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!”