Spike:  You've got a real death wish. It's almost interesting.
        Lie To Me  

 

  "Dru!"

    Spike started shouting even before he'd made it to his own apartment. It was a small apartment building, derelict if not condemned. The electricity was still on, but most of the windows were boarded up, and there was spray paint over everything. A small handful of yellow eyed vamps, nesting in indifferent squalor, looked up at Spike nervously as he passed. Mostly male, a couple female, all tough looking. Minions, Buffy realized. Spike was keeping quite a small number of minions. He dragged Buffy past them without looking at any of them and wrenched open a door with more spray paint scrawls on it.

    When he got into his apartment, Spike tossed Buffy on the ground like a duffle bag full of dirty laundry. The room was spartan, but mostly human – a kitchenette, mostly unused, a few carpets, a TV, some vague sixties style furniture. Nothing "posh" as Spike would have called it, but nothing like the squalor of the vamps in the hallway. "Dru!" There was no direct response – just some grunting and noises from behind a closed door. "Drusilla!" Spike shouted, louder. "Would you quit playing with your dolls and take a look at this?"

    There was a muffled groan, followed by a masculine scream, and Spike pinched his forehead between his thumb and middle finger, looking almost embarrassed. He waited, his jaw tense, and finally shouted one more time. "Dru!" A few moments later the door opened on a room swathed in lace, a hundred times more opulent than the living room. A second later, there was Drusilla.

    Drusilla's hair was a near rat's nest of tangles, and she wore little but a badly twisted black corset and a ragged skirt. A dark stain on the skirt indicated blood, or some other liquid. "What have you brought us, Spiky?" she asked. "Another little liar for the pyre?"

    "Is she a liar?" Spike asked.

    Drusilla looked up at him, her long neck twisted like a serpent. "What makes you curiouser and curiouser, my pet? You bring home a tangle of a twisted sister, and go asking me what I think of her?"

    "She followed me home," Spike said, sounding annoyed. "Or she tried to. She claims she knows me."

    "My sweet man's fame has spread to all corners," Drusilla said with a vicious smile. She reached up to pet him. Spike fell into her touch, and angled his body closer to her. Buffy tried to sit up. "And what does the false spirit want with him?" Drusilla asked, shifting her attention to Buffy.

    Spike's anger had pretty much dissipated at Dru's touch. He slid himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder. "Damned if I know. I thought she might be a whore, then I thought she might be a thief – though why she thought to steal from me, of all blokes on the street, I couldn't figure. When I caught her she knew my name, and eventually told me to take her to you – which means she knew you, too."

    "She doesn't know me," Drusilla said flatly. "She doesn't know the right music." She started to sway sensuously against Spike, who indulged her, nuzzling her throat.

    "Do you know what she wants, love?" Spike asked, his voice seductive. He opened his mouth and gently nibbled at Dru's neck.

    "She wants your blood," Dru said.

    Spike's expression changed to indulgent contempt. "Is that all. Just another vamp wannabe."

    "No," Buffy said then. "I don't want to be turned."

    That stopped both of them, and they looked at her, identical looks of surprise on their faces. "All right, Dru," Spike said, with a touch of exasperation. "You want to look at her properly now?"

    Dru stepped away from Spike and came up to Buffy. Buffy closed her eyes. She was unsure of Drusilla's powers – she knew Dru could see the future sometimes, and she didn't want Dru seeing who or what she really was. "I can't see her," Dru said then, and Buffy sagged with relief. "I see lines of pretty powder, and sharp needles dripping with sweet blood, and an empty bed and tears, but it's only a shield. She's behind there somewhere." Dru held her hands up flat, the fingers spread, and tried to see through them. She had her hands climb each other like a Jacob's ladder, tilting her head back and forth to peer at Buffy through her fingers. She reached forward, her fingers pointed at Buffy's eyes. Buffy started to feel sleepy. Her lids sank, and her ears buzzed, and her vision started to go grey. Then Drusilla pulled back abruptly, and Buffy shook off whatever spell she'd been trying. "She'll only go away if I play it that way. There's not enough inside to hold onto if I try to push her out." She reached out again and picked Buffy up by the throat. "She's a shattered mirror. I don't like broken things. Not unless I break them." Her face went dark, and she glanced at Spike with yellow vampire eyes. "Can I have her, sweet?"

    Spike shrugged. "If you like."

    "What? No!" Buffy tried to struggle. "Spike!" she called out. "Spike, I came to you!"

    "Your mistake," Spike said darkly.

    Buffy kicked out at Dru, with no slayer strength, but she wasn't about to just lie down and die, either. "Spike, please!" Spike glanced at her, drawn by his name or her pleading, but he didn't seem inclined to stop what was about to happen.

    "Drusilla?"

    It was a masculine voice that had interrupted. Every eye turned to the door Drusilla had come through earlier.

    "Mistress? You promised." He swallowed. "You promised you'd take me out." Buffy was disgusted by what stood in the door. A rather handsome young man with his shirt off leaned against the door frame. He had hair like a member of the Partridge Family, but it was mussed and sweaty. His skin was sallow and his eyes hollow with what Buffy supposed was blood loss. A still shiny wound was visible on his neck, dripping trickles of blood down his sweaty chest.

    Spike's eyes narrowed. "Oh. You're taking this one out are you?" he asked. He glared at Dru, who was still holding Buffy up by the throat. The distraction had not proved a rescue. Buffy was about to be throttled without Dru even knowing what she was doing. "What's he asked for? The ballet?"

    "Candyfloss," Drusilla said. "I promised him candyfloss, and a child with it."

    "It's late," the man said. "If we don't hurry..."

    "All the little children will have gone to bed," Dru said sadly.

    "Well, if you'd gone out earlier," Spike said pointedly, "rather than going to bed yourselves, you wouldn't have to worry about being late, would you." He was stiff with anger. He glanced over at Buffy and Dru. "Don't waste veal, love," he said. "One of us should have her."

    Buffy's whole world was red now, from the vice grip on her throat, and all was slowly going dark. Dru set Buffy down as if she'd forgotten about her, and Buffy collapsed to the floor, gasping and coughing. Dru went to the blooded man and licked sensuously at his chest.

    Spike looked away.

    Dru seemed to notice. "Don't be jealous of my dollies, pretty Spike," Dru said, without taking her hands off her human lover. "You know they're only toys."

    Spike's hand was clenched. "Of course," he said through his teeth. He nodded over at Buffy. "And what if I kept this one?"

    "Pretty kitties play better together," Dru said with a delighted grin. She looked over at the slowly dying man, who was clearly just as insane as Dru was. "Would you like another little kitty to play with during the day?"

    "Whatever you wish of me, mistress," the man said.

    "Oh, I know," Drusilla said. "You prefer the child in them. But her mouth looks sweet as cinnamon candy, doesn't it?" She smiled and kissed him, and Spike swallowed, as if he was about to be sick. She looked over at Spike. "We'll be back by the sun," she said.

    "Have fun," Spike said, his face hard as Buffy had ever seen it.

    They went back out through the door Buffy had come in through, leaving her and Spike alone. Well, alone save for the handful of clear minions nesting in the outer chamber. Buffy wondered how their appearance would rate in the outside world, but she figured a half dressed blooded victim and a mad vampire still reeking of sex would probably make any child run screaming for their parents, so she wasn't about to comment. She coughed, and scrambled backward away from Spike, toward the wall.

    "Shut the fuck up," Spike said. Buffy hadn't said anything at all.

    Spike strode over to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of rot-gut whiskey, which he poured into a veritable tumbler. Buffy stayed as still as she could, out of his way, as he threw himself into a chair and set about, as far as she could see, getting himself drunk.

    When he was halfway through his second tumbler he glanced at her. "You got a name, pet?" he asked, his voice not quite as hard as it had been fifteen minutes before.

    "Bu – Sarah." She corrected herself before she'd gotten the first syllable out. "I'm called Sarah."

    "Well. Sarah," he said. "You have two choices. I'm gonna kill you. No choice there. If you're going to stalk vampires in the dead of night, there are consequences for that. But I can kill you tonight. Or I can kill you later. Don't answer yet," he added darkly. "You want me to kill you tonight, you just sit there quiet till I'm done with my drink, and I'm ready for a meal. If you want me to kill you later," he gestured with his chin at a sofa on the wall, "you unfold the bed out of that sofa and expect what I'm going to do to you on it."

    Ugh. Charming. It was one of the worst things she'd ever heard, and hearing it in his voice was revolting. And you love this guy? a voice in her head asked. She didn’t at the moment. At the moment, she felt like she wanted to kill him. She had never wanted to kill him so badly, not when she'd first met him, not when he'd nearly killed Xander or Willow, not even the time she'd actually managed to stake him. "Quite the come on," she snapped. "I know you can do better than that. You're not mad at me. You're mad at her. Why take it out on me?"

    "If you sit there prattling at me, I'm going to kill you badly," he pointed out.

    "You'll kill me, any way you like, no matter what I do," Buffy said. "That's what you do. So I might as well say what I want."

    Spike tilted his head at her, still annoyed, but a slight amusement tickled in the corner of his eyebrow. She was glad she knew his face so well. She was getting to him, at least a little. "What do you want?" he asked. "What the hell are you after?"

    Buffy decided to just be honest about it. "Drusilla was right," she said. "I want a cup of your blood."

    Spike's eyebrows raised. "You want a cup of my blood," he said, incredulous.

    "Yes."

    "To do what with?"

    Buffy swallowed.

    "Well? You don't want to be turned, what do you bloody want it for?"

    "A spell," she said.

    "A spell." He looked like he was about to laugh. "And you think I'm just going to slice myself open and pour it out for you, so that you can cast spells on me? You really think that."

    "The spell's for me," Buffy said.

    "Ah. And what's it gonna do for you?"

    "Does that matter?"

    "Probably."

    Buffy tried to figure out a way to answer without giving herself completely away. "If I can cast this spell," she said, "I'll be what I'm supposed to be."

    "And what's that?"

    "Just me," she said. "Dru called me a shattered mirror. She's right."

    Spike narrowed his eyes at her. "And why come to me?"

    “Because you can help.”

    “Well, maybe I can, but it’s obvious one of us isn’t playing with a full sack, here. I’m a vampire. What the hell makes you think I would?”

    Buffy longed to tell him the truth, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t trust Crowley, but he probably wasn’t wrong: Buffy probably could alter the future in ways she wouldn’t like. Spike – or rather Angel – had been involved in a time-fracture once before, and Spike had actually been killed by a murderous Illyria, and saved in a different time twist. Time could be altered. And Spike’s timeline was fragile. The sacrifice that he had made to achieve his soul, the forgiveness between both him and Buffy, the acceptance that had blessed his redemption had been powerful stuff. Forgiveness, redemption, repentance, sacrifice, and love, all of those had been potent weapons against the First Evil. It was all of that stuff swimming around in his soul which had defeated it – not just the shiny jewelry. The First had known Spike could hurt it – that was why it had targeted him so fiercely. If Buffy got back by taking short cuts on his redemptive journey, she might get back to a demonic hellscape run by Evil itself. Her life wasn’t worth the world.

    Which meant she couldn’t just tell him the truth. Her only choice was to keep him off-balance long enough to get to him. Either get him to treat her like a real pet – if only a pet pig – that he’d be willing to placate by helping her, or distract him enough so that she could steal the blood in some way. And she planned not to lie, if she could help it. He’d always been able to see through her lies, and a blatant lie might anger him. And Spike was impulsive when angry. An impulse to kill was always lurking in his hands. So. Why would he help? “Because you might want to.”

    He looked exasperated. “Why would I want to?”

    Buffy stared at him. “Because you can.”

    “You’re spinning in circles, now, pet. It’s my job to chase your tail.” Buffy didn't answer. "You claim you know me. How?"

    "I just do," Buffy said.

    "Not a good enough answer, sweetheart."

    "Why not?" Buffy asked. "You accept Drusilla’s weird visions. Who's to say I don't just know you, the same way she knows things?"

    Spike regarded her for a moment. Mentioning Drusilla in regards to the uncanny seemed to have been a reasonable key. "Well, you've got me curious. This is a new one. If all you want's a cup of vampire blood, this might be interesting to watch." He gestured with his chin at the apartment door. "Tell one of the gang to come in."

    "Not theirs," Buffy said. "It has to be yours."

    Spike did laugh then. "I'm not that dim, sweetheart," he said. "Answer's no. I guess all that's left now is to kill you."

    "I understand," Buffy said evenly, without any fear in her voice. "And what if I asked you to kill me later?"

    His eyes narrowed, and his tone turned dark. "I told you what that entails."

    "And maybe I'm okay with that," Buffy said coldly.

    Spike glanced up and down her form. "You don't look like it."

    "Yeah, well, I'm ticked off," Buffy said. "But I don't need you to answer yes or no now. I need you to know what I want. And maybe... if you come to trust me enough... you'll let me have it."

    "I don't trust anyone but the Big Bad," Spike said. "And that's me." He looked her over again. "Certainly never going to trust a little slut like you."

    "You don't need to insult me," Buffy said. "I've just agreed to be your willing pet, for as long as you'll keep me alive."

    Spike’s head cocked again. It was the first time either of them had outright said it, and it was Buffy who had used his specific word. Not doll, not slave. Pet. "How willing?" he asked. He drained his glass and set it on the table beside his chair. He stood up and came to her. "Are you really so willing?"

    Buffy took a deep breath. She swallowed her anger and her revulsion and tried to remember that this was Spike. This was the man who would one day risk his life for her. Who would nearly die for her sister. Who would go to the end of the underworld and back to prove himself worthy of her. This was the great champion who would perform the ultimate sacrifice to defeat the First Evil and save the entire world. She remembered Spike as he had looked at the hellmouth, amazed, resolute, so powerful and so deep, his soul shining in his eyes, through his body, burning through their clasped hands. She remembered him the last night they were together. So loving, so seductive, so generous. Right now he was angry, and hurt, and young. In comparison to the soulful man she loved he was a wounded, abused, teenage boy, scorned by his lover, and taking it out on whomever was at hand.

    She suddenly wanted to hold him.

    She could see the change in her own countenance by the confused twitch in Spike's eyebrows as her anger died. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders, letting him feel the heat of her palms through the black t-shirt. She knew he loved the heat of her – she may not be a slayer in this form, but she was still human. Slowly, she tilted her head, revealing her throat. She kept her eyes locked on his, and pushed up closer to him. "Yes," she whispered.

    His eyes went from blue to yellow as he gazed at her. He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her steady, not seductively. Then he struck – not quickly, but not romantically, either. It was almost clinical, as if he were testing her, unsure whether she was telling the truth. She knew a second later that he was testing her, as he gave nothing back. It hurt, and it kept hurting, and she felt no relaxation or sleepy euphoria, no desire to stay near him. He fed from her, and that was it.

    She knew what he was doing, and she knew why. Spike’s level of contempt for “suckers” was enormous. When he’d gotten the chip in his head, keeping him from killing, he’d come crawling to Buffy, starving and weak, a ragged blanket between him and dustville, rather than demean himself by sinking to their level. It would have been a reasonable decision – sell his venom hit for money, get human blood and cash, when he could no longer take what he needed from his victims. But not Spike. He only took blood on his own terms. He was never going to allow himself to be treated as that kind of whore. Whatever this ‘pet’ relationship was, it was never going to be anything akin to that.

    Buffy clenched her fists and just endured the pain, knowing he needed to hurt her now. He needed to inflict pain, to transfer the pain he felt in his heart as Drusilla ran off with her perverted human lover, leaving him alone. The closeness of him was uncomfortable as well, her body's knowledge that he was the source of the pain she felt. She had to fight herself not to struggle, or push him away. The pain was well on its way from endurable to excruciating when he finally released her. She gasped with it and let herself fall to her knees. He hadn't been at it very long, but she never had any idea how much he had taken. That knowledge was only ever his. She put pressure on the wound – a wide and violent bite, with much more tissue damage than he'd ever inflicted on her as Buffy. She looked up at him from the floor, trying not to allow any accusation in her eyes. "Do you have a bandage?" she asked evenly.

    "In the loo," he said, his voice monotone. He gestured with his head at another door. "Get it yourself."

    Buffy nodded. She climbed carefully to her feet and headed toward the bathroom. She was shaking. Damn Sarah’s pitiful body.

    The bathroom had only a narrow window, too small for any human being to sneak through, and she knew the windows in the main apartment had wire grate over them. With the minion gang squatting in the corridor, Buffy knew she was effectively trapped in Spike's apartment. She hadn't planned on running away, but knowing how to would have been nice. Spike she knew she could handle. Drusilla... she was too unpredictable.

     Buffy held pressure to her wound until the bleeding stopped, and then cleaned it carefully. She stole a little of Spike's peroxide to treat it, hissing as she touched it. She found bandages in the medicine chest, and dressed the bite properly. She washed her hands and gazed at herself in the mirror. Sarah's dark hair and cupid mouth looked back at her. She didn't know how she was going to handle Spike looking like this. Still, he seemed to find her attractive enough. She knew it wasn't just her body he had loved, anyway. She had to try and figure out the best way of kindling that fondness in him, without giving too much away, or ruining the progression of their own timeline when she returned.

    Or, she could just bash him over the head and try and steal the blood. But she didn't think that opportunity was likely to present itself. Not with Spike the way he was now.

    Spike glanced at her bandage as she returned to the main room. "I'll take that off when I want to," he said.

    "I know."

    "You'll be chained in the closet while I'm sleeping."

    Buffy hesitated. "Fair enough," she said. He didn't know her. He had no reason to trust her. And she had just been contemplating bashing him over the head, so he had a fair point. She looked at him. "On the floor, or forced to stand?"

    "If you're sweet, you get a pillow," he said, almost flirtatious.

    "Thanks."

    "You're the first pet ever bothered to ask that."

    "It's important."

    "Yeah," Spike said. "Funny how the thought occurred to you, though."

    "I've seen a lot of things in my time," Buffy said. She looked at him very seriously. "And I know full well what you're capable of."

    Spike looked flattered.