind, she whispered teasingly near his ear, “Did you forget?”

He moaned slightly as one of her small hands slid between them, closing gently but firmly around his bare, throbbing member – aching now with his desire for her, rather than with the abuse it had taken earlier. “How could I?” he gasped, his hands instinctively coming to rest just above her bottom and pulling her closer to him.

She suddenly let out a gasp of her own as she felt his hardness through the coarse fabric of her jeans. “God!” she whispered. “Jeans…off…now!”

He was only too glad to oblige as his hands slipped back around her to unzip the jeans, as her hands pushed them down over her hips, removing her damp panties with the same motion, too eager this time to take her time with this.

The fragrance of her powerful desire for him filled the air, intoxicating him and taking his control, as he leaned his head back with a little moan of pleasure. Suddenly, she froze completely, and he looked up at her in concern, to see her eyes opened wide and the Slayer staring at him, a look resembling panic in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, furious with herself that she had not even considered the possibility that he might still be in pain from Riley’s assault. “Is it – healed?”

As understanding dawned in his eyes, and he realized what her concern had been, a warmth filled him as once again the truth of her love for him was revealed to him. None of his previous masters or mistresses had cared whether or not he was in pain. If they had wanted him, he was expected to submit to their desires, regardless of how he felt about it.

But, he reminded himself, Buffy was not his mistress anymore. She had granted him the precious gift of his freedom, even if they could not be free to declare it just yet. She wanted him to be his own, to be free to make his own decisions and choose whether or not he wanted her.

He nodded his head as he was unable to speak, breathless again with the power of the moment, as he gazed into sparkling green eyes that were full of relief and affection so powerful that it was completely overwhelming to him. She leaned down to kiss him again, slowly, on the lips, pulling back to smile at him with a softness and vulnerability in her eyes that was stunning to him.

“Good,” she whispered tenderly, one hand rising to stroke down his cheek in a feather-light touch. “I never want to hurt you. I love you so much.”

Oh, who was he kidding? She bloody owned him, body and soul.

As he stared into her desire-darkened eyes, straight into the desperate need she had for him, he wanted nothing more in all the world than to please her. Without warning, he reached to take her hands in his, and quickly flipped them over so that he was on top of her, almost laughing with affection at the startled but pleased look in her eyes.

Hoping that the look in his eyes expressed to her what his words could not, he whispered, “I’m yours, Buffy…only yours…” before his lips descended to her throat, the cool, moist sensation of his mouth on her fevered skin sending delicious shivers all through her body. Slowly, he moved down her body, his mouth closing over one hard nipple for just a moment, before moving on down to caress her stomach tenderly, his hands rising above him to soften the loss for her hyper-sensitive breasts.

Buffy could feel herself losing control with her need for him, his words echoing in her mind – and suddenly, her eyes flew open in realization, even as she released a moan of pleasure as his teeth nipped gently at the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Still, he saw himself as her possession, his only goal and purpose to give her pleasure.

And that, she decided firmly, would never do.

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, pushing him gently back, and he immediately stopped, looking up at her uncertainly. She gave him a reassuring smile as she beckoned him back up to rest beside her.

“What is it, love?” he whispered, searching her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied softly. “Everything’s perfect. *You’re* perfect.” She leaned in to kiss him again, slowly but emphatically, before pulling back to add, “Let me show you how much I love you, Spike.” And with those stunning words, she gently pressed on his shoulders, reversing their positions again as she set about proving her words.

“Buffy!” he gasped as her mouth descended again, to his throat, kissing a trail of kisses down to his chest, as she slowly lowered her body down his in repetition of his movements moments before, kissing and licking a tantalizingly slow path downward toward her eventual goal.

She settled on her knees between his legs, her mouth hovering over his swollen, needy erection, her hot breath teasing him to higher levels of desire. When she stopped moving, he looked down at her with desperation in his eyes, his lips parting to beg her for what he needed.

The words died on his lips, his eyes widening at the look of smoldering intensity in her hooded eyes, as her mouth dipped down suddenly, encircling him in the steaming warmth of her mouth. He threw his head back, overwhelmed by the sensation, moaning out her name as she went to work bringing him the release he needed.

Still so accustomed to being the submissive party in anything of this nature, and certainly *not* accustomed to being focused on in this way, having *his* needs put first, Spike resisted his impulse to bury his hands in her soft, silken blonde hair, instead fisting his hands in the sheets as he thrust slowly up toward her, controlling even those motions for fear of “crossing the line”.

Buffy was determined to smash “the line” into itty bitty pieces before she was through. Without ceasing her tender ministrations to his body, she reached her hands up and took his, pulling them down and placing them on her head, giving him the silent permission he still felt he needed. At the exact same moment, she gently scraped her blunt lower teeth along the underside of his erection, and he bucked up against her mouth without meaning too, releasing a low moan of pleasure.

“Buffy! God, *Buffy*!” Hesitantly at first, then urgently, he pushed lightly on her head, urging her to take him deeper into her mouth, whispering her name in a soft, worshipful chant.

She gradually intensified her efforts, with expert precision, drawing him slowly toward his climax, until finally, he could not hold back any more, releasing his pleasure into her mouth with a cry that was almost a roar of pleasure. Buffy kept him in her mouth, swallowing it down, and then slowly pulled her mouth away, applying several soft, light kisses before she moved back up the bed to look into his hazy, distant eyes.

She slid her arms around him, running a hand tenderly through his damp, disheveled hair as she stared into his eyes until they came into focus again, regarding her with an unspeakable awe.

When she thought that he could actually hear her again, she kissed him on the lips and whispered as she pulled back, “I’m yours, too, Spike.”

His eyes widened in stunned disbelief at the beautiful words.

She smiled, seeing in his gaze that he was having difficulty with the concept. “I’m yours,” she repeated firmly.

She watched in amazement as it gradually sunk in for him, as the disbelief subsided, giving way to joy – and desire. Her eyes widened, hardly able to believe that he was already ready ag…

She let out a little squeal as her vampire lover gripped her arms and flipped her over on her back with a possessive little growl, only too ready to accept the gift she had offered.


Downstairs, the rest of the group got ready for bed, bustling about here and there, getting last minute drinks and making up beds. Or at least, they would have been making up the pull out bed in the living room, if Xander had not been sound asleep on it. Apparently his wife’s big news had tired him out.

“Xan,” Willow gently nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him, though he just muttered something in his sleep and turned away from her. “Xander, come on…we need to get the bed made out.”

Finally he looked up, blinking sleepily at her, automatically patting the couch beside him, looking for Anya. He looked at it blankly when he realized it was empty, mumbling, “Where’s Ahn?”

“I don’t know, she’s somewhere around here,” Willow said, a bit dismissively. “We need to get this bed pulled out. You two can sleep in here tonight. Giles was saying that he thinks everybody ought to stay around here until this whole thing is settled. Your house isn’t safe.”

Xander still seemed a bit out of it, but after a moment he nodded sleepily, finally registering her words as he stumbled up off the couch. “Ahn?” he called wearily, walking into the kitchen. “Honey?”

Willow and Tara made out the bed while he was wandering aimlessly about looking for his wife – and child – but no one responded to his call.


Anya was standing out on the porch, staring up into the sky, clearer and with more visible stars then usual. It seemed so perfect – just like her life at this moment. Mara’s unexpected revelation about her near future had caught her off guard – but as soon as her mind had had time to process it, she was thrilled beyond the telling of it.

She was going to be a *mother*. She was having a baby – Xander’s baby. When she had been turned human, she had never thought that she would every experience anything but misery from that moment on. But now, she could not think of anything in her life as a demon that in any way compared to the beauty, the unspeakable happiness, of this moment.

The noise and rushed feeling that filled the house tonight had been fun for a little while, but left her with no time to think about the turn of events, and exactly what it would mean for her and her husband. She had stepped out onto the porch, needing a few moments alone, just to make it all seem real to her at last, and not like the happy dream that a part of her still thought it was.

Suddenly, the dream was turned to a nightmare as a hard arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her down the porch steps before she could react, and a second hand clamped tightly over her mouth, silencing her scream before it left her throat. Automatically, instinctively, she struggled and kicked, feeling a sense of triumph even through her terror when her foot connected with the knee of the man behind her, and she heard a muffled moan of pain.

“Tranq her!” a voice hissed behind her, very close to her ear, and her eyes widened in terror.

Her vision came into focus again when the man holding her stopped moving, and her eyes widened in horror at the leering grin on the face of the soldier before her. He smirked at her as he moved slowly toward her, trailing a hand suggestively down her side. “I can think of another way to shut her up,” he sneered, his other hand resting lewdly over his swollen manhood.

Anya flinched at the insinuation, helplessly terrified as she fought, uselessly, against the much stronger man who held her, suffused with a sudden protective rage for the developing life inside her. These men would not take her – she would not allow it – not while she had her child to think of.

“Unh-uh,” the man holding her objected, pulling her backward away from the lust-filled soldier before her. “You heard what Finn said. This one’s not supposed to be damaged. Not until he says so.”

The soldier sighed regretfully. “Okay,” he relented, taking a step back, a smirk playing over his lips. “I can wait.”

Although by now she realized with a sense of hopelessness that she would not being able to break free, Anya continued to struggle, kicking back at the man behind her, managing in a lucky blow to connect with his crotch.

The man released her suddenly with a silent scream of agony, dropping to his knees. And in the next few moments, everything happened very quickly. Anya lurched forward, stumbling onto her knees but immediately rising again, staggering toward the house, her mouth open for the cry that had been resounding in her head.

But before her mouth could form the single word – her husband’s name – she felt the sharp, piercing sting of a needle in the side of her neck, and her throat constricted, paralyzed by whatever solution the soldiers had injected with. Her muscles gave out on her, and she collapsed to the ground on her knees again.

One final thought filled her mind as she fell forward onto her face, unable to move or cry out as darkness quickly overtook her.

*Oh, God, don’t let them hurt my baby!*

“Wow,” Buffy murmured contentedly, a lazy smile on her face as she looked up into the eyes of her lover, reaching up a hand to play through his hair. “That was just…wow…” She paused before adding in a soft appreciative murmur, “You are so absolutely incredible.”

Spike was still back on “wow”. “Yeah,” he replied quietly, still lost in her eyes. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he realized what she had said, and he dropped his gaze for a moment, embarrassed. “I – I mean,” he stumbled over the words as he tried to correct them. “I – didn’t mean to say…”

“Spike,” she interrupted him softly, patiently, still smiling up at him reassuringly. “It’s okay to say it. I know that’s not what you meant, but you *are* incredible…amazing… and if I have to make you say it once a day, every day, for the next fifty years…I’m gonna make you believe it.”

The tender passion, the simple honesty in her eyes and her voice took his breath again, and he felt his throat choke up a bit, not with the sorrow and pain of the past that had made tears so familiar to him, but with a sweet joy that had become so foreign that it was like a brand new experience for him – and he wanted to savor every moment of it.

Painful memory taught him that something this beautiful was sure to disappear before long – and so he found himself studying every feature of her face, as if to commit it to memory forever.

This moment went beyond all words. It was almost difficult to even believe that it was really real. It was such a sharp contrast to everything that his life had been for the past few years, that a part of him was afraid that he was going to suddenly wake to find that the past few hours had been nothing but a happy dream.

“You know,” she whispered, her smile softening. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He marveled at her growing ability to seemingly read his mind, sensing his thoughts and insecurities before he spoke them – even the ones he would never have spoken at all. “I know,” he said softly, knowing that the accuracy of her aim with the words was clear in his voice.

“I love you,” she whispered again before she pulled him back down for another kiss, and he returned it urgently, claiming the reassurance she offered him so freely. Oh, yes…this was real. No doubt about it. His beautiful fantasies had come to life in breathtaking reality.

The moment was broken suddenly by a soft but insistent knock on the bedroom door. Buffy gave the door an anguished look, before looking back up at Spike, her lower lip jutting out in a pout of annoyance. “I want them to go away,” she whispered, very childishly, she had to admit.

“Maybe if we’re really quiet,” he suggested in a very serious whisper, unable to suppress the slight twitch of a smile about his lips, “they’ll think we’re asleep and they will.”

She couldn’t help it; she giggled at the wide-eyed, mock seriousness of his expression and his voice. *God, he’s adorable!* she thought with a rush of affection, very pleased that he was becoming comfortable enough to do things like joking around with her, and taking the lead sexually as he had just done.

And, boy, had *that* ever been nice!

“Buffy!” Tara’s anxious voice on the other side of the door tore her reluctantly from her thoughts. “Buffy, you need to get up! Please hurry!”

“Now see what you’ve done?” he teased her matter-of-factly in a mildly sarcastic tone, just before he registered the urgent sound in Tara’s voice.

Buffy had already noticed it, and was frowning toward the door in concern. This sounded serious. “Just a second, Tara. I just need to, um…” *Find my clothes?...Make myself not-naked?* “Um…I just need a second…”

Spike moved off of her and they both quickly rose from the bed. He slipped back into the pair of sweatpants they had discarded at the foot of the bed, while she pulled a set of the pajamas, she had skipped entirely earlier out of a dresser drawer, much more concerned with coverage now than she had been earlier. Judging by the tone of her voice, it sounded like whatever had driven Tara to “wake” them was rather important.

In fact, judging by the tone of her voice, Buffy thought that she might have to actually get dressed before all was said and done. She frowned. That was not a happy thought.

Finally, Buffy went to the door and opened it, trying very hard to look innocent and like someone who had not spent the past hour being shagged senseless. “What’s up, Tara?” she asked with a frown of concern that she did not really feel.

Not yet.

The look in Tara’s eyes was enough to drag the Slayer unwillingly back to reality. And her words were worse.

“Anya’s missing,” the blonde witch informed her without a moment’s pause, her soft grey eyes wide and worried.

“What?” Buffy’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, she’s ‘missing’?” she asked, a little more sharply than she had intended to.

“She’s missing. She said she was going out on the porch for some air. Xander went looking for her, and she wasn’t out there. And she’s not in the house. Buffy – she’s gone.” Tara’s eyes were troubled and fearful, and her voice was trembling. “Buffy, what if they found her?”

Buffy’s mind was racing. “You’re sure she didn’t just…go for a walk or something? You’re positive that she’s really *missing*?”

Tara nodded soberly. “We’d already talked about how this house was the safe place, and she and Xander needed to stay here. You know how paranoid she’s always been about her ex-demon status, especially since all this mess started. I don’t think she would have gone anywhere alone, and without telling anyone – especially not this late.”

The sick feeling in the pit of Buffy’s stomach told her what she already knew. Tara was right. Anya had not simply gone somewhere of her own free will. The only other alternative was that – she had been taken.

“Okay,” Buffy said quietly. “Give us five minutes. We’re gonna get dressed and be right downstairs and figure out what to do. Try to keep things together downstairs, okay?”

Tara nodded silently and headed back down the stairs, as Buffy closed the door behind her, her eyes wide and worried as they focused on the wood grain of the door, thinking hard.

Spike stepped up beside Buffy, a thoughtful frown on his face as he met her eyes. “Riley knows about that…doesn’t he? Anya’s history?”

Buffy nodded slowly, realization dawning on her. “Yes,” she whispered, a stricken look on her face. “But he knows she’s human now.” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing in rising anger and indignation. “He could care less about Anya, he knows very well she’s human! He’s using her as bait! He *wants* me!” She glanced at Spike, her eyes softening with concern as she amended, “Us.”

“Then…then let’s give him what he wants, pet,” Spike said in a quietly decisive voice, taking her arm and turning her to face him. “Let’s go straight down there and show him just what we’re capable of. Let’s get her back.”

“Spike,” she shook her head slowly. “We’re going to get her back…but we don’t even know where she is yet!” She paused. “And you are *not* going in there with me! It’s too dangerous. The chances of Riley’s having vampire guards in the training center, or anywhere else that he’s keeping demons prisoner, are next to nothing, Honey. And I am *not* putting you in a dangerous position where you can’t even defend yourself!”

“No,” he said firmly, meeting her gaze without backing down. “You’re not. Because it’s not your place to *put* me in any position. It’s mine.”

When she blinked, surprised – but pleased – at his assertion, he lowered his gaze for a moment, adding in a tentative voice, a bit smaller, “Right?”

Buffy’s resolve softened at the uncertainty in his voice. He was slowly developing the confidence to stand up for himself, to make his own choices without fear of punishment – but he needed her to support him in it. No matter how badly she wanted to protect him, wanted to keep him from any danger – she had given him his freedom, and she could not take it back now – not even for his own good.

She reached over with a gentle hand to tip his chin back up, and he hesitantly met her eyes again. “Right,” she said softly with a reassuring smile. “I – I can tell you that I don’t want you to do this. That I want you to stay where it’s safe, that I never, ever want you to have to be anywhere near those people again. But that’s all I can do, because in the end, the decision is up to you.” She paused before adding again, “I *don’t* want you to do this.”

A soft little smile came over his lips, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes as he said quietly, “And that argument worked *so* well the last time, didn’t it, pet?”

She released a heavy sigh, her eyes becoming serious. She knew she had lost this argument already. But she knew that she was doing the right thing, allowing him to make the decision – even if it was not the wise one. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get dressed. You need to wear a little more than that if you’re going on a rescue mission with *me*. Otherwise, I’ll get all distracted,” she shook her head, wrinkling her nose up as she smiled into his eyes. “Off my game – won’t be pretty.”

He let out an appreciative little chuckle as he headed for the closet and the clothes she had bought him before. “Basic black it is then,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, despite the serious situation.

As Buffy hurriedly took off her pajamas and put on her clothes, she couldn’t resist a little glance at the amazing body of her lover. “Not much help,” she muttered. “Still *very* distracting!”


Downstairs in the living room, the Scoobies were in a state of near chaos. Xander and Giles were in a stand-off near the front door, the older man blocking it, determined not to let the younger man, frantic with fear, pass. Tara was trying to keep the others calm, though the vampires seemed near panic with the knowledge that apparently Riley’s people knew where they were now.

Willow stood near the two men, trying softly, timidly to calm the man who had been her best friend since childhood.

“I have to help her! You have to let me go after them!” Xander cried out frantically as Buffy and Spike descended the stairs.

“No.” Giles’ voice was quiet but firm and authoritative. “You can’t go after them, alone, Xander. These men have no scruples. No sense of morality. They’d as soon kill you as look at you.”

“I don’t care, they’ve got Anya – oh, God, our *baby*! -- and I have to go after them!” Xander was yelling now, on the edge of hysteria in his panic, unconscious of the tears that streamed down his face, trembling violently with rage and terror, as he glared furiously at the older man, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m *going* after them,” he repeated defiantly, trying to shove past Giles.

The Watcher bravely stood his ground, blocking the doorway. “No.” He spoke the word simply, with determination to protect the boy he loved like his own.

“Damn it, Giles, let me *go*!” Xander nearly roared, and the others watched in horror as in his panic and grief, he raised his fist to strike out at the person he saw now only as an obstacle between him and the rescue of his family.

At the last moment, a strong hand gripped his wrist, tightly, but not hard enough to hurt him, spinning him around to face the tiny but powerful Slayer. Her eyes met his, solemn and compassionate – but unyielding.

“Buffy,” he whispered tearfully, shaking his head, pleading in his eyes. “You have to let me go! I have to find her! I have to…”

“No,” Buffy said firmly. “Xander – I know you want to go…but you can’t help her. These are armed soldiers, with weapons and power we know very little about – and I can’t let you get hurt.”

Xander glared at her defiantly, fresh tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. “You can’t stop me!” he snarled. “I won’t *let* you stop me! Anya – our…” His voice broke in a sob of anguish, and she felt him weaken under her hand. “oh, God…our baby…oh…God…Buffy!” And then, his sobs overwhelmed him, and she could tell that he was about to collapse.

She caught him carefully, guiding him to sit down on the couch, holding her weeping friend in her arms for a few moments. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’re gonna get her back. I promise, Xander. We’re gonna get her back, and I’m gonna kill anyone who’s touched her.”

The others were stunned by the fierce fury in her eyes – but Buffy had seen what these monsters they were dealing with could do to the people she cared about – and she would *not* allow it to happen again. “Your wife and your baby need you,” Buffy went on gently, as his sobs began to subside. “Safe. Here for them, when I bring them home. Okay?”

Reluctantly, Xander nodded slowly, knowing deep down that she was right. As always, she was the Slayer – and he was the moral support, he thought bitterly. But this time was different. This was his entire world in the balance.

Once Xander was calm, Buffy stood up quickly. “Okay. We need to come up with a plan. Let’s meet in the kitchen. That’ll be our war room. These bastards are going down.” As she passed Spike on the way to the kitchen, she looked at him, an odd look on her face, a realization she had gained from the encounter with her friend.

“And you,” she announced quietly, outside the hearing of the others. “Are not going.”

Before his outraged response could leave his lips, she added firmly. “Not because you’re my slave. Not because I own you, and make all your decisions for you. Because I love you. And I won’t let you hurt yourself like that.”

And with that, she left him standing stunned in the living room as she went on into the kitchen.

Buffy closed her eyes as she walked on into the kitchen, counting silently in her head. *Three…two…one…* She grimaced slightly as the expected explosion came right on schedule.

“Wait just a minute, here, pet!” Spike protested indignantly, stepping into her path just before she reached the table. “You can’t just say one minute, yeah, do what you like, and then take it back the next! You need to pick a decision and bloody well stick with it, love!”

She stood there facing him, her eyes down for a moment, before she looked up at him calmly, surely. “I just told you, Spike. That *is* my decision. You can’t fight once we get in there. His guards will be human, not like the guards you took down at his house. And you will be helpless there. You won’t be helping me – you’ll get us both killed. Because I have to tell you,” she went on, shaking her head slowly, “if I see that you’re in danger – you’ll be my first priority – and that could lose the fight.”

“You said it was *my* decision,” he reminded her stubbornly, though he knew that her reasoning made sense. “You said you weren’t going to make me do anything, either way. And now you’re taking that back?” He shook his head, looking away as he added, “You have to let me know for sure how you want things to be, Buffy – because I have to know.”

“Spike,” she began, frowning, confused and frustrated. “Nothing’s changed. I still want you to be free to make your own choices…”

“Unless I choose to do something you don’t want me to do,” he supplied with a note of accusation in his voice, dark blue eyes rising to hers again with determination and challenge.

*Wow,* she thought ruefully. *He really *is* getting comfortable with me!*

“No,” she argued, a harder edge creeping into her voice with her irritation. “Unless you choose to do something that’s gonna get you hurt! If you said, ‘Gee, Buffy, I feel like ramming this bloody stake through my bloody chest,’” she said with a wince-worthy imitation of his accent. “I’m not gonna be like, ‘Okay, Spike, whatever you wanna do, Honey’.”

He averted his eyes again, unable to deny that she had a point. “I want to help you,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want you to go alone.” He paused. “I love you,” he finished softly, with an aching honesty in his voice that brought tears to her eyes.

She stepped forward slowly, wrapping her arms around him and seeking his eyes until he looked at her again. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “So much. And that’s why I can’t let you put your life at risk when there’s very little chance at all that it would even do any good.” She paused, searching his eyes tenderly. “Okay?” she prompted in a soft, gentle voice.

He did not respond, just looked away again, and she felt her frustration returning. But then, he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he repeated quietly. “Whatever you say.” It was very clear that he was still upset, not at all accepting of her decision. He looked back up at her with a firmness that surprised her. “But you don’t need to go alone. I might not be any help against humans – so you need to take someone with you who is.”

Buffy nodded. Compromise was the name of the game. She didn’t want *anyone* to get hurt while trying to help her, but she had to recognize how very foolish it would be to go in alone. “Okay,” she conceded, then thought for a moment, frowning. “Like who, though?”

Spike thought with her, looking down and frowning as he idly played with a stray lock of her hair over her shoulder. “Xander’s out,” he began softly. The boy, as he would always still think of him, was still on the couch in the living room, a distraught, weeping mess, babbling on the edge of hysteria to his nodding, sympathetic best friend who sat beside him. “He’s too emotionally involved. He’d get himself killed.”

Buffy nodded. “Will needs to stay here with Xander, so he doesn’t do anything stupid,” she went on. “Giles is a good fighter, and good with magic – but he’s too conspicuous. They’d all know who he was right off.”

As the others began to file into the room around them, they began to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. Tara looked a bit surprised to see the tender, intimate way they were embracing each other, to hear their soft, hushed tones of affection, Spike’s so much more assertive and confident than she had heard it before – and then her surprised look softened to a smile.

It seemed that Buffy had finally managed to get it right.

As they were discussing possible assistants for Buffy on this mission, the others began to take their seats around the table, talking quietly and speculating while they waited for Buffy to call the meeting to order. As soon as Willow and Xander, the last two to enter the room, were seated at the table, Buffy gently pulled out of the arms of her vampire, and he had a seat at the table near her as she stepped up to face the others.

Buffy looked with concern at her best friend, who was staring blankly at the table, his eyes wide, still in a state of shock as he tried to fathom what had happened. His tears had stopped and he seemed to be in control – for the moment. Buffy was glad to see that Willow was sitting close to him, holding his trembling hand in silent support.

“Okay. First of all…we need to find Anya. We need to know where she is. Will – can you do a locator spell?” Buffy began, her voice and eyes serious as she met those of her friend, wide and sober.

Willow nodded slowly. “Not a problem.”

“Good. As soon as we know *where* she is…I’m going after her,” Buffy informed them, her voice decisive, leaving no room for argument. “I’m going to bring her home, and that’s all there is to it.” She paused. “And if Riley and his men have hurt her – I’m going to make them pay for it.”

“You need to take weapons of some kind,” Giles suggested, not at all phased by her obvious violent intent. Everyone in the room seemed to feel the exact same way at the moment. “Riley’s men will be armed.”

Buffy grimaced. “I’m not very good with a gun,” she admitted.

“I am,” Spike quietly inserted, glancing up at her hopefully. He was far from giving up the argument.

“No,” she said shortly, cutting him off before he could make his suggestion, deliberately ignoring the dark look he shot her at her dismissal.

His unquestionable skill with a gun, which had been proven during their last encounter with Riley, would do him no good if it was humans he was faced with – a fact which had also been proven during that last encounter, when he had taken aim at Riley and been immediately incapacitated. She was unyielding on this one; he was *not* going.

Going on with the conversation before Spike could object, Buffy said, “I’ll take some of my weapons – daggers, things like that…”

“Not as fast as bullets,” Spike objected stubbornly, his concern obvious in his voice. “You’ll get yourself hurt, pet, if you don’t take any more weapons than that.”

“I’m taking the best weapon I’ve got,” Buffy informed him, suppressing her irritation, reminding herself that this sort of assertive behavior was a *good* thing – what she had been *wanting* to see from him. “Me.”

Giles spoke up then with a nod. “She may be right,” he admitted. “She’ll do better fighting in a style she’s used to, with weapons she’s used to, than attempting to use ones that are unfamiliar to her. She *is*, after all, the Slayer – and they won’t be expecting to deal with that.”

“Won’t they?” Tara asked suddenly, frowning. “I mean – has anyone else even thought about the fact that this is very obviously a trap? Buffy – if you just go in there – wherever ‘there’ is – metaphorical guns blazing – they’re going to be waiting for you. Chances are that’s why they took her.”

Willow nodded. “It could just as easily have been any of us,” she said softly. “I think anyone who was – outside – they would have taken. Just to try to get to you, Buffy.”

Buffy nodded. “How about that glamour, Will?” she suggested. “Can you get me in as someone else, like we were talking about? This quickly? They won’t be expecting that.”

Willow nodded. “Sure. I just need – maybe a couple hours.”

At her words, Xander let out a quiet little sound that was almost a sob of frustration and fear, and Buffy felt her heart wrenched by his obvious pain. She knew what he was thinking. What guarantee did they have that Anya *had* a couple of hours?

“Xander,” she said softly. “They’re using her to get me there. They’re not gonna kill her. If she’s dead, then they lose their leverage. They’re keeping her alive, I know it. And we’re gonna get her back.”

Xander nodded, trying hard to keep his composure, knowing that falling apart – which seemed so tempting at the moment – would in no way help his young wife. But his greatest fear was not for her life; he knew that Buffy was right. Riley’s people really had no reason to kill her.

Xander had been involved with the abolitionist movement for long enough and heard enough nightmare stories to know that there were much worse things than death that could be done to a woman – human or not – in the custody of Riley’s brutal men.

“By we,” Giles began slowly, gently returning their attention to the slowly developing plan. “who exactly were you meaning, Buffy? Because you certainly can’t go in there alone.”

Buffy was hesitant. “I’m – really not sure,” she admitted. “We were – trying to think of someone, but…”

“I’ll go.” Buffy and the others all looked up in surprise at Aaron, sitting toward the far end of the table from her. He glanced around at them, a bit self-conscious when all of their attention was focused on him. “What?” he laughed a bit nervously. “I’ll go!”

“I appreciate the offer,” Buffy said with a grateful, sad little smile. “But I need someone who can fight. *Humans*,” she clarified.

“Which is why I should go,” Aaron shot back, and she frowned, confused.

Giles cleared his throat, looking down at the table for a moment, before raising his eyes to meet those of his Slayer, carefully watching for her reaction as he spoke. “Buffy – Aaron – does not have a chip. He can freely fight humans.” He paused, giving a little half shrug as he went on, “In fact – I rather think at this point that he would be your best choice for a companion on this mission. He’s stronger than most of us, and a skilled fighter – and will not be recognized by Riley’s men.”

Buffy was still stuck back on the fact that the vampire did not have a chip. She stared at her Watcher’s calm, even expression, silently communicating to her not to overreact. The Slayer side of her was instantly on her guard, warning her that this unfettered vampire was a danger to them all.

But on the other hand, he had been there with them all along, been with Giles for even longer – and had not harmed any of them yet. She noticed that none of the others, besides Spike, seemed surprised by the announcement, so they must have already known.

She thought again of her recent conversation with her Watcher – and once again realized that her whole worldview was in need of dramatic re-shaping. She wondered how Giles had come to take an unchipped vampire into his care, and determined to ask him about it later. But she did not have time to consider the implications of any of it right now.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You’re right. That would be the best option. Aaron – you’re going with me.”

The dark-haired vampire nodded slowly. Spike lowered his gaze to the table, his jaw set with tension, and Buffy did not miss the look on his face, though he tried to conceal it. He was growing more upset by the moment. He wanted so badly to be the one to help her, but circumstances made him useless in this situation – and being replaced as her partner by another vampire – well, it was just more than he could bear.

“Okay,” Buffy said, stepping nearer to the table – nearer to Spike – unconsciously as she went on. “So Will can do the locator spell immediately. And as soon as we find her, we can do the glamour and Aaron and I will take my weapons and go. Aaron – you can pose as a prisoner, or my slave, while we’re inside.”

“Good idea,” Giles nodded. “That way if they have some means of detecting that he is not human, it will be easily explained.”

“Good,” Buffy agreed, satisfied. “Then we’ll find Anya and get her out of there.”

As the meeting broke up and everyone went about to carry out their parts in the plan, or just to help out where they could, Spike stayed in his seat. Buffy put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her, hurt and self-doubt evident in his eyes.

Before she could say anything, however, she felt a cool hand on her arm, and turned quickly to see Aaron standing behind her. She hoped that the immediate sense of suspicion that she felt was not obvious – but knew by the look on his face that it was.

“Slayer,” he said quietly with a nod, and the use of the word was with respect, not hostilitiy. “Can I talk to you for a moment? Privately?”

Buffy looked down at Spike again, uncertainly. “Spike?” she said softly, a question in her voice.

He merely shrugged and averted his eyes again, sullenly. She could feel his anger and resentment at the other vampire, and knew that he did not want her to take Aaron with her – not if he couldn’t go himself. Feeling an irrational sense of irritation at his behavior, she abruptly removed her hand from his shoulder and turned to face Aaron fully.

“Sure,” she said brightly. “Let’s go in the living room for a minute.”

As she followed the vampire out of the kitchen, she was unaware of Spike’s wince at the sudden loss of her touch, or the despairing expression of shame at his own uselessness that came over his face as she walked away.

She focused her attention on Aaron as he looked her in the eye and took a deep breath to speak. They were alone in the living room for the moment, as everyone else was busily making preparations.

“I know you don’t trust me.”

The blunt statement caught her off guard, and she looked away with a nervous laugh. “No, that’s not true…”

“Yes, it is,” Aaron said calmly, and she was surprised when she looked up again to see that he did not appear upset by it at all. “Makes sense,” he shrugged. “I’m your natural enemy. You’re chosen to destroy my kind. It’s perfectly natural.”

He was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing, that she found herself feeling more at ease discussing it. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted quietly. “It does make me feel a little weird.”

“But I want you to know,” he went on, holding her gaze. “I am absolutely and completely on your side. Yeah, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, before all this started. But Giles found me, when I was nearly starved and hiding from the soldiers – and he helped me. He made me see things differently, Slayer. We don’t have to be enemies.”

Buffy nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to understand that,” she said softly.

Aaron was quiet for a moment, looking down. Then he looked back at her and said quietly, “I’ve changed. I don’t even *want* to hurt humans anymore. And I used to,” he laughed without humor, his eyes still serious. “I really did. But not anymore. I want you to know that when we go in there – you can know that I’ve got your back. Okay?”

Buffy smiled warmly at him, appreciative of the gesture he was making. His words *had* made her feel better about the situation. “Okay,” she assured him with a nod.

He turned to leave with a smile, then suddenly turned back, adding, “Oh…one more thing. Just so you know – my whole ‘not hurting people’ rule? Will not apply when we get into that place.”

Buffy’s smile faded, but she could not blame him. “That’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m not sure mine’s gonna hold up either, to tell you the truth.”

Riley and his men no longer fell into the category of those that she was chosen to protect. They had crossed a line with their cruelty and sadistic treatment of those helpless to defend themselves – and they had touched her family.

Not blood, extended, yes – but Anya was family.

As Aaron left her, Buffy’s thoughts returned to her own vampire waiting in the kitchen. She sighed, feeling a sense of guilt for treating him so dismissively, being as impatient with him as she had been. She had been irritated with him for his sullen attitude, but she knew why he felt the way he did.

*I’ve just got to be more understanding,* she told herself as she entered the kitchen. *It’s gonna take time, and patience, and lots of…*

She froze when she saw the empty chair where Spike had sat – and the back door leading out to the porch, open several inches. A cold, sick chill of fear swept through her as she quickly approached the door.

Spike did not really know why he went outside in the first place. He just could not stand just sitting there at the table for another moment, as everyone else rushed about, doing what they could to help -- only serving to remind him that he was absolutely helpless to do anything.

He had stepped out the back door onto the porch, just needing to be alone for a few minutes. He knew it was not safe, knew that he could not defend himself if Riley’s men came upon him by surprise, and that if anyone was a target for capture by Riley's men, it was him -- but at the moment, he could not even bring himself to care. Only his worries and insecurities consumed his mind.

He was useless to the woman he loved.

The moment he had stepped outside, his nostrils had flared as his keen senses picked up Anya's scent. She had been here, on the back porch. He felt a chill go down his spine, and a sick feeling to the pit of his stomach, as he began to pick up other scents as well. He did not recognize the specific scents of individuals, but there was no mistaking the odd medicinal tang that always accompanied Riley's heavily drugged men.

Realization hit him suddenly; this was the very spot from which Anya had been taken. His mind raced at the implications of the thought – and the possibilities it allowed. Willow had said that it would take her a couple of hours to track the girl down magically. After that, they would still have to do the glamour on Buffy and get her and Aaron ready to leave.

All a colossal waste of time.

He could not fight, could not actually pull off Anya's rescue himself, he knew that -- but he was still a bloody vampire, right? And it seemed to him that he may have found a way to help, after all.

Buffy did not want him to leave the house – would not let him if she knew he was doing it -- but he knew that he could find Anya much faster than Willow could. And Xander was right -- who among them knew just how much time the girl actually had before Riley’s sadistic men did something terrible to her, something from which she might never recover, whether or not she survived?

The idea hit him all at once: he could track Anya to wherever the soldiers had taken her, then go back to let Buffy and the others know, probably before Willow could even get completely set up to perform the spell. He would show Buffy that he *was* capable of more than just sitting at home and allowing her to protect him like a helpless child.

With barely a second thought, glancing back toward the house to be sure that no one was around to notice his actions, he took off down the porch steps, following Anya’s scent.

It was very late, and the sidewalks were completely deserted as he made his way through Sunnydale’s residential streets, recognizing that the trail was leading him toward one of the town’s many cemeteries. He remembered the original Initiative, and the secret entrance they had had, in the heart of one of Sunnydale’s graveyards, and hurried on, watching carefully around him as he went.

He was all too aware that Riley’s soldiers could be anywhere.

He fought back an overwhelming sense of fear as he stopped at last in front of an old stone crypt in the center of Restfield Cemetery, where the scent seemed to be more heavily concentrated than anyplace he had been yet. He hesitantly reached a hand toward the door, cursing his own fear and weakness at the sight of his own trembling hand.

He was beginning to have very serious doubts about the wisdom of this little self-appointed mission of his. He wished desperately that Buffy was with him, that he had not come out here alone like this. But it was too late to turn back now.

He slowly opened the door, and entered the dark room. His senses were immediately assailed by an even stronger odor of the soldiers, and he felt his mouth go dry with fear, as his stomach lurched inside him, a flood of memories, terrifying and painful, engulfing his mind at the trigger of that scent.

He forced himself to focus on the present. His past ordeal did not matter; all that mattered was finding Anya. The soldiers had been here, very recently. And judging by the intricate layers of scent, some stronger than others, apparently more often than just tonight. It seemed that for whatever reason, Riley’s men made frequent visits to this place.

As he did not see any sign of Anya or the soldiers at the moment, he reasoned that there must be an entrance to one of Riley’s facilities somewhere in this crypt. That was the only thing that would explain such a strong scent, concentrated in this area. He walked slowly through the musty, dark room, looking for any clue that might indicate where the entrance was.

He was feeling more and more ill at ease with each moment, aware that if this *was* the entrance that he sought, he had no way of knowing when soldiers would be coming or going again.

He tried to focus his senses, picking out traces of Anya’s scent over the mingling scents of the others, old and new, that filled this place, overwhelming his senses, and found with surprise that her scent led him to one of three tombs that were housed by the old stone building. He noticed with rising interest that the one he was looking at was newer than the others, not as dilapidated, uncracked and untarnished by time.

It had been placed there rather recently.

With very little effort, he slid the top back a bit, trying to be as quiet as he could, flinching a bit when it made a grating sound that echoed in the stillness, freezing completely for a few moments as he waited for any reaction from – anywhere. When there was no response to the sound, he pushed it back a bit more and peered inside – intrigued and gratified by what he saw.

The tomb was empty – bottomless, in fact. It opened up into a long, black tunnel, with a ladder on the side leading down into the darkness. And far below, at least sixty or seventy feet down, was a bright light. Something was down there. He stood there for a moment, hesitating, unsure if he should go down there or not.

Anya had been taken down there; he knew it. He took a deep breath, and swung one leg over the edge, his foot searching for the first rung of the ladder, a bit blinded by the brightness from below him.

Suddenly, he was seized with panic as he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, yanking him backward off of the edge of the tomb and onto the stone floor beside it, and spinning him around to face his assailant. He jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, struggling blindly as two strong hands gripped his arms to restrain him, unable to see in the darkness, his eyes still partially adjusted to the light from the tomb.

“Spike! Stop it!”

The familiar, beautiful voice was harsh and angry, but still flooded his heart with overwhelming relief. His struggles ceased instantly, and he found himself gasping for breath, leaning unconsciously forward into her hands.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “God, Buffy, I thought…the soldiers…” His voice choked off in a sob of relief.

“*You* thought?” she snapped, and he flinched slightly at the fury in her trembling voice. His eyes were re-adjusting to the darkness, but he still did not dare look up at her as she went on. “My God, Spike, *I* thought they’d caught you! I thought Riley had you! He would *kill* you Spike, do you understand that?”

Her emotions were gradually escalating out of control as she spoke, her voice rising, heedless of any possibly listening ears. Now that she had found him, safe and sound, her fears were consumed with relief, and all that was left was her anger at his foolishness, the terrible risk he had taken.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fighting back tears, aware now of just how dangerous his actions had been, feeling utterly ashamed for the terror he had obviously caused her. “I – I just thought…”

“You thought what, Spike? You thought you’d just come out here and risk getting caught…risk your…your *life*, for…for what, Spike?” Her voice was shaking dangerously, and he knew she was on the verge of tears.

He did not respond, his head turned slightly away from her, eyes downcast as he swallowed hard, his jaw working with emotion that he tried to hold back. Her tone revealed the fury that he knew he would see in her eyes as well, if he dared to chance a look. She was every bit the Slayer in all her fury at having her dearest love threatened – even if he had been the one to place himself in danger.

When he did not answer, she shook him slightly, demanding tearfully, “Damn it, Spike, answer me! What the *hell* did you think you were doing?”

The anguish and fear in her voice hit him harder than a blow would have, though he knew better than to expect one from her at this point. Still, he flinched, his lips trembling as he opened his mouth to speak, though he was unable to find the words, his tears released in response to her anger.

Finally, he whispered, “I – I just thought – I could find her…faster than – than the spell…” He paused, not sure what else to say, knowing that despite the fact that she did not know yet – that his search had been successful – it had still been a very reckless thing to do.

A lot of good his finding her would have done, if he had been captured and killed and never returned to tell Buffy about it.

“I’m sorry,” he finally replied in an aching whisper, tears streaking his face. “I’m sorry, Buffy…”

His tears, the misery in his voice, brought an ache of tears to her throat, her chest, as she stared at him, the anger slowly draining out of her. *God, I almost lost him tonight,* she thought, the idea more terrifying than any she could have conceived of. Her vision blurred as the tears rose to her eyes, and her grip on his arms eased, as she pulled him into her arms, sobbing softly in her relief.

A different sort of relief filled him, at her sudden tenderness, and he broke down too, clinging to her desperately, grateful for the concern that had driven her anger. For a few moments, they just stayed there on the floor, holding each other, crying out the tension and fear of the past few hours.

After a little while, Buffy slowly pushed him back, holding him by the arms and looking him in the eyes, her own still glimmering with tears. “Don’t you *ever* do that to me again…okay?” she whispered, but the words were more a plea than a command.

He shook his head, swallowing back the last of his tears. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I just wanted to – to help you. I just feel so – so useless, Buffy! I hate that I can’t…that I can’t be with you...”

Understanding came over her, as she realized exactly what it was that had motivated his reckless actions. She had not really given it much thought, what it would be like to be in as helpless a position as his. She tried to put herself in his place, and knew that it would absolutely kill her to watch him go into a life or death battle with only a stranger for help, and be utterly unable to help him.

“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes softening on him as the truth dawned on her. “And you know that there is no one I would rather have with me when I go in there than you. When all this is over, Spike…we’re gonna find a way to get rid of that stupid chip – and you’re never gonna have to stay behind again,” she promised.

He nodded silently, his expression grim, not really daring to hope that there was a chance of that – not after so long.

Buffy studied his face for a long moment, realizing that there was very little she could say to make the situation any easier for him. He wanted to go with her, and he simply couldn’t. Nothing she could say could change that.

She carefully got to her feet, reaching down to help him rise with her, before her eyes fell on the open tomb beside them. Her head tilted slightly with interest as she leaned slightly over it, looking down at the light beneath them. Her eyes widened as she turned to face him.

“What’s down there?” she asked, with a whisper of almost child-like excitement.

He shrugged, a grim expression on his face. “Don’t know, really. But they took Anya down there.”

“How do you know?” She was curious.

“Smelled her, love. She’s been here. And Riley’s men. Lots of them. Come here all the time from what I can tell,” he informed her.

She stared at him for a moment, something like wonder in her eyes. “Wow,” she said softly, “I’m impressed.”

“ ‘S nothing,” he shrugged again, a bit self-consciously.

She moved in closer to him, surprising him by capturing his lips in a sudden, intense kiss. At first he simply allowed her to kiss him, too troubled by his various thoughts to let himself enjoy it. But after a moment or two, he found himself responding, kissing her back deeply, letting his arms move slowly around her.

She drew back after a few moments, smiling warmly into his eyes and saying, “Don’t ever think you’re useless again, Honey. ‘Cause you’re not.” She paused, her voice lowering, speaking slowly and intently as she added, “You are *everything* to me.”

He met her eyes for a long moment, too overwhelmed to speak, before finally breaking eye contact with a little self-conscious smile.

The smile was wiped from his face in the next instant, with the sound of a stranger’s voice from the doorway.

“Aww…are we interrupting something? Cause we could come back later.”

They both turned to face the source of the mocking voice, an armed soldier standing at the door to the crypt, his burly form framed in the moonlight from outside. As he moved slowly into the room, he was followed by several others.

“Actually,” the soldier amended with a cold smile, raising his weapon and taking aim at the Slayer. “We’d better do this now.”