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.