Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.
All direct quotes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.
Author's notes: Thank you Jeremy Shane, kse93, Hercules8, juggling, BeneficialAddiction, Mirandaannw, Ellierose101, and Jhiz for reviewing! And sorry to those following this story if you got a false-alarm update; I was just fixing typos in Chapter 5, and I'm not sure if it sends out an email when I do that.
Chapter notes: Covers the end of "Halloween" into "Lie to Me". Obligatory warning that Buffy still has the hots for Angel (the broody ponce) and poor Spikey is still devoted to his dark mistress. Also, Dru is kinky. Nothing explicit.
Chapter 6: Forgotten
"Hi honey. I'm home."
Spike tries to step back in time, but the Slayer's rejuvenated fists move faster, catching him in the ribcage and then twice in the face.
"There's my Slayer," he smirks, rubbing the new bruise to his chin, circling her until she's between him and the newcomers – Angel scowling fiercely, the high-schoolers watching with wide eyes. "Yeah, that's more like it, luv. C'mon…"
Buffy glares, but there's no denying the spark in her eyes, the quickening pumping of her blood, thrilled to be fighting Spike again. She snatches up a straight length of pipe from the floor, spins it like a quarterstaff, and then plows it straight into the vampire's gut. He doubles over, mentally cursing himself, knowing if he'd had any brains he would've just offed her when he'd had the chance. But damn, I would've missed this spitfire, no bloody point in denyin' it… Guess bein' all defenseless for a few hours worked up a lot of pent-up ire in the little bint. Good thing I'm a soddin' glutton for punishment.
"You know what? It's good to be me," quips Buffy, twirling the pipe segment again. Before Spike can recover and duck out of range, she lowers the tip of the pipe and then brings it straight into his chin with an uppercut motion, knocking him onto his back on the crate he'd set her on mere moments ago. Demon face contorting in pain, he slides to the ground, at least one clean break in his jawbone.
"Finish him!" Angel shouts.
It's the malice in his voice that surprises Buffy, her head turning sharply to face her sort-of-boyfriend. Knowing he won't get another chance to escape, Spike takes off running, ripping through a weak spot in the shoddy tin siding of the warehouse. Buffy lets her makeshift weapon clang on the floor, staring contemplatively at the spot in the building's wall where the blond vampire had vanished.
"Hey, Buff!" Xander cheers. "Welcome back!"
"Yeah…" she murmurs without turning around, "you too."
"You guys remember what happened?" demands Cordelia.
"It was way creepy," Xander confirms. "It's like I was there but I couldn't get out."
"Yeah, I know the feeling. This outfit's totally skin-tight."
Angel moves between the clutter and approaches Buffy, who remains gazing at the new hole in the wall. Her mind races over the last few minutes of her blurred non-Slayer moments – the attack by the stupid pirate whom she could have easily squashed like a gnat, the man in black who had immediately stepped in to defend her, the undeniable tinglies she'd felt at the sound of his soothing, accented voice, and then the flood of terror as he'd held her against him and shamefully admitted that his love had ordered him to hurt her… as though his sense of honor and dignity had prohibited him from fighting her when she was helpless.
And the whole time it was SPIKE, she seethes silently. Stupid bleached butt-head with his show-off coat and his swagger and his eyes… big blue pools… eyes that nothing without a soul should be allowed to have…
"Are you okay?" Angel suddenly asks, breaking into her thoughts.
"Oh…" Buffy draws her gaze away from her enemy's escape route, to the vampire whom her costume-self had been absolutely terrified of. Now, of course, he's back to his tall, hunky self, and her plan for the evening – concerning major Angel-kissage without her mom in the house – fills her brain again. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Hand in hand, they head out of the warehouse, with Cordelia complaining to Xander right behind them.
From the moment that he takes off running, Spike knows he's in trouble. Drusilla had been so adamant, so convinced that tonight was his best chance of killing the Slayer and averting whatever calamity the pixies had instilled in her head. But he had failed… and now he must lay himself bare before her fury.
He slinks back into the factory, one hand cradling his now human but definitely still broken jaw. The main floor is noisy, with little huddles of minions playing poker at card tables or fiddling with the TV system, remaining inside on this night of irritation to all things supernatural. They all ignore Spike, who immediately senses Drusilla is not among them, so he shuffles to the stairs and down to the basement.
"Pet?" he whispers, gently easing open the door to their suite. "Dru?"
The room is pitch black, so dark that when he shuts the door he can't even catch glints of reflection off the glass eyes of the numerous porcelain dolls lined along the furniture.
"Drusilla, baby, you're scarin' me…"
"You didn't do as you were told." Her voice comes out in a scoff from the darkness, from somewhere near the bed, but he's uncertain exactly where. "You couldn't kill her."
The distain in her voice is the worst part of the torment he knows is coming, and his injured jaw trembles as he slowly tugs off his duster.
"Dru… I-I'm sorry, luv, but I'll have another go. Even the odds next time. Girl doesn't have nine lives, after all. Sooner or later, I'll –"
She spits and hisses like a cat, and now that his vampire eyes have adjusted to the ebony room he can see the outline of her form, reclining against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, spite in her gaze.
"You lie! You're a bad, bad little boy. Mummy needs to hurt you so you don't do it again."
Her words are a whip-crack, a swift strike to his heart, and he knows he's going to pay for his failure with his body… for hours and hours… possibly days… until the sadism instilled deeply in her by Angelus is contented.
Silently, mentally preparing himself for what might await him, Spike drops his red silk shirt on top of his duster, then grabs his t-shirt at the back of his neck and tugs it off. Closing his eyes, he kneels and clasps his hands together behind his back.
"You're right," he murmurs to the ground at her feet. "I… I've been bad, my princess. Punish me."
…Four days later…
He waits in darkness so deep even his vampire eyes can't penetrate it. Waits… because though he could easy snap the handcuffs she'd secured around his wrists and escape from his uncomfortable seated position against one of the bedposts, he'd only be earning himself more of her wrath. Drusilla had shackled him there, unbuttoned his jeans, and just when he had expected gouging nails or drops of searing holy water or candle wax – or any other game his dark goddess could conjure up to delight herself and sweetly torment him – she'd just left, trapping him in silence. Nothing. Hadn't even touched him.
For all he knew, she'd left him here to starve.
The longest one of these 'punishment sessions' had endured for three weeks, but that had been with Angelus coaching her every move, whispering every tormenting thing she should do to her naughty little dog. Since they'd split with the other members of the Whirlwind, she'd never gone more than two days straight without his care… and though he aches all over from sitting so still, his chief thoughts are of her, worrying. Master Vampire though Drusilla is… she's unstable, capricious, sometimes not fully aware of her surroundings… and if one of the fledges got just a bit too annoyed by her behavior…
The door creaks, and his princess appears, a tiny candlestick in one hand. Spike gasps, but stops himself from breathing her name.
Her head tilts to one side, as though she's perplexed to find him like this… as if she'd forgotten how she'd walked out him, like he was some necklace or hairpin she'd misplaced.
"Spike… what are you doing?"
He swallows stiffly. Oh god, she DID forget 'bout me…
"I… was jus' hopin' you'd come back to me, princess," he utters huskily, working around the parched texture of his throat. "'Cause…" he swallows again and soldiers on, feeling compelled to remind her, "'cause I was your bad boy an' you had to punish me."
With her brows still drawn in a puzzled look, she wordlessly sets the candle on one of the doll-bedecked dressers, withdraws the key to the handcuffs from her bodice, and fiddles with his wrists until the lock clicks open. Spike lowers his strained arms to his sides, and she sits on the floor next to him, tucking her skirt primly over her ankles.
"Drusilla… my lovely one, what's'a matter?"
"William…" she whimpers, a little pout on her lips. "I'm hungry."
"Did the boys not feed you?" he asks tenderly, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. The motion allows the candlelight to flicker across his wrist, highlighting the rosy bruised mark of the handcuffs.
"No," she mumbles, flecks of water sparkling like diamonds in her eyes, looking every bit the innocent girl she must have been when Angelus took her and destroyed her.
"Soddin' blighters. Here, baby. Here's a willing treat for you."
He inclines his head away from her, further exposing the hollow of his alabaster throat. She slithers into his lap, laves the spot with her tongue until he shudders, and then sinks her slender fangs deep into him, suckling and pulling. He braces one hand on the floor to stay seated upright, already weakened from his days of solitary confinement.
When she finishes her meal, Drusilla licks the weeping punctures closed and rests her head against his shoulder, her fingertips playing idly against his taut chest muscles.
"Are you sure you've had enough, kitten?" he whispers, blinking desperately to fight his exhaustion.
Her head nods, soft raven tresses tickling his bare skin. "I tried to catch a little boy… a littler boy than my Willy… a little lamb caught in the blackberry patch…"
"You went hunting?" he gasps, quickly wrapping both arms around her in an embrace. "Darling, you shouldn't be wanderin' about. You're weak. Could've run into trouble."
"My tummy was growly, and you were hiding down here."
Spike bites his lip and hides his face against her hair. Bloody forgot all 'bout me, an' she could very well have wandered out an' gotten herself staked by the bleedin' Slayer an' I wouldn't have known a soddin' thing.
"So, did you catch the boy, my lioness?"
"Nearly… but Daddy came and frightened him away."
"Did he now?" mutters Spike. "Didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No… he can't. Not anymore."
Spike strokes her back gently, pretending the obvious longing in her voice doesn't bother him as much as it truly does.
"His heart stinks of her," Drusilla continues, a trace of hissing in her tone again. "The girl. The Slayer." Much to his surprise, she sighs in a pitying sort of way. "Poor little thing. She has no idea what's in store."
"But you do. Got all those whisperin' pixies tellin' you all the fun to be had."
She nods, her pouting lips pressing to the freshly sealed wound in his neck, and then squirms in his lap to make herself more comfortable.
"I want to be well again," she says sullenly, her fingernails still dragging up and down his chest. "Why can't you make me well, Spike? You promised."
"I'm tryin', baby. Doin' all I can."
She makes a little tsk noise, tongue clicking reproachfully, and her head swivels to make eye contact with her favorite china doll.
"Miss Edith whispers that you do not love your princess anymore."
"Well, she's a lyin' rag dolly who knows nothin'," Spike scoffs, cradling Dru against his chest. "I love my princess, now an' always. You'll see. I'm gonna beat this Slayer, luv. One way or 'nother."
To be continued…