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.”