TITLE: Ties That Bind, 1/?

AUTHOR: La Rose Noire

EMAIL: goddessblkrose@yahoo.com

SUMMARY: Takes place back when Spike was newly chipped and forced to be one of the Scoobies. This will be Spike/Willow stuff because it just makes so much SENSE…and it helps scrub all the Spuffy out of my brain.

RATING:  G (But we'll see how it goes in other

parts.)

DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al own all

that is Buffy...including the characters in this

story. No copyright infringement intended...just an

attempt to rewrite their world to my liking. It's what goddesses do.

Ties That Bind, Part 1

If he didn't get out of here in the next thirty seconds he was going to throttle someone, chip or no chip. What more did they want from him? They called, he came. They said follow, he went with them on their little quest to defeat yet another evil. They said "Kill," he ripped a bunch of demons apart. ** He sat. He begged. He rolled over** The unwelcome thought made him clench his fists and he growled low in his throat.

Yeah, if he didn't leave right this second, someone was going to be hurting, even if he had to go along for the ride.

"I'm out of here." He stood abruptly and his chair skittered back behind him, banging against the bookcase. The loud noise, more than his movement – after all, no one had paid any attention to him since they left the graveyard, had they? Why should they? He'd served his purpose – made the Watcher stop, mid-sentence.

"Yes. Well. Fine." Giles scanned the book in front of him. "Where was I?"

As he came around the table the Slayer stood and stepped in front of him, planting a hand  **a tiny mortal hand** in the middle of his chest to stop him. He growled again, deep in his chest, clenching his jaw with effort. One swipe of his arm and she'd be across the room. He'd be on the floor howling in pain and wouldn't get to enjoy it, but the thought of her body flying through the air and crashing into the shop's display shelves brought him a moment of satisfaction.

"Not so fast, Fangless." The Slayer removed her hand from his chest and unconsciously wiped it on the side of her skirt. "Be here tomorrow at sundown. There may be more of those things out there, and we need you to help kill them." She turned and sat down in her recently vacated chair, turning her back to him.

Two slayers. He'd killed two slayers in his time, and this one didn't even think enough of him not to turn her back on him. He contemplated the thin neck of the girl in front of him, imagining the feel of her fragile bones beneath his fingers, knowing exactly what it would feel like to twist and snap that delicate little neck, watch her head loll to the side like a broken doll…

"Spike!"

His eyes met the Watcher's. "What?" His tone was low and controlled, betraying nothing of what he was feeling.

Ah, yes. Control. He'd learned more about control in the last few months than he had in the last 128 years.

And he hated every moment of it.

"Your money is in an envelope on the counter. You needn't count it, it's all there." The Watcher turned his attention back to his book and the little group of do-gooders. "Now, as I was saying…"

Spike stalked to the counter and grabbed the envelope by the cash register, turning it over in his hands a few times.

He'd sold himself again. Sold his body and what it could do for a few quid to keep him in blood and cigarettes. The Big Bad was now the vampire equivalent of a prostitute, only without the false words of endearment and recognition after the act. The envelope disappeared into the folds of his duster and he turned towards the door, calculating how fast he could get to the closest liquor store.

"Spike?" His eyes followed the soft sound of his name, coming to rest on the figure standing to the side of the door, an armful of books balanced in front of her. He growled in answer and her big green eyes widened. He shuddered as the scent of her fear wafted towards him like some long forgotten perfume.

"What, Witch?" **Haven't you gotten enough from me tonight? What else do you bloody wankers want from me?** He smirked when she unconsciously backed up and hit the wall behind her.

"Um…nothing. Well, I guess it's something, kind of. Um…" She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. "Thank you. For the demon killing. We couldn't have done it without you. You were really…wow. When you went all GRRRR…" Spike felt his smirk try and turn itself into a smile as the witch scrunched up her little nose and bared her teeth, trying to look vicious. "…and then you took those two on at once and ripped their heads off with your bare hands and then used the heads to knock down that whole group of demons…I mean, it was really gross and all, but…well, it was…it made all the difference. So, thank you." She suddenly ran out of steam and stopped, staring at him.

He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "No problem, Red." He banged out the front door of the shop as loudly as he could, duster swirling behind him, and turned towards his crypt, the liquor store completely forgotten.

Part 2

(A week later…)

Another night, another 12 hours of sheer Hell. He wondered idly if this is what it had been like for Peaches, after the Slayer stuck a sword through him and sent him to his just reward. He rather liked that image, so he replayed it in his mind slowly, imagining the shock and horror on the poncey bastard's face as he realized his One True Love had just skewered him.   

"Stop that!" The blonde next to him slammed her book aside and picked up another one.  He scowled as Peaches' face slipped away, only to be replaced with the faces of the people actually surrounding the table. He started tapping his foot faster in revenge, just to see what the Slayer would do. Gods below, he was bored. He needed to kill something or have a fag, soon. He was a man – okay, demon – of action, and this sitting around was killing him. Again.

"I said STOP, Spike…unless you want me to plant a stake through your boot to hold it to the floor." He stopped the foot tapping and sat up straight. Did she have any idea how much these bloody boots cost? Doc Martens they were, and they'd seen him through a lot of good times. Just because she was a fashion victim didn't mean he hadn't found a look that worked and stuck with it. These boots were part and parcel of…

The thought was left unfinished as his attention was caught by the red head slamming through the door. All eyes turned to her as she stomped to the table and flung her bag on an empty chair, dumping a soft sided computer case unceremoniously on the table top. Well, finally, something out of the norm. The evening was looking up. The witch usually slunk in all quiet like, murmuring soft hellos and plying people with the food or drink she'd brought.

"Will?" The Slayer looked at her friend with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. No!" The witch shoved her book bag onto the floor and collapsed into the now empty chair. "I ran into some trouble on the way over." She shook her head at her friends' cries of concern. "I'm okay, I mean, physically, I'm fine, but the…the…bastard threw my laptop against a tree." She picked up the case and shook it, hard, closing her eyes at the sound of rattling parts. "Screen's toast, too." She wrapped her arms around the case and cradled it against her chest like a hurt child, staring down mournfully. "I wish I could zap him back to unlife so I could stake him again."

It was all he could do not to fall on the floor laughing. Her little toy had gotten broken in a scruffle. What was the big deal? Stupid bloody vampires today couldn't even manage to take out one little girl on their own. A picture of the little red head cowering against her headboard flashed across his mind before being brutally pushed aside. ** That was different. I wasn't myself. **

He watched disdainfully as the rest of the group murmured sympathetically as the witch tried hard not to cry. "We'll get it fixed, Will. I promise." The Slayer patted her friend's arm reassuringly.

"I promise, we'll get right on it first thing tomorrow. How about some tea? I was just going to make some. Let me get you a cup." He snickered as the Watcher hurried into the little kitchenette and started rattling crockery. ** Bloody cuppa will fix anything, won't it, Rupes? **

He decided to stir the pot a little and end the sickening sympathyfest. "Smart chit like you must have back ups and whatnot, right? What's the big deal?" His head flew back a bit in surprise before he could catch himself as the witch caught his eye and glared at him. Her eyes usually slid over his face, never quite making eye contact. She was the only one who seemed to understand that prey never stare into the eyes of predators.

But she was staring straight at him now, and he didn't like it. What was wrong with the girl?

"The big deal, as you put it, is the amount of work it's going to take to recover everything and get another system up and running the way I want. I had finally gotten this one just the way I wanted it – everything was perfect – and some…some…STUPID vampire goes and throws it into a tree!" Her voice rose as she went on, her fingers clutching the computer case tighter and tighter.

 "Like I said, I just don't get it." He shrugged, dismissing her little problem – and her along with it.

"No, Spike, you don't 'get it'. To 'get it', you'd have to actually care about something other than yourself." She flung the words at him spitefully and the rest of the group looked at her in shock, momentarily speechless. What were they all staring at? Was that supposed to cut him to the quick? Granted, for the witch that was about as nasty as things got, but honestly. Did she think he was going to be insulted? She was right. He was a right bastard and she had his number. He smiled, rather pleased that someone in this little group remembered exactly who and what he was.

She glared at him harder, if that was possible, when she saw the smile on his face. "You want to share my pain, Spike? You want to know what it felt like when everything I had worked so hard for went crashing into that tree and I realized it had all been for nothing?" Her big green eyes narrowed, and he could tell the witch was going to try to get to him, to make him feel the frustration and anger and hurt that she had been subjected to.

** The best of British luck to you, pet ** His smile grew wider in anticipation as she leaned forward. He hadn't had this much fun in days.

"You want to know how I felt tonight, Spike? Think May 1995. Last day of the season. West Ham vs. Manchester United for the Premiership trophy. THAT'S how I felt tonight." She leaned back and smiled in satisfaction at the look of horror on his face.

The nerve of the girl. Comparing her little computer fiasco to That Game. He remembered that game like it was yesterday. He had seriously considered giving up following football after that game and taking up something a little less painful – anything would have to be less painful than watching Manchester United miss chance after chance while those West Ham wankers played the game of their lives – but in the end he decided that football really was the sport for him. The screaming, the fights, the riots, the bloodshed…nah, he couldn't give it up. So instead, he'd gone out and drowned his sorrows in buckets of blood that night. Hearing her remind him of that fiasco of a game made him want to go out and do it all again.

But he couldn't, not any more.

Eye contact was broken – and the battle of wills officially ended – when the Watcher returned, presenting the witch with a steaming cup of tea. He watched as the chit shifted mood completely, putting her computer case on the ground, smiling at the old fusspot with affection and thanking him prettily.

Hard to believe this was the same little harridan who just made him relive one of his worst nightmares.

He decided then and there to pay a little more attention at these little gatherings and watch the witch a bit more carefully. She had layers to her…it was easy to forget that. He shouldn't have, though. He was supposed to be the one who saw and noted all their little strengths and weaknesses so he could use them against them, strike where it would hurt the most.

Just like the witch had with him.

Maybe they had more in common than he had thought.

Especially if she liked football.

Part 3

Three days later he wasn't sure what to make of his observation of the witch and the rest of the Slayers merry band of do-gooders. He'd actually forced himself to pay attention at the nightly research gatherings (he refused to refer to them as research 'parties,' like the rest of that sorry lot, since to his thinking a 'party' required at a minimum liquor, blood and fear, all of which were sorely lacking, unfortunately).

It wasn't easy, considering the rubbish they gave him to read. It was amazing he could stay awake long enough to observe anything.

He shifted around on the hard stone beneath his back, trying to find a more comfortable position, and blew smoke rings at the ceiling while he catalogued his findings.

Demon girl was guaranteed to mention sex at least once during every conversation.

Her bollock-brain of a boyfriend had finally given up reciting the 'appropriate topics of conversation' list every time she did and now contented himself with closing his eyes in pain or, if the word 'orgasm' was actually uttered, banging his head on the table quietly.

 ** Wish I could help him with that ** Thoughts of repeatedly slamming the boy's head against the table until his forehead was nothing but bloody mush threatened to distract him, but he dutifully forced his mind back to the subject at hand.

Let's see, what else had he learned?

Oh, yeah…Slutty the Vampire Layer's eyes got all soft and she actually glowed whenever she mentioned her soldier boy boyfriend. Yep, the girl had it bad. He found himself wondering if she'd actually shagged the twit yet, but his stomach objected violently to the visual – naked Slayer, blech – and he immediately switched to a more pleasant scenario.  ** Hope she's there to see it when I finally get this chip taken care of and I rip his arms off and beat him with them **

And the Watcher was a tight-arsed tosser with a superiority complex.

Nothing new learned there.

But the witch…once again he contemplated their little exchange of the night before.

It had been another boring night - look up demons, talk about prophecies ad nauseum, try to guess the nature of the next impending apocalypse, blah, blah, blah - when the Slayer looked at her watch for the hundredth time and jumped up. "Oh, my…look at the time! It's getting late! I better get out there and patrol."

The witch had looked at her with a little smirk and big innocent eyes. "Patrolling alone tonight, Buff?"

The Slayer had stopped her primping and hastily shoved her lipstick and mirror back in her pocket. "Sure. I mean, unless I run into someone who wants to patrol. With me."

"We do. Come on, Xander. We'll help Buffy do her sweep through the cemetery before we go home. My legs hurt from sitting too long, and stretching before strenuous physical exercise is necessary for humans." Demon girl stood up, not even noticing the look of relief on Xapper's face. It was a good bet he had been thrilled his little girlfriend had decided not to elaborate for once on the 'physical exercise' she had planned for later.

"Um…that's okay, Anya. You two have put in a long night. Just well, go home and do, you know, whatever it is you two do at home. I'll be fine, really."

He had leaned over and winked at the ex-demon. "When the Slayer gets all tarted up before patrol, it means she's going to meet Captain Cardboard and give him lots of orgasms in between the actual patrolling and slaying."

The look of outrage the Slayer shot him had been priceless.

"Oh. Well, we wouldn't want to interrupt your orgasms. We'll just go home and have our own." The moron had started the head-thumping-on-the-table thing, oblivious to demon girl's attempts to get him out of his chair.

He hadn't been able to resist one last shot. "Well, Slayer, better hurry and get started on shagging – I mean, patrol. Wouldn't want soldier boy to off one without you." Before he knew it, the bitch had had a stake in her hand and he had been forced to resort to trying to look innocent to avoid being dusted. "Demon! I meant offing a demon! What did you think I meant, you dirty minded girl? "

The witch had stepped into the fray right about then. "Buff, he's just being mean. That's what he does. Don't let it get to you."

The stake pushed aside, the Slayer had turned on him. "What would you know about shagging or orgasms, Spike? You aren't getting any of either one, are you? Last I heard, your loony little girlfriend had dumped your ass and was off 'shagging' what? A chaos demon? No, it was a fungus demon this time, wasn't it? Bet he's having all kinds of good orgasms right about now."

The reminder of his wicked plum's betrayals had stabbed him like a knife through the heart, twisting and twisting until he was consumed by the pain, but he was sure he hadn't let on. He had known he needed a witty retort, but the pain…it was too much. The words just wouldn't come.

So he'd focused on the little witch's voice, pushing the pain away. "Stop! Enough! Don't say another word about…" The redhead had shot him a look of apology. "…Drusilla. You know the Rule of Blighted Romance. We do not say mean things about - or even needlessly mention  - Cordelia, A-angel or Oz." The last name had come out as little more than a pain filled whisper.

"The Rule does not cover Drusilla!"

The witch had crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "It does now. I say so. The Rule is hereby altered." She had pursed her little pink mouth and narrowed her eyes, then pointed to her face. "Resolve face."

He had been shocked when the Slayer opened her mouth, then closed it without saying another word. "Fine. I'm out of here." She'd stormed out without a backward glance, and demon girl and the moron had followed not long after

He'd seen the pity in their eyes when they'd looked at him on their way out the door.

It had almost been more than he could stand. How dare they! The idea that they – weak, powerless, and mortal – should feel sorry for him!

He had decided to put an end to it once and for all.

"Thanks so much for the assist there, Witch, but it really wasn't necessary. You lot can talk about Dru - "  he was sure, thinking back on it, that his voice hadn't broken on her

name, not really " - all you want. Doesn't bother me a bit." He'd fumbled a bit lighting a cigarette, but she didn't notice. They were always on about how he wasn't allowed to smoke in the shop, so he'd known she would understand that his little act of defiance meant he didn't care a jot what any of them thought of him.

"You forget who you're talking to here, Spike. I was there right after the big break up, remember? Love spell? Drunk Spike? Bottle in face…uh, never mind. Let's not bring up the past, okay?" She had looked at him with those big sad eyes. "Let's just forget it."

"No, I bloody well will not forget it. I am over it…over her. I spent a century taking care of that barmy bint and she dumped me for a 'real' demon. Big deal. Do you think I paid attention to anything she said? I am not soft! I have never been soft! I am the Big Bad, I am Evil with a capital "E," and I don't need her or anyone else. Don't know what I saw in the silly cow anyway."

"You loved her." Her voice had been as soft as her eyes, and more than anything in this world he had wanted to slap her.

"You just don't get it, do you? I don't want – I don't need - your bleedin' pity." He had blown smoke in her face, feeling triumph as she backed away from him.

She had waved her hand in front of her face and scrunched her cute little nose, but she never stopped looking at him with those big soft green eyes. "You're the one who doesn't get it, Spike. I don't pity you. I feel compassion, and probably more than a little empathy…but I don't pity you. I simply don't like knowing someone is in pain. Even undead evil guys who loathe my very existence. So, really, if you think about it, I did it all for me. Out of selfishness, to make me feel better. Yep, sometimes my selfish side rears its ugly head and I just can't help myself from doing stuff like that. Now if you'll excuse me - " she'd made a production of opening the door for him. " – I promised Giles I would lock up tonight and it's late. I really want to get home." He'd swept out the door without a backward glance and had headed down the street.

Later, he'd followed her back to the dorm after she left the shop. He'd felt like taking a walk, and figured he could use the practice. It'd been ages since he'd stalked anyone. Hadn't lost his touch though; silly chit hadn't even known he was there.

He didn't buy her explanation, and he wasn't sure what to make of her thinking – pity, compassion, he'd gone 'round and 'round contemplating the two since the night before – but he had to give her points for originality, and he definitely admired the rather circuitous way her brain worked. Would that change, if someone were to make her a vampire?

He shook himself out of his reverie and sat up, pinching his cigarette out before tossing it aside. Almost sundown…he could feel it.

Time to go see what the witch was up to.