Remember Me

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Chapter 5

When I wake up, I have the distinct impression I've been dreaming about Angel all day. Not Angel's body: sprawled on the bed, sated from my body - the thought I fell asleep to - but thoughts of Angel walking with me, talking with me, just being with me. I feel a sense of melancholy and missed opportunity. But not enough to distract from a total, blinding…hunger! I'm hungry! Ravenous! It's like coming back to life…I haven't felt hungry since, since…oh yeah! Since I was the old Spike.

I absolutely have to feed. But I've an even more pressing need. I just have to know what Angel's sent me in the post!

Hey! I'm a hundred and twenty seven years old, and I've never, ever, been sent post before! It's exciting. Post first: blood second.

The Watcher is cooking his tea when I arrive and I hesitate on the doorstep. I feel like something a dog produces that keeps getting traipsed into the house. But his reaction surprises me.

'Spike! Come in. Hungry? Angel said you might drop by to collect this…' and he throws a small parcel at me…'so I got some supplies in for you. Cup of tea to go with it?' He passes me a mug of warm blood and a cup of tea. I feel as if I'd stepped into a film, but I've forgotten my lines. I think he senses my confusion.

'Err, Spike. It was a good thing you did yesterday…yes, I know, you are still evil. I know you don't like being called…good, but nevertheless, it was a good thing you did. You could have…well, enough said. What's in your parcel then?'

I don't want to open it in front of him. Just in case Angel decides this was a good time to acquire a sense of humour. I slip it into my pocket mumbling something about leaving stuff in LA.

It's weird. I am sitting at the Watcher's table, drinking tea and…talking. He's asking my advice about some demon research he's doing. He keeps casting sideways glances at me though, and I feel he's working up to say something.

'Spike, I have something to tell you, which might come as a bit of a shock to you…'

'Giles!'

Shit, we both jump as the Slayer, Harris and…oh, do I recognize him? He looks awfully familiar and not in the nice sense of that!

'Giles! Professor Walsh is dead! And Riley has something he needs to tell us…about the Initiative. He was going through her stuff, for shipping, and he found some files. He thinks he knows why they were chipping the demons.'

'Buffy, slow down. Sit down, all of you. Tea?'

'Hostile 17! Err…it's Hostile 17! Buffy, what is Hostile 17 doing here?'

'That's, Spike. He's not hostile and he's not a number. He's our…he's been helping us.'

'You know a Vampire?'

'Only in the biblical sense, Pet.'

Oh God. He didn't even get it. Duh! Brain not in proportion to those muscles I' m thinking. He looks at me as if he could…fuck, do I know him? That look, looks more than familiar. I feel disorientated as if I'm slipping away again, as if I'm not quite…real. Why should a big oaf like this make me feel so…strange?

Hey, what the fuck, I'm full of blood and tea and I've got a nice little pressie to investigate. Time for old Spike to make a quick exit…yep, pretty good evening so far.

Fuck the Initiative, fuck files and important information, fuck all professors, especially fuck military oafs: I've got post!

I can't even wait till I get back to the crypt! I stop in the park on the way back and find a nice secluded spot under a tree.

The writing is almost unfamiliar. Angelus' without the hint of psycho maybe. But it's still done with a nice pen, and proper ink. Angel likes the finer things of life too. There almost seems to be the slightest hesitation in the 'S', of my name. Did he wonder what to put? What name to use? He's written, c/o, in full – 'care of' – it looks funny.

Spike

Care of, Mr. R Giles

Makes me smile. What an odd imagery it conjures up. Wonder what the Watcher had to tell me?

The paper is tightly bound with tape. Typical, Angel. I can picture him, in the semi-dark, methodically going round and round this little parcel, till nothing could escape it.

Nothing can get into it either. Fuck. I can't make an inroad anywhere. I cast a quick glance around – deserted – slip into game face, use fangs, back to human. Useful being a Vampire sometimes. There's another, small, wrapped parcel inside, but a note falls into my hand, it’s rolled up and contained in a ring. The note is in Angel's elegant hand, the ring, is the ring from his own finger.

Spike,

I’m so sorry now that I destroyed your ring. It would have kept you safe for me. This one is no compensation I know, but I thought you might like it.

Before you open the enclosed: firstly, one is only a loan, so don't let your pride get ruffled. Don't be hungry: don't be cold. The second is fully pre-paid. Use it. Please.

Angel

Hum. No way am I going to wear any poofy ring from Angel. It’ll be too big anyway. I try it on. Far too loose. I put it on my thumb, better. Well I’ll just leave it there while I open me other parcel. Just to keep the poofy thing out of the way.

I rip open the inner parcel. Ten, one hundred dollar notes and…bugger me!…a mobile phone!

I guess your first ever present, kind of has to be your best ever. But even if a thousand presents had gone before, this would still be the best. I think I'm grinning from ear to ear, but that would be embarrassing, so I can't be. I press the memory key…and yeah…he's programmed in his number.

'Spike.'

'Thanks, Mate.'

'Are you alone this time?'

'Oh yeah. Just me and a few squirrels!'

'So, how are you. Really?'

'Surprisingly, I'm okay. Been busy. No time to brood.'

'Giles told me about the baby. What you did. It was a good…'

'Yeah, so everyone keeps telling me.'

'Don't sell yourself short, Spike.'

'Never! You know me…me rates are exorbitant!'

'Hum…so…when are you coming back?'

'I've only been gone one day!'

'Seems longer.'

'Yeah.'

‘Are you wearing it?’

‘Nah, too poofy. Like you.’

‘Does it fit?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. I miss it, makes me think of you when I see it gone. What are you doing now?'

'Talking to you.'

'Funny…I mean…'

'I know what you mean, Angel. I'm probably doing what you're doing…wanker!'

'Oh. Tell me about it then?'

'Ohhh! So that’s what this little pressie is for then, is it? So we can have...interesting phone conversations! You’d like that, would you? Shall I describe exactly what I'm doing? Like to hear my zipper going down like…this, would you?'

'Ummm…'

'How about the sound of rustling as I get my cock out like…this? Good? Shall I tell you how it feels? You've never really felt it, have you, Angel? You used to watch it though didn't you? I watched you, watching me. You know I did. I used to play with it for you: did you know that? Used to drive Dru wild, she thought I was doing it for her. But we knew different, didn't we Luv? Do you remember how the tip of your tongue would slip out between your lips as if you could catch these little drops on the end? Do you remember, Angelus? I would watch your tongue, tasting it with you. Are you playing with yourself now? Do you wish it were my hand, stroking you? Are you speeding up now, like me? Do you feel it coming…that, rush…that, ache…that, fuck, fuck…Angel…I'm gonna cum…come with me, Luv…oh…'



'Angel…you there?'

'Err, no. I think I'm there: with you!'

'Did you…?'

'Oh yes.'

'Huh! I'm good.'

'You're bad!'

'Oh, yeah. So…what you doing now, Pet?'

'Talking to you.'

'Funny.'

'Look, this is ridiculous, Spike. Why don't you just come back? Please. That was fun…but, damn it, Spike, I've got one hundred years of fantasies concerning you I want to act out. I'm not doing it over the phone!'

'Oh. A few more days. Maybe. It's weird, Angel, but I really do feel…more myself now. Hey! Giles even offered me some tea this evening.'

'Hum…well, will you use this…to phone me: lots. I'm pretty busy here, but I'd NEVER be too busy to talk to you. I mean it. Only…if I'm in the office, stick to just talking, okay.'

'Coward.'

'All right then, a few more days. But I really do miss you and like I said last night, I really do…want you.'

'So what are you doing now then…'



I think I should have sent the charger with the phone. At this rate he'll need to charge it after every call.

I came three times. Three times to the sound of his voice: husky; seductive; miles away through the cold, dark night.

I told him I missed him. I didn't tell him how much. It's not fair. If he feels he needs this 'space', then bringing him back here before he's ready would be disastrous.

I wonder sometimes, when and how he got to be so smart. Because I know he's right about all of this. There would have been no place for him here. What on earth was I thinking, wanting him to stay? He's not a lapdog, he's not a toy-boy, or, as he so aptly put it, a fuck-toy. He's a wild, free, independent-spirited demon. We'd have ended up killing each other.

So I have to give him the time to adapt and change. I had eighty years to learn to cope with a soul, I've only given him one day so far. But the phone was an inspired thought. I feel connected to him now. Whenever I want to talk to him, I can.

'Hi.'

'Hi, Mate. It's been…fifty minutes. Feeling neglected again?'

'What are you doing…and don’t say, talking to me!'

'Okay, I'm going to bed…with a book.'

'You jest!'

'Duh!'

'Oh. So what are you going to buy? With the money?'

'A book?'

'Spike…be serious, I don't want you living in squalor.'

'Well, I might get a TV. And a fridge.'

'You have power?'

'Err…tapped into, yeah.'

'Huh! What else?'

'Dunno…what are you doing now?'

'I'm undressing…for bed.'

'Oh. What are you wearing in bed?'

'Just a smile!'

'Oh, Jesus, Angel! Corny.'

'Sorry, I try!'

'So…why don't you tell, me, this time…what you're doing.'

'I'm not very good at this, Spike.'

'Practice then!'

''Well, err…I'm lying on my stomach, and I'm…err…I can't do this, Spike. It's embarrassing!'

'Shall I help you out a bit…you're lying on your stomach cus you're very hard and you don’t want me to see…remember? I was sitting in an armchair, watching Dru and Darla dancing. You were supposed to be watching them too…but you were watching me. And you got hard, so you turned over on your stomach and put your chin on your folded arms and stared at me. Remember?'

'Yes, you were naked too and your cock was huge, swollen. I remember. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I started rubbing myself on the bed and when I did, you smiled, even though you didn't seem to be looking at me. I was desperate to touch myself; I wanted to put my mouth on your cock to taste you. I ordered the women to come to bed, I knew you would come too…'

'But I didn't, did I?'

'No…you little git…you didn't! You stayed there and put on a show for me. And I watched you over their shoulders as I entered them. I watched you over their bellies as I sucked them. When I probed with my tongue, it was your slickness I was tasting…God, Will…I'm going to cum…I can picture your face, that bloody grin, like a devil in the candlelight. I'm coming in her, but it's not…it's you and you're so hot and tight and..uhh…Spike!'

'Fuck, Mate…I'm…you're in me…ahh!'



Right. I'm sending the charger tomorrow. For hours I have the tiny phone in my hand. I look at it: play with it. I can't believe his voice is only one press of a button away.

'You asleep yet?'

'Nah.'

'What you thinking about? Me?'

'Nah, Giles actually.'

'Err…why?'

'He said he had something to tell me…something shocking. He didn't finish. I was wondering what it was.'

'Maybe he's about to declare unrequited love. Now you are all…'

'Harmless?'

'I was going to say, irresistible.'

'Oh. You are joking about the Watcher though, aren't you, Angel…I mean…'

'Oh yeah.'

'Phew.'

'Still, he did offer you tea. Isn't that an Englishman's prelude to sex?'

'It's not funny, Angel. Anyway, he's human. I thought they only went one way…I mean what about the bitch he chucked me out for?'

'Maybe it's you. Maybe you've converted him. Maybe it was seeing you with the baby…he seemed very impressed by you when I spoke to him.'

'Stop fucking laughing, Mate. I thought he was going to tell me something about this sodding chip. He said it would be a shock. What else could it be…I thought he might have found a way to get it out…that's what I've been thinking about.'

'Oh. And what have you...thought?'

'Not sure yet, I keep getting interrupted by a horny, insatiable demon who keeps ringing me.'

'Oh.'

'Pillock.'

'What…I haven't said anything.'

'Yes you have. Remember, Angel, I know everything about you. I can hear it in your voice. Oh he won't love me anymore…oh he won't want me anymore. He'll despise me again…blah…blah…blah.'

'You love me?'

'Angel. My chip please! Concentrate! We're talking about my chip…removal of.'

'What do you want to do? Do you want to go back to being able to feed? Do you want to kill them all?'

'Well, Harris aside, that's what I've been puzzling over. Cus, no. I don't think I do. Weird hey?'

'No, not really, Spike. It happens. You've had time to get to know them.'

'Oh, God. My head hurts with all this.'

'Wish I was there.'

'Oh yeah? What would you do?'

'Oh, I think I'd take your head in my lap and rub your temples a bit?'

'Umm, nice.'

'Then I'd bend over you and…Spike? Spike?'

Oh…damn. He got cut off. I am so tempted just to get in the car and drive to Sunnydale. I could be there in two hours. I'm half off the bed before I realise the stupidity of it. What would we do? Besides have sex that is. We'd still be where we are now. Nothing solved. Nothing long-term. And we've come so far in only five days. Five days ago he wasn't even speaking to me. Now we're having phone sex. Every ten minutes. Until his batteries went dead that is.

I think living with Spike: having him long-term, is going to be...interesting. And I don’t want to do anything to ruin my chance of that now. So, where is that charger? Must get it wrapped up securely.



Having had most of my beauty sleep disturbed by the randy demon from LA, I don't wake up till late afternoon. I finish off the blood I brought back from the Watcher's and get ready to head out for my shopping spree. I wonder how far one thousand dollars will go. I'd love a computer. Ideal for Vampires that can't go out during the day. Jesus, I could shop all day and surf porn: what a life! But if it's a toss up between that and a TV…hum…need a fridge too. Shit. It's fucking pathetic to have to need money. Unlife was so much easier in the old days – nothing worth having then! Now! Shit, it's a material world and I am just a material Vamp. People should just…give me stuff. This is so unfair.

'Oh bloody hell…what do you want? Don't you people ever knock. This is my home, Mate.'

'Suits you deadboy…it's dark, smells and…oh yeah…it's for dead people.'

'To what do I owe this displeasure, Harris?'

'Giles is calling a conference. It's important.'

'So?'

'So, you're invited.'

'Fuck off. Not interested.'

'Oh yes you are…I can see it! Come on, we need you.'

'Oh, why?'

'Well, it's that cardboard farm boy, he wants to tell us all something.'

'Huh, you don't like him either.'

'Can't stand him.'

'Oh…well…I need some food anyway. So I'll come for that. Then I'm going.'

'Yeah. Come on then. So?'

'So what?'

'So, how you been?'

'What's it to you?'

'Oh, I don’t know. You seem…more like your old, evil self now.'

'Yeah? Thanks. Wait till I get this chip out though…then you'll see evil.'

'Why do you want to go all 'demony' again? I'd have thought being…human like this, was much better.'

'I'm not fucking human!'

'No, I know that, but you seem like you are…most of the time.'

'Eh?'

'Well…you talk, and laugh and stuff. I never saw soulboy laugh, ever.'

'Nah. He is a bit serious. Guess he's got a lot of demon stuff to regret.'

'There you are then. See! You're more human like.'

Hum.

'So where were you going?'

'To buy a TV.'

'Cool. What kind?'

'Well, I don’t know. I thought, wide-screen, surround-sound, maybe digital.'

'Phew. Expensive.'

'Really?'

'Oh yeah. Maybe you could get second-hand.'

'You think?'

'Then you could get a DVD too.'

'Yeah. Want a computer as well.'

'Ask Willow. She'll know what to get, bytes and stuff.'

'Good idea.'

Okay, someone wake me up. Cus I am strolling through town with Xander Harris…just talking. Like a real person. Like I didn't want to skip with his entrails two days ago.

And it gets even weirder when we get to the Watcher's. It's just as I imagine a committee meeting must be like. Watcher at the head of the table. Slayer next to him and then cardboard man. Red’s on the other side of the Watcher, Harris sits next to her, which leaves me...in the place of honour opposite the Watcher. Feel like taking fucking minutes or something. But it's nice to be included. Not that I'd admit that, to them.

God, I hate the soldier. He really gives me the creeps. I guess I must recognize him from my delightful, all-inclusive holiday with the Initiative. Guess he must have been one of the gits that captured me. Seems I know him better than that though. There is something familiar about his scent...up close like this...memories...hah...he doesn't like me staring at him either. Good. Gives me something to do then.

'I would just like to state for the record, that I don't like sharing a table with a Vampire. It's obscene.' Oh yeah, staring really getting to him.

'Shut up Riley. This is my house. If anyone is leaving it's you. Now what is this all about? Why the secrecy? What is the big secret?'

Oooh I love the Watcher when he is all Masterful! Farm boy don't though. Slayer's real funny, she's torn between the one and the other. And I'm thinking farm boy's losing his appeal. How could she have slept with Angel and then him? Defies belief. I wonder…

'Spike? Stop twiddling with that bloody ring and pay attention. Are you listening to this?'

'I'm riveted. Go on. Err…who was talking?' Was I playing with Angel’s ring? Now that’s just embarrassing. That is not Big Bad behaviour.

'I was saying, Hostile 17, that I believe I know what you were chipped for. What all the demons were chipped for. Well, those that weren't cut up for experimentation that is. God. Where to start? It appears that the chips are controllable…'

Oh, now I'm all ears.

'…there are remote control devices that were designed so the chips could be controlled and the hostiles with them in, could be…targeted.'

I think about three of us chorus, 'Targeted?'

'Well, yes. Think about it. A demon…a powerful fighting machine…that can't hurt its owner. Ever. Or anyone its owner doesn't want it to hurt…but a demon that's allowed to kill…encouraged to kill, anyone its master wants. It would be perfect. Think of the military applications!'

'From my experience as a Watcher, I must say this sounds highly dubious.'

'No wait Giles, from my military-man memories, I sort of remember something about giving the military stuff in their food that would alter their genetic code, so they would be recognized by other friendly military as…well, friendly.'

Jesus, Harris is weird sometimes. 'And that is relevant how?'

'Duh, Spike. It proves that when it comes to the Military, nothing is weird enough.'

'So what, they're creating a Demon army. Good luck to them. Long as no one wants me to enlist. I go with the Judy idea…condo…Yacht.' Blank faces. 'Fuck, does anyone actually watch TV these days?'

'I don't think they were being formed into an army. It would be too difficult to programme the chips to be able to recognize that many, do-not-kill people. No, I think they were being created for more, one-to-one jobs. Like body guards.'

'Well, I still don’t get what this…' I wave my hand vaguely around the table…'conference is all about.'

'I think the point is very obvious, Spike. There are no chipped demons left in the Initiative now. You, however, were the only one who appears to have escaped. So, where are all the others now? And more to the point, who has them and what are they doing with them?'

Why is everyone looking at me?

'What?'

'Spike, we need someone who can infiltrate the Initiative, pass themselves off as a chipped demon, follow the supply route and lead us to the others.'

'Beats me, Mate. Who you got in mind then?'

'Look, Spike. It's perfect, Riley can 'recapture' you. It's the perfect opportunity. Then you get taken off, we follow you, we find out what's been happening to all the other demons. It's foolproof.'

'Err…foolproof. So you want me to go back to the place that cut my head open, tortured me, starved me. You want them to alter my chip so I can kill again. You want me to be sold into some sort of fucking, mercenary slavery. I may have to kill people again. Then you all come in like the Calvary…and rescue me. That's your foolproof plan is it?'

'Good isn't it?'

Lets just go over this one more time. Just so I've got it straight. I could be living in LA. I could be living the life of luxury, in LA. I could have everything paid for, every whim indulged, in LA. I could be fucked into the mattress every night by the most gorgeous body in LA, in LA. I could fuck the most gorgeous body in LA, in LA. Or I could go along with this…plan. Hum. Real hard decision here. But there is one little aspect of this otherwise soddingly awful plan that I do like. A remote control device hey? That turns the chip off when it's convenient? Oh, I think I might just get me one of those, and turn this chip off…permanently!

'Ok.'

'Err…is that it? You agree?'

'Well, yeah. Hey! What! It's for the good of humanity, and babies and shit.'

I’m pretty sure they are all unconvinced of my sincerity. I’m hurt!

‘Yes, well. Right, Buffy, you and Riley make contact with the Initiative and tell them you have a lead on...Hostile 17. Spike, I’ll fit this for you.’ I don’t believe it, he’s holding up another fucking tracer.

‘No way. THAT is one of those things you just took out of me. And it hurt. You are not shooting one of those back in.’

‘Maybe we should treat it like a suppository.’ There is something in Soldier-boy’s eye I really didn’t like when he said that. As if, behind the joke, there was an element of...longing, fuck, even...knowing. He is spooky.

‘I think we can stitch it relatively painlessly just under the skin, perhaps under your arm. No one will find it, but we can track you. Come on, Spike. Be a man.’

So, yet again I end up in pain, covered in blood – well, all right, a slight dribble of blood – but it hurt! It’s only the thought of getting one of those remote control devices that keeps me going. The Watcher does a pretty neat job; I’ll give him that. As he crouches down, finishing stitching me up, I speak quietly to him.

‘So, what was this important news you had to tell me. Better tell me now...dangerous mission on behalf of babies everywhere an’ all that. Might not be coming back you know.’

‘Yes, Spike, I’ve been thinking about that. And that’s precisely why I’m not going to tell you, till you do come back. It would...distract you too much. It might actually end up getting you killed. And that would be a shame...now.’ His face is inches from mine. His warm hands are brushing over my side, checking to see if he can detect any sign of the tracer he has put under the skin. Can Angel really be right? Does Giles actually want me?

‘Err...Giles, you aren’t going to...profess...err...undying love or anything are you...cus if...’

‘Oh good Lord.’ Wow! I didn’t know someone that old could move that fast. He’s across the room and behind the protection of his couch before I can finish my sentence.

‘Spike! What an earth made you think that? I don’t think of you in that way. Good Lord. I mean, I’m not...neither are you...are you...no, of course not...you’re a Vampire...you go both...I mean...good Lord. No!’

‘Well...okay. What then? Just fucking tell me.’ Bloody glad I don’t blush sometimes.

But if he was about to tell me, the moment is lost cus the Slayer and Stick-up-his-arse-Soldier-boy get back.

‘We told them we’d rendezvous with a patrol and hand you over. Don’t want them getting suspicious if Riley just brings you in on his own. Come on then, Spike.’

Oh God. I was on my way to buy a TV. What happened?

I want to phone Angel and tell him what’s happening. But I can imagine what he would say. Firstly, no and secondly, you are NOT getting one of those devices. Angel ain’t stupid. But...do I really want one anyway? Isn’t it going to Bugger up all me plans? Oh, fucking hell, someone decide for me.

I have a feeling that another, spectacular kicking of my arse is about to occur.

Chapter 6

Okay, not going too badly. Got handed over. Got taken back. Got shut in a small, windowless holding pen. Being shipped out tonight. Can’t believe this pathetic plan is actually going to work. Haven’t seen any sign of a remote control device though. I still can’t hurt anyone.

And hey! ‘Anyone there...hungry here!’ Fuckers.

God this is boring. I’m seriously tempted to call Angel and have phone sex with him again. That was fun. But it’d be tempting fate. They haven’t searched me very thoroughly and they didn’t find my phone. It’s just a little lump in one of the numerous poachers' pockets of my duster. I touch it every so often; just to reassure myself it’s still there. That Angel is only one call away. I'm tempted to turn it back on, just in case he's trying to phone me, but I can't risk it ringing at an inopportune moment. I start playing with his ring again, moving it from one finger to another, spinning it on the floor. It’s just something to do.

After what seems like an eternity sitting on my backside in this totally featureless room, I hear the sound of the lock turning.

Thank, God. Action. Food. Who cares? Just something different.

‘Hello, Hostile 17.’ Uh huh. Farm boy and his minions. Was this part of the plan I wasn’t listening too? Cus I don’t remember, him, being any part of this at all.

‘He’s got a tracer implanted under his arm. Dig it out and flush it.’

Oh fucking shit. They rip my coat and shirt off and one of the soldier boys gets out a knife, feels for the lump, and just...digs it out. No point in even struggling. Then I’d have a pain in my head as well as one...shit, that hurts...under my arm. Farm boy nods and the others leave. I shrug back on my stuff with difficulty, deliberately turning my back on the git. Won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared of him. But...shit...this seems very familiar and I don’t like it.

‘You don’t remember, do you?’

‘What, Mate? Your Birthday today or something? Anniversary of when you had your cock enlarged? What don’t I remember?’

‘You don’t remember me...us...in here. Last time you were here.’

Not liking the, ‘us’ bit of that. Cus, ‘us’ seems more familiar every minute.

‘You must remember, Spike. I know you were heavily sedated all the time, so we could adjust your chip, but surely you remember...the hunger. Don’t you remember how hungry we made you? We didn’t feed you for three weeks. You started eating your own arms. Don’t you remember?’

We must look like some bizarre form of dance routine, he advances on me and I back off. Around and around the room. I feel hypnotised by his words, I feel myself sinking back into that lethargy I was in before LA. Is this what started my disappearance? Is this why I did all that stuff afterwards? Is this why I fucking tried to stake myself and...all that other shit...because of what happened here?

‘You’re lying. I’d remember. I’d remember you, you fat farm shit.’

‘You didn’t think I was a shit when I offered you this, Spike.' He bears his neck right in front of me. 'After three weeks of tearing your own flesh and sucking on it, you didn’t think I was a shit at all. You tried to devour me. You cried for me. You begged me.’

‘You are fucking insane, Mate, if you think I’m gonna believe you let me feed on you. What; cus you loved me so much? I don’t think so!’

‘No, Spike. Cus you loved me. Whenever I wanted you to. Whatever I wanted you to do. You give really good head, Spike, anyone ever tell you that before? I’m a Marine, I should know. Yeah, really good little sucker, Spike, even with a broken jaw.’

Oh, God. He’s just punched me hard on the side of my face. That ain’t gonna even dent the jaw, but another ten or so like it might.

I sometimes wonder, when I’m in an idle moment, what the early Christians thought when they saw the lions coming. Did they try to run, screaming for someone to help them? Or did they stand still and think, ‘bring it on, then,’ cus there was nothing they could do. Death, incredible pain: inevitable.

Well bring it on, farm boy, cus I ain’t running. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t raise a hand to you, to protect myself. So, bring it on. Get it over with quick. Ain’t gonna hurt any less by trying to hide from it. So I just stand there as he hits me. Well, stand until I can’t stand anymore. Then when I’m down, he takes to kicking me. And shit those military boots can do some damage.

‘How does it feel, Spike? Not such a pretty boy now, are we? Fucking demons walking around like real men. Kissing human girls. I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you.’

I would engage him in a debate about just who he thinks I’ve kissed, and why me kissing humans is bad, but me sucking him apparently isn’t, but by now my jaw is definitely broken and I’m having trouble staying conscious. Not sure he’d appreciate the debate anyhow.

I’m not too proud to admit that now I’m curled up in the corner of the room and trying to protect my face from anymore kicking. He's mumbling more to himself now, than me: weird incoherent shit about me being too strong, about him never being able to hurt me. It takes me a few minutes to realise that it's not me he's kicking, but the Slayer. Buffy. Jesus.

But suddenly he stops and stands panting above me. He falls to his knees and roughly puts a hand on the front of my jeans, squeezing my cock: digging his nails in. His face is wild, red...he looks completely out of control.

‘I know who she is thinking of every night I lie with her. I know what she wants. She wants this doesn’t she?’

Does she? News to me.

‘Doesn’t like it human: doesn’t like it male. Wants a fucking dead, cold, loathsome...creature. I know. I found out. Yeah, she lost it to a fucking Vampire. Face of a fucking Angel I was told...so real easy to work out who that was...wasn’t it? Not so pretty now though, are you? Don’t look so much like an Angel now, do you, Spike?’ He traces his fingers over my broken face as he hisses his vitriol at me. ‘Oh yeah, how she must have loved these cheekbones, this perfect, never changing skin. Can’t compete can I?’

Err...big mistake here. Give me back tongue, lips and a jaw I can actually speak with and I’ll tell you a slightly different story about ‘Slayer Loses Her Virginity’, shall I? But I don’t think he’d be in a mood to listen, even if I could speak.

‘Let's see what she thought was so good, shall we?’

Err…let's not.

‘Oh...you fucking bastard. Don’t matter how big it is...it’s still dead meat, isn’t it. But oh, such a tight fucking ass. We never got round to your ass last time, did we Spike? You fucking escaped, just as things were getting interesting. How’d you like to fuck with another human then, you shit?’

I guess that’s not a rhetorical question. Can I at least choose who?

‘Oh, yeah! Really tight. But, let’s open you up a little bit, shall we?’

Fuck. I thought the tracer being cut out hurt. I know the punching and kicking hurt, but fuck...his finger jammed roughly into my dry hole hurts like hell. Don’t help when he starts jabbing it up. Fortunately, I tear on his nail and the blood coating the walls, eases the pain. Makes it easier when he pushes the next finger in. And the next. He pushes me into a sitting position against the wall with my knees bent up, feet spread. He watches my face intently the whole time. I’m not sure what he is looking for: fear? If it is, he’s not going to see it. All he will see is contempt.

‘Oh, real slicky and smooth, ain’t ya. Oh they’d love you down in the lines, you’d be flavour of the month...we’d keep you going for hours of fun and games. How does this feel then...?’ Not good, if you must know. ‘...like all these fingers then, Spike? Bet you’ve had some really interesting things up here in your time...hey?’ Actually, no. Some humans in a bar, all too recently and that’s it. But I’m not going to tell you that. 'Shit, I wish I'd done this last time you were here, hey? Oh, yeah, ass as good as your mouth.'

‘Guess what, Spike? I think you’re so good at this; you can take a little more. How’s...that...oh, don’t scream...no one's going to hear you...and if they did...they’d only enjoy it!’

Did I scream? I didn’t think I was going to give him the satisfaction. Guess I was wrong again. I didn’t think anything could hurt like that. It’s...inside sort of hurt...the sort of hurt that makes you sad: about yourself. But then he has managed to get his whole bloody farm-fist in and he’s using it like a battering-ram. And he’s getting so excited. He’s panting as if he’s going to choke; he’s rubbing the front of his combats with his other hand. I’m resigned now. It’s inevitable where this is going. When he finally swaps fist for cock, I’m beyond caring. In fact, cock is much more comfortable. Especially as it’s not big and slightly flaccid. He puts both hands on my shoulders to brace himself. It’s so intimate, as if we were lovers. I half expect him to put his mouth to mine. I don't know where to put my hands. Can't use them to defend myself, don’t want to use them in any other way, so I just close my fists gently and rest them on my knees. No involvement in this at all. As if I'm not here. Shit. Did I start to do this before?

He don’t last long.

He collapses against me, his face pressed into my shoulder, his cock leaking out of me. The smell of rancid, human male is overwhelming.

But the very worst bit of this whole experience? Not the punching, not the kicking, not the fisting, not the rape...the worst bit, was what he said. As he thrust his hot seed into me, he laughed and whispered in my ear. 'You really believed it, didn’t you, Spike? You really thought there was a way to turn it off.'

Oh. I have an eternity to endure, in which I can never protect myself from this happening. But I still won’t let him see my anguish and fear. He will still only ever see contempt from me, whatever he does.

He rolls off me and stands up, readjusting his clothes. 'Sort yourself out. Can't have my guys seeing you like that. They'll want their money's worth too. Everyone wants to fuck the demon that fucked the Slayer. Jesus, I hope she got better value than I just did.'

Uh huh.

When the silent one, the one with the evil, narrow eyes, came in, I decided to fight it. Why not? I bet one or two of those good fisher-folk had a go at the lions. I would have done. Nothing to lose. Maybe got it over a bit quicker for them too. Doesn’t work quite that way for me. But at least I was unconscious by the time he actually entered me. Maybe, if I get to have my eternity, and I start to lose my faculties, I'll blame it on this: on the frying of my brain as I tried to fight him off. It took eight consecutive, searing jolts of pain before I collapsed. I think he was badly hurt though. Not so much that he didn't leave me with a few reminders of his pain.

So the next one I didn't fight.

After that? When the others came? I didn't care one way or the other.

And you know? It's all coming back now. Now they've all gone and I'm alone in the dark, all the forgotten time is starting to come back. So I don’t only have current pain to enjoy, I've got months of remembered pain too. I remember the starving now. I was so hungry I did start drinking my own blood. I was so hungry I would have done anything for blood. So when he offered me his neck? I've have sucked the demon cocks of hell for one small bite. I begged him to let me suck him, every time he visited me. I got on my knees and crawled to him, begging him. I unzipped him whilst he laughed at me. I made him cum and I swallowed him, every time. And as I fed? I let him play with me. But bit-by-bit, I started to fade away. I started to put myself in a better place, away from these acts I was being forced to participate in.

No wonder I lost it a bit when I got out. No wonder I lost my sense of myself. No wonder I tried to disappear. No wonder I felt so much better every time I got on my knees to strangers: felt like I was being fed again. Felt like I was being saved.

Must have been partially the drugs though, cus I repressed the memories. But I let them eat at me, till I was the fucking mess Angel found in LA.

Well, there are no drugs now. Just pain. And what do humans know about pain? This ain't gonna break me again. Nah, this is just something to be endured till I get out of here. I've got something much better than this planned…and these fuckers are just delaying it. I’ve got a TV to buy and a Vampire to love. And I might even change the order I’m gonna do those in.

Ain't gonna let them know that though. Best tactic is always, surprise. They should know that. They're the fucking military. What do I know? I'm just one pissed off, very sore Vampire with a lot of cum leaking out of his backside.

When farm-boy comes back, I feign worse hurt than I really feel. If he gets hard again hearing me moan? Well, just adds to throw him off balance a little bit more. Blood rushing to his dick ain't gonna be helping his thinking processes.

'Get ready to ship out, scum.'

'Where am I going?'

'Fucking, shut up.' He hauls me to my feet and propels me towards the door. I'm giving the impression I'm a lot slower and more damaged than I am, but I can't see any means of escape from these endless, white corridors and elevators. At last we come out at a loading bay where a truck is backed up ready to receive its cargo. My last chance. I lunge at the git, knocking him off his feet. Fighting the pain in my head, I leap off the bay and start running. I have absolutely no idea where to run to, but it feels good, just going somewhere. I don't even know what hits me. I guess it was one of their stun guns. I hit the deck so hard I go out, like a proverbial light. One moment freedom, the next: nothingness. I come round in the back of the truck with my arms bound behind me at the elbows.

Shit.

I don't even know how long we've been driving for. Could be hours, could be minutes. Could be years I guess, what the fuck do I know? I'm a stupid, sodding Vampire who wanted to fucking help humans and got himself stuffed for his troubles. Literally. Okay, I only wanted the controls to this chip, but I would have been helping humans too. Serendipitous outcomes of helping me! But I'm still fucking stupid for believing him. Well, guess I believed the Slayer and the Watcher. They believed him. I almost feel sorry for the Slayer. Hah, both her boyfriends have wanted to fuck me! One actually has: one is going to soon, if I have anything to do with it. Must remember to tell her that, next time I see her. If I see her.

I really don’t want to open my eyes. But it's worse, not knowing who's looking at me and what they are doing. I very slowly and cautiously take a peek, so I am just looking through tiny slits. Hum. Interesting. Farm boy is in the back with me and he's clearly relieving that bulge I seemed to give him earlier. He's totally occupied, head thrown back, hands on cock, very near coming I should think, looking at the copious stream of precum dripping down onto the floor. I really hope that's not me he's picturing as he does that. Please let it be the Slayer.

There is only so much being irresistible I can take in one night.

What an ideal opportunity though to…I fling myself up and forward, ramming his head back into the strut behind him. I am SO tempted to stomp on his cock for good measure, but I have a feeling my brain would instantly fry me, for giving him that much pain. The chip fires off anyway for just pushing him, but I stagger to the rear of the truck and just…flop over the tailgate onto the road.

Good plan.

Or it would have been a really good plan. It would have been good if we hadn't have been traveling at about fifty miles an hour. It would have been even better if we hadn't have been the first truck, in a convoy of three. The third one may have run over me as well, but I don't remember, by that time, I was unconscious from the second one hitting me. They don't call those fucking vehicles, 4-tonners, for nothing.

I don't come round from that little escape attempt till it's light outside the truck. This time they've chained me to the strut of the seat as well. Needn't have worried. I'm not going anywhere. I can feel one arm completely useless, the bone in my forearm sticking up through a tear in sleeve of my duster. My other arm is shattered at the wrist and elbow. One knee is completely 'exploded' looking, crushed by the truck: my jeans saturated with blood.

I bring my hands around to try and ease the pain a bit. And that’s when I see it. Or rather don’t. The ring is gone. It was always loose even on my thumb. It must have fallen off in the impact. Shit. I hated the poofy thing though, didn’t I?

But the worst thing of all? I feel pretty sure I fell on the pocket with my phone in. I feel pretty sure the last thing I heard, before the truck hit me, was the tiny sound of my lifeline to Angel, being severed.



When I try for the third time and still get the message that his phone is turned off, I call Giles. I don’t care that it's only been a day since I last phoned him during the night…just to talk. I'm still worried.

'Giles, it's me, Angel. Have you seen, Spike? I can't raise him on his phone.'

'Oh, he's working on a case for us. I expect he's out of range. He's probably underground, no signal I expect. Nothing to worry about. We have it all under control.'

'Wes! Cordy! Get the car. We're going to Sunnydale.'

My friends have the good sense not to try and engage me in idle conversation in the car. They sense that this is serious. I so need them along. I think I would kill someone when I get there, if I didn't have their expectations to live up to. It's never seemed such a long drive before. It's agonisingly slow, and every minute puts my beloved Childe in more danger and further away from my protection. Why did I acquiesce to this ridiculous plan to let him, 'find himself'? I was humouring him. I was…I was doing what he wanted, what he needed, and that wasn't wrong. No matter what the outcome, it was the right thing for us both to do: to have space. We both needed time for making this level of commitment. I could sense that in him. I could sense reluctance to trust me: huge reluctance to need me. And it's not as though I was exactly confident about it all. I still don’t really know how we will work it all out. The reality of Spike living with me in LA will, no doubt, be far removed from the fantasy I have come to rely on.

Whatever happens now though, if I get him back, if he is still alive, I will not let him go again. If he needs space: well he can go to the park. I'm not going through this again.

By the time we get to Sunnydale, things are clearly not going as well as they were before. Giles takes his usual pedantic time telling the story. Even Wes is fidgeting. I'm fairly calm until Giles tells me about the tracer. Not that they thought to put one on him: but that they tracked it to the sewers where it had been flushed.

'I am so sorry, Angel. It appears that this chap, Riley may not have been as straight as we thought. We found the tracer only hours after Spike was taken. Minutes after I spoke to you actually. There is no way they could have found it that quickly unless Riley had told them. It looks like it was a set up from the beginning. I have no idea why. What could they possibly want Spike for?'

'Get your car. Go and pick up Buffy and Xander. Meet me at this Riley's place.'

'Angel, it's no good. He could be anywhere now. We think they've been shipping chipped demons all over the country.'

'Giles, unlike you, I look after the things that mean the most to me. He has a tracer on him.'

'No, Angel…you're not listening. They found the tracer: they flushed it – rather meant to be a childish sort of 'up yours', I think.'

'Giles. Shut up. I gave Spike a tracer as well. It's in his new phone. Get your car. Meet me where I said. NOW!'

I pick up his signal easily. He's underneath the school, somewhere in the Initiative. I can only pray he's still alive and I'm not reading a signal from a phone lying by a pile of soft ash. Stop it, Angel. You need to focus. Stay calm. Concentrate on the task in hand. There is no way we can get down there and attempt a rescue. Buffy confirms the labyrinth of tunnels and concentration of military hardware down there. We can only sit tight and wait for them to try and move him. Buffy comes and sits in the car with us.

'Angel. I'm really sorry. I…I trusted, Riley. Maybe he was bugged? Maybe they overheard us about the tracer and found it and maybe he tried to stop them, but he's hurt now and maybe…'

'Buffy, it's not your fault,' yes it is, 'you couldn’t have known,' could have used your eyes, 'Spike knew what he was getting in to.' Except…he didn’t. He'd have done anything to prove himself to you all. That's all, THIS, has really been about. Spike, needing to prove himself to the very humans who brought him down. I know. You've done it to me too. Every time you look at me, Watcher, I hear the name Jenny, echoing through your head. Every time I look at you, Buffy, I hear my mocking of you and your…virginity. It brings you down after lifetime of hatred and mistrust. Sometimes I even look at Wesley and Cordelia and hear the echoes of Angelus' mocking of them. Vampires: humans, basically incompatible.

'It's moving, Angel.' Wesley has the base unit of the tracer.

'Which way?'

'South, it appears. But, Angel, what if it's just the tracer, what if it's not with…Spike. If you see what I mean.'

'I'll stay here, Angel, and try to make contact with Riley. If Spike is still here, I may be able to find him.' I somehow think Buffy values proving Riley innocent, more than she values finding Spike. But Giles agrees to stay with her and that leaves only Xander to come with us. He seems surprisingly willing to help.

I swing out from the curb, and follow Wesley's directions.

Once we spot the trucks it's easy…Wesley puts the unit away. I follow at a discrete distance. The trucks look the worse for wear. Even at this distance we can make out what looks like fairly major accident damage to the rear two.

It's very disturbing knowing, Spike is in one of those vehicles. I hope he's okay and enjoying playing soldier boy for the night. We start trying to come up with a plan. Wesley wants to let it play out - as the original plan – to find the other chipped demons. I say a polite version of 'fuck that' and Cordelia agrees with me. Trouble is neither of us can think of a plan to rescue him without more information about what is happening here.

Reluctantly I agree to go along with Wesley's plan.

I want to leap from this car, drag broken soldiers from trucks, find my boy and save him. I have to be content to sit quietly, following. Someone is going to pay for this: eventually.

Some time later, my revere is broken by Wesley’s quiet coughing. ‘Err...Angel, it’s getting towards dawn.’

‘I know.’

‘I think you will have to stop. We will have to drop you off somewhere and go on ourselves. We can’t risk you...this car isn’t protected enough.’

‘I KNOW.’ God, don’t make the sun come up just yet. Just a little longer, please. But I bow to the inevitable and allow them to drop me off by a motel. Great. Just great. I now have to sit out the day whilst others attempt to rescue my Childe. And not one of them, not a single one of them cares about him as I do. How much would they risk to save him? I would risk everything.

But I won’t be there.

Chapter 7

I don't even bother to try and stay conscious for the most of this long, hot, agonizing trip in the back of this awful truck. I let myself drift in and out of consciousness, hearing snatches of voices, watching patters of light drift across the canvas roof. Once, I watch a tiny beam of sunlight coming through a pinprick in the side drift imperceptibly towards my lifeless hand. It's a good game. Every time I open my eyes, it's nearer. I count the seconds till it starts to burn its way across my upturned palm. The pain is blissful. So much sharper and more focused than that from my broken body, which by now is a sea of undiluted agony. But the smell of burning, Vampire flesh alerts the farm boy. With a snarl of disgust, he kicks my smoking hand away, like you might kick a can in the street.

I've started to worry slightly about my injuries. It's not true Vampires can just…heal. Broken bones need to carefully aligned back together, just like human bones. Then they heal. If they're left like mine, shattered, sticking out, they heal like that. I guess. No crippled Vampires live long enough to put that theory to the test. It's why we live together. It's why we always have another, even one we can't abide. We need the reassurance of having someone who will care for us when eternity is threatened. I couldn't count the times I patched Darla or Dru, Angelus or Penn, carefully binding wounds, setting bones. And they did the same for me. But there hasn't been anyone now for so long.

I'm trying not to let the pain wear down my defences this time. I don't want to start disappearing again. I can't afford to. I'm trying to focus on good stuff. Like my TV. I've got it all planned in my head, what make, where I'm going to put it. What I'm gonna watch. I've even got to the part where I invite people in to watch with me. But it all gets a bit vague there. Is it…the Slayer? Is it…Harris? Why do I invite, them? I hate, them. Thought I did anyway. I'd quite like Harris here now though. He'd be funny…he'd so hate these soldier boys. Wish even more that Buffy was here. She'd kick soldier ass. That would be even funnier.

But they ain't here and ain't likely to be. Don't even know where I am now. And I don’t know where I'm going, but I'd take a pretty large bet on the fact that I'm not coming back.

That's such a terrifying thought. When I go, I'll just be dust. There won't even be a body. How long would anyone look for me when I'm missing…if they know they won't find a body anyway. Makes me think of little Daisy. What would you do if your child went…missing? How long would you continue to look for them till you had to give up? Would anyone look for me? I think Angel might. If anyone tells him what's happened that is.

Jesus. I wouldn't. Tell him. I'd lie and say I had no idea where I was. Fuck. Think I'm losing it again. I'm having imaginary conversations with Angel about not knowing my own whereabouts.

Wonder what he's doing now. It must be late afternoon. Feels like we've been in this truck a day. Smells like sunset soon. Guess he'll be in bed. Or maybe he's keeping human time today. Maybe he's in the office, at his desk. Maybe he's wondering where I am.

No, if I were Giles, I would keep the exact details of Spike's end from Angel. Details of my…end, from…Angel…my end…Angel…DON'T start giggling. It's not that funny. Think of something else, anything, think of fat farm boys, think of Marmite, think of any gross thing, but DO NOT start laughing…do not draw attention to yourself.

'What's so fucking funny, demon?' They've boosted the military muscle in the truck with me after my Colditz re-enactment. Lucky me, eyes-too-close-together, is here too.

Honestly, nothing. You had to be there.

'Answer me, or I'll fucking give you something to laugh about.' Oh, original…NOT.

'I was thinking about enlisting…ow!'

But got farm boy and his favorite minion looking far too closely at me now. Don't like this at all.

'We can't deliver him, looking like that.'

'Why not? He's gonna look like that soon enough anyway.'

'Nah. This one'll go for the auctions. He's pretty enough even like that. They won't waste him in Experimentations. Come on. Help me with him. He'll fetch a higher price, tidied up.'

Farm boy unshackles my wrists. They can't get the broken one out at first, it's too swollen…comes free eventually though.

'He's a quiet one, this one, isn't he, Soldier?'

'Depends what you're doing to him, Boss. He sang real pretty for me earlier!'

'Help me set his arm first. Take the coat off.'

They do a real neat job on the most obvious of breaks. All I can say is…thank God for the Military!

But this is not…right. As their hands explore my body for injuries, they seem to linger too long on sensitive areas…stroke for injury where injury is unlikely. I can smell their arousals; see their eyes…dilate. I'm curled up on my Duster. I lay my hand over the broken pieces of my phone. I feel a bit like that: beyond repair.

'He don't look so good still, Boss. Don't they have to have blood to recover or something? I'm sure the Prof said this type needs blood all the time. Did we bring any?'

'Yeah, he needs to feed all right. Have you ever…done it?'

'Err…what, Boss?'

'Let one of them feed on you?'

'Fuck! No!'

'It's…incredible. It's a rush man. Like coming under fire…there's nothing like it. It makes you come alive…totally. Your blood…surges…it's the ultimate stiffener.'

'You are kidding right, Boss? You ain't really going to let…THAT…THING…feed off you. Are you?'

'Ever swim with Sharks, Graham? Live a little.'

Farm boy kneels beside me and taking out a small knife from his pocket, he holds the blade over his wrist. I can't help but watch: fascinated. This cannot be happening.

Oh. It's not.

He sits back, just looking at me.

Then he puts the blade to his collarbone.

'Fuck, Boss. No!'

Too late. A bright, scarlet line appears just above the neckline of his tee shirt. It starts to flow steadily. His eyes glaze as if he's already focused on some sick music only he can hear. The smell of human blood makes me…moan. I can't help it. He pulls me up till I'm cradled against his neck, then presses my mouth to the wound.

In full game face, I slip my tongue under the edge of the flap of skin. I have to be so careful not to hurt him, but I can do this. The coppery taste of blood trickles down my throat. It sets up a resonance throughout my entire dead body. Every fiber of my being responds to its call. Bones start knitting together; blood recedes from bruises, pain lessens. I get bolder and start making the hole slightly deeper with my razor sharp fangs. He doesn't flinch. He pulls me closer. His hand finds my zip and pushes down inside my jeans. He finds my cock and releases it. He pulls the foreskin sharply and painfully back, exposing the purple mushroom head. He plays idly with it with one finger, while I lap desperately at the wound. Soon he'll start on me in earnest.

This is what it was like for weeks between us. This is old, familiar ground. He'll let me feed only till he makes me cum. It's his game. He always wins. I always cum too quick: before I have enough. Ounce by precious ounce I try to suck, while he pumps my fluid to his intense rhythm. When the blood is in me, I can't stop from cumming. My whole body is aroused by blood. It's what I am. He seems to know it and uses it against me. Every time.

He so wants me to come for him, but he hates it when I do. It disgusts him to be brought back. To come back to the reality that he has a loathsome demon feeding from him and cum on his hand. But this is a good day cus the other one's so aroused by watching; he wants to try it too. He's not so careful with the knife. Much bigger cut to his neck. I get a long feed from this one cus stupid fuck can't get me to cum again. Not till I get a good few pints anyway.

'Graham! Stop him anyway. He's had enough. Did you feel it? Did you feel the rush as he…sucked? Did I tell you…like combat…like fucking flying!'

'Yeah, let's keep him, Boss.'

'Can't. They want him. They've got plans for him. Hey, Hostile 17! You're a Vampire with a mission aren't you? How you feeling now then?'

Peachy. Just, Peachy.

'He isn't very polite is he?'

'He will be. He'll learn real quick to say please and thank you, where he's going.'

Oh. Goody. Finishing school for Spike then?

They have no idea. Stupid fucks. No idea just how much better I do feel. My body is just a dull ache now and I'm feeling real sharp again. Nothing like O-Neg to perk you right up. They haven't even tied me back up either.



I wonder how many times in two hundred and fifty years, I have lain immobile, useless, waiting for the sun to go down. I lie completely still. I'm in the exact middle of the bed. It's important, details like that, when you are waiting. Wesley and Cordelia promised to come back for me, if they could, tonight. Things may be decided by then.

I concentrate on a tiny spot on the ceiling. It looks like a dog wearing a hat. I've been looking at it for three hours now. I'm beginning to see a personality developing.

I wonder where he is now and what he is doing. I wonder if he is thinking about me.

I'm making plans for Spike and that's a good way to pass the long day. I'm trying to get us from reuniting to…bed. I can see us doing one, then the other. It's the bit that joins the two I'm a bit hazy about. How will I initiate it? Will it be a tearing at him borne of need and fear and relief…that's what I feel it will be now. That’s what I desperately need now. But maybe it will be slow and easy, us both shy and reticent. Maybe we'll sit watching one of his shows. He'll be wearing his black jeans and a black tee shirt. Cotton. I like him in black. It sets off his bizarre hair and flawless skin. We won't be touching at first. But I lean across him to reach the remote control…no, that isn't likely; he'd never let me get hold of that. I lean across him to reach a book and he…oh, yes, that's much better. That might work. He…he, what, though? I still can't picture what happens. I can see the next scene, I can see him in bed. I just can't work out how to get him there.

Oh yes, I can see the bed scene. He's spread-eagled on his back, I'm lying with my head between his legs. I'm finally in a place I've wanted to be in for a hundred years. I lick across the swollen, cherry-red mushroom tip of his cock. Foreskin slips to my command, veins throb, his hands in my hair, his voice urging me on. Sucking, licking, moving slowly from root to tiny slit, cupping his balls in the palm of my hand, rotating their silken weight. Exploring where I've never been before, opening up, pressing, sliding in; pulling out. Suck and push, lick, pull out, creating friction: heat. Listening to him moan, feel him trying to hold it in. Finding that spot for him, fingers strong and supple, tongue flicking with fingers, then, when he's cresting and ready, I enter him and we renew the ancient joining…only with cock: not fang, pleasure: not pain. Waves of pleasure starting in my spine and spreading to cock, balls, belly. He sits up slightly and pulls me down to his embrace. Fleeting kisses from ardent lips. Tongues tasting each other: my hands working him. Then flinging himself down and raising his legs to my shoulders…undreamt of depth…thrusting so hard I force moans from the pressure alone. His veins swelling under my hand. His strangled cry of pleasure…catching that cold seed: mine caught deep in him…then sweet, sweet collapse together…tangled limbs…mixed essence…shared eternity.

So that bit I'm okay with. It's getting started on that damn couch I just can't work out.

Maybe a shower would be better. He's taking a shower. I'm reading, but I hear the water streaming over his perfect, hard, enticing body. I go into the shower, he turns to me, he…what does he do? Why does he do anything? He's the one who left. He's the one who didn't want this. I would have taken him on that table. Just before he told me he was going, I would have lain him down and taken him: made him mine. But he left. He didn’t seem to want me. If I try again…if I lay my hand on him again…will he leave again? What is it? What is it that gets us from where we are to where I want us to be?

And will he have a whole new reason to hate me? Will he find the tracer I put on him? What will he think? That he is nothing more than a possession, that I didn’t trust him, that he is like a child, needing great, big, strong Angel's protection. I think if he finds that tracer, I am lost.

And what a bad idea this has been thinking about, Spike: picturing myself entering, Spike. Now I'm not so calm and controlled and the bloody dog is doing unmentionable things to the hat.

It's not fair. I don't want to have to move my hand down and release my cock…like this. I want another hand to do this for me. I don’t want to squeeze my foreskin up, pinching hard for that ecstatic pain. I want his fingers to explore and work me like this.

It's not fair.



It's been dark for about two hours now. They've been playing cards since…feeding me. They have no idea how fed I feel. Fresh, flowing O-Neg – well, one was A-Poss, but that's even spicier – makes you feel really alive.

The truck stops and I can hear shouting and the sound of activity from all sides. The tailgate is lowered to yet another loading bay and I'm hauled out and prodded along more, white, sterile corridors. For a bizarre minute, I think we've been driving for twenty-four hours in a huge circle and come right back to Sunnydale. The guys with the stun guns force me into a large, windowless room with half a dozen bunks along one wall. I make out a number of other figures in the gloom before hearing the door being bolted behind me.

'Well, look here boys. Look what we've got here. We've got ourselves a Vampire.'

'WE, ain't got anything, Mate. I'm having a really bad day, so if you want to start something, fine by me, if not…then piss off and let me have a fag!'

'Got a spare one then?'

The voice emerges from the gloom. Hah! A Kopros demon. All mouth and no trousers. Known for it. I offer the ugly mother a fag and we sit at one of the central tables smoking quietly for a while.

'So, what's it to be for you then ,Vampire? Auctions or Experimentation? I'm guessing auctions. Right? They'll make a fortune with that face.'

Hey! What IS this obsession with my face? 'I dunno, Mate. I haven't a scoobie what's happening. You been chipped then?'

'Of course. We all have. That's why they need us, for…experiments. They're going to develop a way for us to control the chips…so we can live back amongst humans again.'

Uh huh. Ugly and stupid.

'And why would they do that then, Pet?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, why go to all the bother of putting them in, in the first place? And why not just take them out again?'

'Don't listen to that idiot demon. That's not why we're here.' A Vymer Demon. Bloody licorice all sorts down here.

'And what's your theory on this little chip factory then?'

'They're going to experiment on us to find out how much pain it would take to make us attack a human. Pain tolerance experiments. Then they're going to apply what they learn to making a chip for humans.'

'Hah. Glad it's the auctions for me then, Mate!'

Err, why are sodding demons looking at me with pity? 'Again…glad it's the auctions for me then? Happy expressions of 'yeah…lucky you', would be appreciated right now!'

'They're the worst. Worse than the Experiments. They sell you to…' the Vymer Demon looks down, strangely abashed: for a demon.

'Who? Who'd they bloody sell me to?'

'To the sort of human that would want a chipped demon…well, a pretty, human-looking one. Work it out for yourself.'

'Wait a bleeding minute here, Pet. Are you trying to tell me I'm gonna be some sort of…fuck toy for humans?'

'I hear they've put some of the pretty, chipped Vampires into sort of, clubs, where humans that like torture…play with 'em. But don’t worry, I hear they don't last long.'

'You hear way too bleeding much, Mate. Why don't you shut the fuck up for a bit and let me think.' Not much to think about really. No way. No way am I going to spend my last few hours being tortured by some sick human rubbing his dick off on me. No way. I've spent one hundred and twenty seven years doing exactly what I liked. Top of the sodding food chain. And I'm not going out that way. I'd rather end it: here and now.

I've been to places like that before. They are excellent feeding grounds. Angelus used to take me sometimes. He really got off on all that torture stuff. Doing it that is. He would watch those fucking, fucked up humans for hours, grinning to himself. Learning from them. And that's worrying. Humans that can outdo demons for inventive pain. Imagine being helpless. Imagine being endlessly used and abused for their sexual thrills. Unable to defend myself for an eternity of pain and humiliation. Cus it wouldn't really be the pain that would do it for me. Proved that tonight. Not much more painful than being hit by a four-tonner doing fifty miles an hour. But I shrug off pain (well, all right, I winge and cry and make a huge deal of fuss if anyone is listening, but I get over it), no: it would be the humiliation. Looking into those inferior eyes. Knowing I should be on the other side of the whip or the electric clamps, or whatever else they decided to use. Never been able to stand zoos. Don't want to be the star attraction now.

So. This is it. This is the end. This is what I've struggled for all my unlife. This is where I end it all and I become nothing but dust and, if I'm really lucky, a memory in a few peoples minds. Spike…met him once. Evil sodding git: till he got chipped. Sad that. Better get it over with. Before solider boys come back.

'Hey, I want you to do something for me.'

'Why should I?'

'Out of the goodness of your fucking demon heart and if not that, cus I gave you a fag and cus you'll probably enjoy it anyway.'

'What?' Suspicious git.

'Here.' I snap a leg off one of the bunks. 'I want you to stake me.'

'Oh. OK. But I want something for doing it.'

OK. If he says he wants me to suck ANYTHING, even a Murray's Mint, I'm doing it meself. I am not sucking anything else tonight. Done enough sucking. Suck. All. Out.

'What? Name your price.'

'That coat. I want that leather thing you're wearing. That's my price.'

Oh, sod it. I always thought me coat would sorta go with me. Like the Roman Emperor's horse or was it his wife? Same difference. But, oh…not me coat. Please. But beggars can't be choosers.

'Okay, but I want to empty the pockets. You ain't getting all me stuff. That's going with me.'

I take myself off to a quiet corner and start unloading a lifetime of precious, collected items. If I stuff it all in my jeans pocket it'll all go to dust with me. Weird, but effective. Fags first. They've been my best friends for over a century, so gotta take them. What's all this then? Ahh. The pieces of Angel's phone. I can't bear to take them out and look at them. Last time I had this phone in my hand I was talking to the poof. I close my eyes and picture his voice, one last time. No point getting sentimental. I may not have much time left before they come for me. I take the pieces out one by one. Don’t know what that bit is…but it's coming with me. Nope, not that bit either…but it's coming too. Next bit…oh! Seen one of those recently. Hum. It's flashing. It's attached to the inside of the broken cover. Hum. It's a tracer. Angel put a tracer in my phone. Angel wanted to be able to find me. Wherever. Whatever.

Uh huh. Angel may know where I am now.

Oh. Angel may be coming for me. Soon.

Angel.

'You ready then or what. Give me the fucking coat and come over here.'

'Sod off. I'm busy.'

Okay. Staking myself suddenly doesn’t seem so attractive an option. Hope springs eternal? Fucking hope…I hate it. But just look at this little beauty. Flashing in my hand. On and off. On and off. Reminds me of something. Something good…reminds me of Angel's hand on me, in the dark. I put the little piece of hope carefully back into my coat. This time into the inner lining. Better keep this little baby safe.

'Come on. You going to do this then.'

'Nah. Sorry to disappoint you, Mate. I've just remembered something important.' Someone important.

As I finish speaking the doors flies open and two soldier boys come back in.

'You. Vampire. Come with us.'

The Vymer demon sniggers. 'Bye, pretty one. Bet you'll be wishing you'd taken the stake!'

'Yeah, and good luck with those pain threshold experiments, Mate.'

I'm marched along more endless corridors to what looks like an ordinary locker room.

'Strip off, take a shower and put those on.' He points to a pile of neatly folded, clean clothes on the bench.

'Fuck off…uh.' Sod zaps me unceremoniously with the stun gun – knocks me against the wall.

'I said, strip.'

'Fuck off…ahh.' On my knees now.

'Okay, do it for him.' Two determined gits strip my coat off me and start pulling at my pants.

'Okay. Okay. Fucking get your hands off me.' I've had more from soldiers than I can take recently.

I finish stripping and step under the shower. God. I'm a mess. Every inch of me seems covered in dried blood or cum. The water is incredibly hot and feels like a tiny slice of heaven in an otherwise hellish day.

I drag it out as long as I can, scrubbing and turning. I don't even care I have an audience. I don't care I can smell their arousal watching me. I have a feeling they have been given strict orders to leave the valuable property alone now. Eventually I'm told to get out and I dry and put on the clothes they've laid out for me: a stiff, incredibly clean white shirt and soft, black pants. Nice. Fortunately, there are no shoes, so I put my Docs back on, grab my coat and I'm ready to party. They lead me to an adjacent room. It looks like any anonymous motel room anywhere in the world. Bed. Bedside table. That's it.

'Sit down. Don't get messy. Wait till they come.'

Err…don't get messy? What do you think I'm going to do: with this room?

I sit in this bloody room for what seems like hours. I try lying on the bed, pacing, sitting…standing still. It's all equally boring. I seem to remember though another boring room recently and wishing for anything to come along to relieve the boredom! And look what I got. Randy soldier boy and his fuck minions. Nah. Put up with being bored for once.

But just as I've resigned myself to nothing happening ever again in my sorry unlife: the door swings open.

Okay. Looks like 'Buy yourself a Vampire Sale', has just begun in earnest.

Chapter 8

You sometimes have to wonder, just who is running the military these days. I've seen so many soldiers in the last few days it's a wonder anyone's left to defend the good ole US of A. Yet another anonymous green clad figure comes into the room, this time accompanying a middle- aged, bland looking woman.

'Tell it to sit down please.'

I cock a questioning eyebrow at her. Okay…not talking directly to the doggy. I'll go along with this for a while.

'What sort is it?'

The soldier boy consults his clipboard, 'Vampire, Ma'am.'

'Ahh. They're expensive. What is the reserve price on this one?'

'I can find out for you, Ma'am.'

'Please do. How old is it?'

'Nearly one hundred and fifty we believe, Ma'am.'

'Wonderful. Imagine. Think what things it's done. It's got the full chip in I suppose.'

'Yep. Can't hurt a fly.'

'Better and better. Have its…attributes, been tested yet?'

'It comes with a full recommendation.'

Okay, losing patience with the way this is going. 'Err…excuse me, Luv, but what the fuck are you talking about?'

'You. Shut up. Don't address the customers.'

'Fuck off, Mate. I ain't for bleeding sale and I'll talk to who I fucking like. Ow! Do that again and I'll…ow! Fuck off…ow!' He's far too handy with that damn cattle prod.

Oh and I really don’t like the look on that bitch's face. Nice middle-aged lady suddenly turns into a bunny boiler.

'Isn't it…interesting, when it's aroused?'

'Shut up, psycho-lady!'

'Put me down for the bidding. This one will make a lovely little addition to my stable. Check that reserve price for me…'

'Yes, Ma'am. You. Sit down.'

Oh bloody hell. Where's an obliging demon to stake you when you've changed your mind?

Ten minutes later and same soldier boy returns with another…customer. Bring back bunny boiler, I say. This one is really creepy. He's youngish…but that's hard to tell, really, given he's dressed in fucking tweeds. I don't even want to think about what he's buying me for.

'Err, what is the bidding likely to go up to, do you think?' Oh, English.

'Never know with these pretty ones, Sir, depends who's in for the night. They always fetch a high price though.'

'Can I speak to him, err…inspect him alone?'

'Sorry, Sir. Against the rules.'

'He can't hurt me though, I believe.'

'No, but they're sneaky…demons. I've strict orders, not to leave the room. Sorry Sir.'

'Oh. Well. In that case…' bloody hell! Nerdy English bloke turns into…Hong Kong Phooey and knocks the unsuspecting guard out cold with one uppercut to the jaw.

'Hello, Spike. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Price. Angel sent me. He couldn’t come because of the…oh, I say…no need for that old man…stiff upper lip and all that…err…Spike!'

I'd apologize for this unseemly public display of affection, 'cept I can't, cus I've got him in a tight hug and I'm kissing him all over his nerdy, English face. Angel sent him. Angel sent him. Angel.

'What's the plan then, Mate?'

'Err…well this is rather it, Spike.'

'What?'

'Err…I come in, posing as a customer and…rescue you.'

'That's the plan! That's the fucking plan! We're in the middle of a military, top-secret compound and that's your plan? Did that come from the Rupert-bloody-Giles book of plans, Mate? I've had better plans than that!'

'Spike, I do think a smidgen of gratitude would be more applicable, under the circumstances. We have risked life and limb to get you, you know.'

Don't make me ask this. Someone stake me, sell me, anything me…but don't make me have to ask this.

'We?'

'Oh. Yes, of course, you didn't think I'd come without excellent reinforcements. Err…Xander, Cordelia, I've dealt with our military friend. You can come in now. Spike! Spike, is something wrong? Is it your head? Spike, talk to me.'

Harris and the Prom Queen. Could have been the Slayer and the Witch, but no. Spike gets bleeding Harris and the fucking Prom Queen.

'Hello, Spike. Oh…what's wrong with you? You look awful. Jees, bruised much! And those cuts…bandages needed maybe! But hey, love the outfit, really suits you…what? What? It's important…clothes…you could learn a lot Xander, if you took more time…what? Why is everyone looking at me?'

'Come on Xander, help me with the guard's uniform. Looks like it will fit you well enough.' English guy bends over the still prone guard and starts to pull off his sweater.

Oh. Do I actually see the glimmering of a real plan here?

'Hey…military man is back in action! Love the stun gun. Hey, Spike, come over here, I need to practice with this!'

'Fuck off Harris. And what are you doing here? Why are you helping to rescue me?'

'Well…guess I wanted to watch that wide-screen, surround-sound, digital TV! Besides, who am I gonna insult with you gone?'

'Who said I'd invite you over to watch me new TV. Hey, do you like Passions?'

'Err, do you two think we could concentrate a bit here? We have to negotiate this complex, fool numerous real military types that…Xander, here, is our escort, you, Spike have to look like a Vampire recently sold to a perverted Englishman and his…wife…and all you two can do is discuss American soap operas. Yes, very helpful.'

'So you're a pervert are you then…what did you say your name was?'

'It's Wesley and he's not really perverted…well, no more than most men…that's my part of the plan. If we get stopped. That's our cover story. It's a bit like acting really. I'm his wife and he can't…you know…do the business…in bed, with a woman, so he's bought you as an…incentive! So look suitably impressed blondie…you've never been so lucky.'

Oh God. I'm seriously thinking about disappearing again at this moment. I'm in the middle of a fucking French farce.

'Come on then. Let's get this charade over with then. Sooner we get stopped, you three get shot, I get staked, the happier I'm gonna be! Come on. And stop pointing that bleeding cattle prod at me, Mate or you'll be discovering a whole, new and interesting sexual practice.'

To my intense disappointment we actually make it to the exit unharmed. We even pick up a real military man escort half way. On being challenged, Prom Queen goes into her ridiculous story: nerd does a passable impression of sexually perverted Englishman - and I'm not so sure he's acting – and Harris actually comes out with some useful military expressions. Real soldier boy offers to escort us to the exit! I'm almost beginning to feel that dangerous and deceitful thing called…hope, when it all comes crashing around me. Leaning against a truck, parked near the entrance is…Riley. He's looking directly at me and…Harris.



I've managed to pass an entire day lying on this bed. Thinking of Spike. Doing…stuff, thinking of Spike. Doing it again…thinking of Spike. So the day's not been entirely wasted. But I am incredibly anxious now the sun is going down. I want to be back in action. I want to be doing something more than just thinking about Spike. I want to be saving Spike, holding Spike, loving Spike. And lying here is not going to achieve any of those things. I start pacing. It usually helps. Not this time though. Only so much you can achieve with pacing in a small motel room. I'm about to risk the last rays of day and make a dash for the ice machine – anything to pass the time – when I hear a car pulling into the car park outside the window. I look out, not expecting it to be them: hoping it will be. In my mind, I see Wesley and Cordelia in the front seat, Spike and Xander in the back. All safe.

Unfortunately, it's not quite like that. Wesley and Cordelia are there, no Spike and no Xander. They look serious and in deep conversation about something. Wesley seems to agree with something Cordelia is saying and they both stop for a moment, taking deep breaths before climbing out of the car.

Oh God. Spike is…gone: dust. That's what the look on their faces says. No Spike in the car, no reunion, no eternity together.

I sit back down on the bed and look up at my little canine friend. He looks sad, the hat pulled low over his eyes. They knock on the door and Wesley comes in first.

'Don't tell me. I don't want to hear it, Wesley. I can't hear it. Not now. Maybe sometime in the future you can tell it all to me. Let's just get going. I need to be out of here now. Please.'

'Oh. Well…all right. Are you sure, Angel? It's a rather thrilling story if I do say so myself. We had an excellent plan too. Cordelia, tell Angel about your cover story. It's really rather amusing.'

I push past him and climb into the car. 'Are you two coming or not?'

'Jees, Angel! Ungrateful or what? We risk life and limb and, I might add, this new pair of extremely expensive shoes, to rescue your bizarre friend and all we get is grumpy brood boy! That's the very last time I rescue, Spike. He, I might add, again, was a lot more grateful. As well he might be given…Angel! Ow! Let go! What?'

'Spike! Spike's not dead…I mean…gone, dust. Spike is alright?'

'Duh! Angel. I've just said that, Wesley just said that. What's up with you?' But I saw the look she exchanged with Wesley. Just like the one in the car before they came in to face me.

'Cordelia, Wes, I want the truth about Spike. Now. Do not lie to me. I will know if you do.'

'Angel, Spike is fine. He's gone back to Sunnydale with Xander. He…he was a little…he wasn't looking too good…oh god, all right, he got shot, Angel. Don't look like that…he's okay. He was shot several times during our escape, but he's okay. He didn't want you to worry and see him like that. One of the bullets caught him in the face, but he'll be okay, given time and good feeding. And he'll get both in Sunnydale. He's going to stay with Giles. He'll be looked after.'

'We're going to Sunnydale. Now.'

'No!' The dominance in his tone shocks me. 'I'm sorry, Angel. Spike made me: us, promise that. That we wouldn’t let you follow him. Angel. He was very badly injured. One bullet caught him in his left eye, another in his cheek: it went through his mouth and caused a very large exit wound. We both believe the injuries will heal fully, given time. But with the injuries he already had…Angel, stop gripping my arm like that, you're hurting me. Thank you. He has had a ghastly time, Angel, there's no doubt about that, but he was quite rational and very determined not to see you until he was fully recovered. I respect that wish, and I think you should too. He was most insistent about this, Angel. Very agitated that I wouldn't put his case strongly enough. Cordelia, please tell him.'

'Sorry, Angel. It's what he wanted.'

'What happened? Tell me everything. As we drive back to LA. I'll go along with this long enough to hear what happened. But I'm warning you: I want the full story. No lies, no concocted, 'don't tell Angel that part,' pieces to the story.'

I can't believe what they tell me, on that long, sad drive back to LA. It was all going so well. Even Cordelia's acting hadn't let them down: which was a miracle in itself, I suppose. But Buffy's new love, the one I could smell so keenly in her…God, was it only two weeks ago?…her new boyfriend seems to have been a devil in disguise. Bit like her previous one then. Poor Buffy. He saw them trying to leave. He recognized Xander, of course, and realized they were rescuing Spike. He tried to stop them and when they wouldn’t stop, he shot Xander. Standing over him, he was going to fire again when Spike launched himself at the prick. His chip went off and left him in agony on the ground, when Riley…I can hardly say his name…when Riley put the gun to Spike's head and fired point-blank into his face. I can imagine, only too well, what damage must have been done to my beautiful, Spike. I wonder if Riley had some reason to fire into his face like that. Wesley was not very specific in describing all of Spike's previously earned injuries, perhaps to spare Cordelia's embarrassment, but I have a very distinct feeling that Riley was making some sort of final statement by shooting Spike in the face. I shall have to ask him one day. When all of this is long behind us. But the story makes me ache to be with Spike. I want to cradle him in my arms and make him well with the power of my need for him. I want to tear this, Riley's, soul from his body with torture so exquisitely painful he would die from the wish for it to stop.

I want anything but what I actually get, which is a long drive back to LA through the cold, wet night with my human companions. Every mile taking me further away from Spike. Every mile seeming to make it less and less likely that we will ever be together.

I long to see him. I wonder if he is thinking of me.



Four weeks. Has it really been only four weeks? It seems longer but then, sometimes, it seems as though he is standing over me again and I am back in that place with the cold, steel barrel of his 9mm pistol against my face. Sometimes it seems as though it can't possibly be only four weeks that I have suffered this agony that makes me cry out: unable to stop myself or prevent the tears that come. But sometimes I am still there, forever held in that moment when he whispered, 'No more Angel face now, Buffy.'

One month of care so intensive you would think I were someone important: someone that mattered. Guilt makes humans predictable. But I'm not going to question their motives for this devotion to my welfare. I'm just going to enjoy it. As much as I can enjoy anything at the moment.

The first shot was aimed into my eye. If I hadn't have started to curl myself into a protective ball, I think it would have gone in. It went lower, directly though my cheekbone and out through my lower jaw. There was so much blood he missed entirely with his second shot, aiming for the center of my face; the bullet glanced off only taking out half the other side and an ear. Well, that's what Xander told me in the truck we stole, on the long drive back to Sunnydale. I was blown into unconsciousness by the first bullet, so had no fucking idea what had happened after that.

Oh…and I totally deny I was diving in to save Xander Harris from being killed. I mean: is that likely? No, I saw an opportunity to give farm boy some grief and I just…lost it. Forgot about the chip and…dived in. Incidentally, Xander was saved from further harm. But I repeat; that was not my intention. Hasn't stopped him being my most devoted nurse this week though. And he's had some competition too. Watcher's been like an old woman, fussing over me doing all the messy stuff, stuff with bandages, blood, stitching and bloody painful anti-something stuff. Red's been here with her…what do you call it? Friend? I like them: they've been doing healing spells that have been incredibly unhelpful. But they make me laugh and that's something. Fucking hurts like hell to laugh too. But Xander? He's done the good stuff like bringing chocolate I can't eat cus of all the bandages; so he eats it for me. He's rigged up the Watcher's TV in here and brought his own video and we've watched our way though the local store's supply of films. Helped by copious amounts of alcohol also supplied by the guilt-ridden lad. Yeah, guilt makes humans do funny things. Cus the fucking bastard wasn’t actually shot at all when I dived in…when I saw him fall. He'd seen the gun, stepped back and tripped over his bleeding military boots. Shot fired uselessly above his head. So I'm not gonna lessen his guilt by pretending to be braver than I am. If I happen to scream out when the Watcher takes off the bandages and Xander's in the next room? Well good.

One thing's good though. At least I can't see myself. Don't think I'd enjoy that experience too much. Course, I didn't know what I looked like before, but I'm thinking it's got to have been better than I probably look now. But I have seen bad injuries on Vampires heal before. Dru was practically torn limb from limb by that mob in Prague and she recovered. Physically, anyway. So we're all being incredibly cheerful and optimistic. It's bleeding sickening.

But you know who's been the best of them all, who's done the most useful thing? Well, I guess it's that old guilt thing again. Cus the Slayer's been doing something we don't even talk about and certainly don' t tell the others. She started by bringing me blood, replacing the pig's blood that the Watcher had given me. It was human. I didn't tell anyone, neither did she. I felt the healing process accelerate quite noticeably after that first bag became a regular supply. Hey, if I could speak, I'd have thanked her. But I think she got the message from the way I sucked a bit harder through that straw. Healed so well in fact that this week, when the Watcher took the bandage off my lower jaw, he left it off. Still can't speak, but I can drink properly. And that's when she…did it. Late last night. After Xander left. She came in and sat with me. She only looked at me at first. Then she came over and knelt on the bed beside me. For one bizarre minute I thought of the farm boy and his ardent assertion that the Slayer wanted me. I almost laughed, 'cept she didn't try to kiss me or touch me, she bared her neck, took a small knife out of her sleeve and opened a substantial wound in her neck. Just over the mark Angel gave her. She lay gently on top of me, pressing the flowing, potent fluid to my mouth. Nothing she could have done – if she had lain down and offered her body to me – nothing could have been more erotic, generous, loving and totally, bloody shocking. But the best bit? Not that healing, magic elixir sliding down my throat, not the feeling of life and power returning to my body, not the feel of her warm body, pressed against mine, no the best bit was picturing that fucking farm boy seeing this. Oh yeah, I really got off on that.

Oh, and that's another thing we don’t talk about.

Didn't stop her coming back and feeding me again tonight though.

Slayer's blood, more potent than even Sire's blood. It's the holy grail of power for a demon. It's the third taste I've had of it and…the best. Cus it was freely given.



I've rung every day. Every day for four weeks, sometimes a couple of times a day, but always the same answer. He's as well as can be expected, no he can't talk to you – he can't talk at all yet – no he doesn’t want to see you, yes I'll tell him you phoned. I've written, I've sent stuff, stuff I'd though he'd like, but I haven't spoken to him and I haven’t been able to see him. But I have faith in Spike's strength and in his ability to overcome this. And as I don't care what he looks like anyway, I suppose…oh, God…who am I fooling? All I can think about is those incredible cheekbones, that sensuous mouth, that perfect skin, those intense, blue eyes. What if it's all lost? What if he is not the beautiful creature I turned? I know I have always told myself I turned him for Dru. That I had no interest in him. Well, if that were true, why did I turn, him? Why not one of the thousand other pets she fawned on for a few days and then discarded. Why did I turn, him?

I wanted him, even then.

I saw the potential in that face, for a companion I would never tire of looking at, even for eternity. Perhaps as Darla did, with me. Forever is a very long time to look at the same face. I knew his was the one. And ironically, even I could not foresee the…improvements time has made on that face. Although I make fun of it, his hair is a perfect accompaniment to those cheekbones. The black clothes, set off the flawless skin. His face has become lean and hard over the years, all adding to the original perfection.

So, yes, I do care what he looks like. I do want to see him. And I'm…I'm…alright, I'll say it…I'm fucking sick of being kept away from him. I give him one week more. One week and I going to Sunnydale, and I will see him.



I have no idea why she is doing this. It seems…exceptional. To feed a demon…an enemy, your own precious blood! But I won't question why, not yet. I'll just take every drop she offers and ask questions later. Cus I can talk now. After four days, the Watcher left all the bandages off. The next day, I started talking. Xander says I haven't shut up since. Everyone is shocked at the rate of my recovery. Everyone 'cept Buffy that is, Buffy who now wears high-necked jumpers when she comes around.

I tried a test tonight. I went into game face when she came in. I wanted to save her from cutting herself again, I wanted to test my recovery on demon features, and I wanted to test her reaction to feeding a demon. All too easy to forget that's what we are when we wear our human masks. She didn’t even flinch, only smiled and put the knife away and lay down with me anyway. It became so sensuous I almost lost it. I almost pulled away from her, unable to feed. But she held the back of my head to her neck and forced me to continue. She must know. She's not an innocent. She must know the reaction she is causing by doing this every night. I am, after all, naked in this bed. She must know.

But if she does, she doesn't react, she just comes in, feeds me her power and leaves. We don’t talk.

Except tonight.

Tonight, I want answers; I want to know why she is doing this. Is it for memories of Angel? Is it because she trusted Riley? So when she thinks I've had enough and pulls away, I catch her arm and keep her lying on me, her face, inches from my face.

'Why?'

She looks at me a long time, as if considering her answer, then she lowers her eyes and starts fidgeting with the sheet that's between my naked chest and her sweater.

'I know, Spike. I know what he thought. I know why he shot you in your…face. And…'

Oh, bloody hell, she's started to cry, large, glistening tears form at the corner of her eyes. I let her go and push her up till she is sitting, pulling myself up too.

'What, Luv?'

She looks me directly in the eye. 'I know what he was doing to you, before, and this time…the starving…the feeding…the…other…oh God…the other one told me…so I wanted to…I don’t know…even the score? Does it, Spike? Does it even the score?'

'Hey, Luv! There was no score to even. None of this was your fault. Okay, you have shit taste in men…but hey! He wasn't all bad…he was a lousy shot!'

She puts her head back onto my chest and I lie slowly back down, and that's where the Watcher finds her in the morning, asleep on me, in the bed. And I'm not saying that her presence with me that night was as good for me as her blood. I'm not saying that it actually helped the healing process, but something happened that night.

For somewhere in those long hours, not wanting to move for fear of waking her, not wanting to break that deep, blood-loss sleep…in those hours, I think I kind of found myself at last. The last little bit of what was missing clicked back into place. Because, if I closed my eyes: she was Dru. If I put my hand to her face: her tears were Dru's tears. If I let myself drift into light dreams: I was back again, caring for Dru, living for her.

Perhaps I am a loathsome, evil creature. I don't know. I try to be. But I seem to be…best, when I have someone else to look after. Slayer…Baby…Vampire Queen, don’t really matter in the end…it's all need. It's all love.

So no bodily healing went on that night, but something happened.

Cus the next day, I got up.

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Jenny - ladymoluk@hotmail.com