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.