Over the next several days, Riley seemed to turn into the perfect husband – at least on the surface. Buffy could not remember the last time he had treated her with such affection and concern. He was attentive to her every need, eager to please her, for the first time in months.

The day after the incident in the dining room, he came home early from work, greeting her with a tender kiss and a gorgeous bouquet, with a beautiful card attached.

It read, “Buffy – the best thing in my life. I love you, and I can’t live without you. Please give me the chance to show you. All my love, Riley.”

It was just the sort of simple, straight forward sentiment that appealed to her, and Buffy allowed herself to begin to hope that maybe he really was sincere – maybe he was actually going to make an effort to change. For the next few weeks, he did not go down to the basement to visit his slaves at all, and actually stayed the entire night in their bed. He even came home from work earlier than usual, every day.

And he let the issue with Spike go – at least for the moment. He did not say a word about it to Buffy again. Whenever he and Spike were in the same room, he pretty much ignored the vampire, focusing instead, for once, on his neglected wife. He did not press Buffy to be harder on her slave, and he ignored the hate-filled glances the vampire cast his way when Buffy was not looking.

Spike found it just barely possible to restrain himself from attacking Riley, on the occasions when he was forced to be in the same room with him – which were much more numerous, now that Riley had determined to be such a dutiful husband. He wanted nothing more than to rip the man’s throat out, and cursed the chip which prevented it.

He was, of course, a man – more or less – and it was clear to him, if not to Buffy, that Riley was just doing what he thought he had to do to get back into her good graces. Once he felt that he had earned her forgiveness, Spike knew that Riley would revert to his same old careless treatment of the precious treasure he did not deserve to possess.

He half expected Riley to try to find some time in which Spike was not with Buffy to continue the “conversation” they had left unfinished in the dining room. He did not miss the anger that was still present in the larger man’s ice blue eyes, every time he happened to look at him, and he knew that if he wanted to subject Riley to a bloody, agonizing death – Riley certainly returned the sentiment.

But apparently, Riley was determined to hold up the charade in its entirety, and knew that if he hurt Spike too badly, Buffy would soon know about it, and would definitely not be pleased…and he would be right back where he had started with her.

Buffy was rather distant with Spike after the incident in his bedroom. They were almost constantly together, but she would not really let herself slip back into the casual comfort they had achieved that first afternoon. She was probably afraid that if she did, it would lead to more of what had happened that night.

Spike did not think that would be such a bad thing.

That intense, wonderful, intoxicating kiss had left him thrilled and disappointed and terrified and hopeful and…well, just confused about *what* exactly he was feeling.

He reminded himself that Buffy would not have kissed him at all if she had not been in so much emotional turmoil and pain from Riley’s abuse. She had been vulnerable and needy and had turned to the only source of comfort, quite literally, at her command.

And then, when she had called a sudden halt to the whole thing, it was clear in her expression, her demeanor, just what a terrible mistake she saw the whole thing as. Her horror and fear afterwards had been more painful to Spike than any blow she had dealt him since he had been here.

And the worst part of it all was that in the single moment of that breathtaking kiss…he had fallen in love.

At first, he had tried to talk to her about what had happened – cautiously, tentatively, not wanting to provoke her anger again. Each time, she had sharply, quickly shut him down, reminding him of her order not to mention the incident again. She seemed to want nothing more than to continue her reconciliation with her husband, and for her relationship with her slave to go back to just that – a mistress and slave relationship.

When he realized that, he found himself obeying her every command quickly and willingly, and even trying to anticipate her needs and desires before she asked him, desperate to please her in the only small ways that she would allow him to. If he saw something to do that he knew she would like, he would often do it without even being asked, just because he wanted so badly to make her happy.

If he had wanted her, been attracted to her, before he knew what it was like to actually hold her in his arms, to touch her, taste her…now that he had experienced that tiny, tantalizing piece of what he had wanted for so long, only to have it ripped suddenly away – he was utterly enthralled with her.

He caught himself watching her in quiet moments, and many times had to quickly look away to keep her from seeing the hunger he held for her in his eyes. Openly, however, he maintained the respectful distance that Buffy seemed to want now…simply because she wanted it.

He had become enslaved to her in more ways than one.


Buffy should have been happy. She should have been thrilled at the turn that her marriage seemed to be taking, she thought with frustration, as she got dressed one morning several weeks later. Riley had become more like the boy she had first met so many years ago, affectionate and sweet with her, going out of his way to do little things to please her. For months now she had longed for just that.

So why wasn’t she happy?

As she prepared to leave the room, her eyes fell on the picture on her dresser, the one that had led to so much drama in this very room, a few weeks back. She stopped, picking it up in her hands, remembering the conversation she had had with Spike about calling her friends. She had known then that he was right.

She still had not done it.

She frowned, troubled by the memory of the genuine concern Spike had shown for her… and other memories, as well. She had not failed to notice how anxious Spike was to please her lately, how attentive he was to her every need. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, in the instant before he averted his gaze.

He wanted her.

But what was more troubling than the looks he gave her, the unconscious tenderness he showed to her in every little movement, was her reaction to it. In those instants when she caught him staring at her with that smoldering desire in her eyes, she was only lucky that he turned quickly away – too quickly for him to see the need those looks awakened in her own.

She wanted him, too.

*You’re insane, Buffy,* she told herself. *Just now…when Riley is finally starting to care again…when your marriage is on its way back to what it should be…*now* you decide to develop feelings for someone else? Someone else who happens to be a vampire and your slave?*

Over and over, though she tried to keep the images out of her mind, she remembered that one fleeting kiss that they had shared, that one moment in his bedroom in which she had found the comfort and tenderness that she craved so desperately – if only for a moment. The memory sent a shudder down her spine.

It was not an entirely bad shudder.

*Yes! Yes it is bad!* she reprimanded herself sternly – and a little desperately. *Very, very bad Buffy! Stop thinking about Spike! Think about anything but Spike and those looks he gives you and the feel of his skin and those eyes that I could get lost in and…*

“Oh, God,” Buffy moaned softly, sitting down on the edge of her bed, the picture still in her hands but turned over and all but forgotten for the moment. *I am in so much trouble,* she realized.

She had been so confused and lost and lonely to begin with, and a part of her told her that that was the cause of these new, more confusing thoughts and feelings. But thinking about Spike and everything that had gone on between them since she had made that fateful decision to bring him here just made her feel more and more confused. She didn’t understand it, and she just couldn’t seem to make sense of it, no matter how hard she tried.

She needed someone to talk to.

Neither of the two people with whom she spent most of her time was an actual option to be a sounding board for this particular worry.

*I need Willow,* she realized suddenly, with a fresh wave of sorrow washing over her at the thought of her best friend, who had always been so supportive and understanding with her, even when she was making bad decisions and doing stupid things – who would tell her what she thought honestly while still being kind and compassionate toward her situation.

*Yep,* she thought, frowning down at the picture as she turned it face up again in her lap and stared at it pensively. *I definitely need Willow.*

She rose from her bed with a new determination, reaching for the phone on her nightstand. She needed to do this right away, before she lost her nerve, and she had no need to find the phone number.

She still knew it by heart.


At that moment, Spike was just leaving his own bedroom, and heading down the hall, preparing to begin another day of service to his mistress. He rounded the corner to the stairs…and was stopped short by Velvet, who was just coming *down* the stairs at the exact same moment.

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he pointedly stepped past her onto the first step. He had managed to go several weeks without having to see the girl, a feat that was easier than he had thought it would be due to the immense size of the house and their various duties to their owners.

It appeared his luck ran out here.

“So I see it’s started.” Her soft yet smug voice stopped him on the first stair.

He slowly turned to face her, his eyes narrowed in anger, but a cold smile on his lips. He took a deep breath and let it slowly out, before looking at her and asking in a patient tone, “What’s started, pet?”

“What we talked about,” she replied, her own lips turning up in a smirk as she stepped toward him. “I promise, I should have made a bet on that prediction,” she shook her head in mock regret, still smiling. “I am *so* good.”

“Perhaps there’s a flaw in my logic somewhere, love,” he remarked sarcastically. “But I’m still not following you.”

“I knew it’d only be a matter of time before Mistress Finn couldn’t control herself.” Velvet’s smile grew harder, her eyes cruelly triumphant as she moved yet closer to him. “I knew sooner or later, she’d have to *take* what she could get from her slave, since she’s not getting any from her husband!”

Unthinking, Spike drew back his hand to slap her, infuriated by her words. She stared at him boldly, absolutely unafraid, and did not flinch or move an inch. He remembered at the last moment her threat from the last time he had almost become violent with her, and stopped himself.

The next moment, she gave voice to his thoughts as she pointed out, “I don’t think you need to give the master any more reason to hate you, Spike. Do you?”

He swallowed back his anger, fighting for control as he glared at her and said nothing.

“I mean – he already has it in for you. In a very bad way,” she smirked, and he could tell by the look on her face that she was not just guessing. Finn must have said something to the girl. Velvet’s expression became thoughtful and she looked away for a moment with a tiny shrug before meeting his eyes again. “I wonder what he’d think if he knew.”

In spite of himself a little chill of fear went down his spine at the thought of what Finn would do if he found out about that kiss, not only to him – but to Buffy. And whatever he would do, Spike would be powerless to stop him.

“But I was right,” she smiled as she drew the conversation back to the original topic. “Guess you’ll find out what it’s like to be a whore after all.” There was a bitter triumph to her voice that let him know that she had not forgotten his cruel words the day they had met.

He did not regret them.

“It’s not like that,” he objected quickly. “I – I *wanted*…”

“Yeah,” Velvet interrupted him with a sneer. “You *wanted* it.” Her cold eyes shone with malice as she spoke again softly before turning away.

“But would it have mattered if you didn’t?”