THAT THIRD NOTCH
Part 1
The small panel at the bottom of the mirrored wall slid aside and a tray with two dome-covered plates was pushed into the cell. Spike hopped from his bunk and strode over to the tray. Hoping against hope that whoever their captors were had finally decided to show mercy, he lifted the silvery dome. He was once more disappointed.
"Hmm," Buffy muttered from her bunk as the aroma of the food started to permeate the air. "Smells good."
Spike scowled in her direction and grumbled something noncommittal. Easy for her to say.
Still, glaring down at the steaming platter, Spike had to agree with Buffy: the food looked and smelled appetizing. Tiny round Parisian potatoes were baked to a golden crisp and accompanied by fresh, green sprouts of broccoli. The slab of meat - tonight it was veal, from the scent - still sizzled from the grill. Yeah, he had no reason to complain about the food they got served in their prison. If he had been human.
With a frustrated scream, he kicked the tray, upturning the two plates so that potatoes and broccoli rolled everywhere across the immaculate floor.
"Hey!" Buffy protested. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could kick the tray again. "That's my food too. I don't care what you do with yours, but I am hungry!"
"You don't think I am?" Spike whirled around, pulling himself free from her grip. His eyes flashed a dark, angry blue. "You still don't bloody get it, do you, Slayer?" he hissed, struggling to keep his demon contained. "How you ever survived this long is beyond me."
Buffy took an involuntary step back in face of the vampire's fury. "Get what?" she asked warily. "I do. Get it, I mean. Glory came back, kidnapped us, locked us in this cell, and is hoping we'll let it slip where the Key is. Which we won't. Right? We just have to hold out until she grows tired of this game and lets us go. What are you complaining about anyway? It's not like we're starvi-- Oh..." Her voice trailed off.
Spike watched as understanding dawned on her face. "Exactly," he spat. "While your arse's growing fat on the blueberry pancakes for breakfast, and the baked potatoes, and the bloody chocolate pudding desserts, I *am* starving here."
"I'm not getting fat," Buffy murmured a token protest although her heart wasn't in it. They stopped bickering several days ago, when they both realized they were stuck together for who knows how long and had come to an uneasy truce. She tilted her head to study him.
Spike didn't like the way her eyes widened when she took a real good look at him. Although he couldn't see himself in the mirrored wall, he did have a pretty good idea what he looked like. It was six days since he last fed. It couldn't be pretty.
He had not lied to Giles and Buffy when he told them what happened to a vampire who didn't feed. He just hadn't told them the whole truth. The blood lust would drive him slowly insane. Mad enough to make Dru look like the epitome of mental health. Already distorted nightmares plagued his dreams. And Buffy's heartbeat had been growing steadily louder over the past few days. She was the single source of food within reach, and the call of her blood was getting stronger by the minute. Spike knew he would drive a stake through his heart before he hurt Buffy but if this situation lasted much longer, he might never have a choice. And the soddin' chip was not going to stop him. The blood lust would grow so strong that it would overrule the chip's neural pain.
He was torn from his inner musings when Buffy walked past him and began to kick the mirror with all her might. "Hey!" she yelled. "You! Glory! Get your godly butt down here. I wanna talk to you."
Spike quirked an eyebrow. "Slayer, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Getting their attention," Buffy said over her shoulder before striking the mirror with her tennis shoes again. Except for a couple of new scuffmarks where her rubber sole caught the shiny surface, nothing changed. Nobody came to see what the ruckus was about. "When somebody kidnaps a vampire, they should feed him properly."
Spike goggled at her back. "Careful, Summers," he said with an amused smirk. "A bloke might think you actually care."
She turned around and gave him a dirty look. "Don't flatter yourself," she said. "I just don't want you to consider me as a meal. Although Mr. Pointy would be happy to make your acquaintance."
Hurt flashed behind Spike's eyes before he managed to suppress it. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Slayer," he said, trying to sound offhanded. "I'd rather bloody starve before I drink your blood. I tasted Slayer before. It's not all it's made out to be." That was a lie but the cold way she mentioned her trusty stake irked him. Couldn't she at least pretend she cared?
He turned away from her to flop down on his bunk, and folded his hands behind his head. What he wouldn't give for a fag. Unfortunately, he ran out of cigarettes three days ago. "Do you really think they give a damn?" he asked. "Whoever is behind this, doesn't give a bleedin' fig about the Key." The stark room rekindled unpleasant memories of his stay with the Initiative. "It's not that bitch Glory that got us. You and I, Slayer, are part of an experiment. Could be interesting research too, if you're into that sort of thing: starve the vampire; see how long he lasts. And when I can no longer resist the blood lust, the chip zaps me until my head explodes, or you'll drive a stake through my heart. Either way, it's the end of the Big Bad."
Her sharp intake of breath told him that she hadn't yet considered the theory he presented. He opened one eye and studied her in the mirror. She was standing near the wall, a thoughtful crinkle between her brows.
"You don't think that it's Glory," she repeated.
"No, luv, I don't," he said, closing his eyes again.
"Then who?"
Spike shrugged. "Could be anybody with a thing against vampires. Plenty of those around. Captain Cardboard's mates, or the Watcher's Council."
"Why didn't you tell me before?" Buffy demanded. "If you had--" She started pacing. "We've been going about this the wrong way, waiting until they grow tired. While we should have been trying to get out of here."
"We did try that, hon. Besides, I didn't think it'd matter to you. After all, you win too. Just sit back, relax, keep Mr. Pointy ready, and I'll be out of your hair in a couple of days. Or," he said, while shifting back to a sitting position and turning to face her, "you could stake me right here and now and get it over with. That's probably what they're waiting for. You would be home with the Nibblet tonight." He sat motionless, watching Buffy, unsure what he wanted her reaction to be. If she did as he suggested, she would be safe. If she didn't... What would that tell him?
Shock washed over Buffy's face. "I couldn't do that," she breathed.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked, baiting her further. "You've told me you'd stake me so often, I lost count after the three hundred and forty-first time. Bollocks, Slayer, don't tell me that was all talk! It's not that hard. All it takes is a little stab in the right place and 'poof!', Spike's nothing but a soddin' big pile of dust."
Buffy shook her head. "I know. I don't want--" She flustered. "I need you. To keep Da--to fight Glory," she amended.
"Right," Spike muttered. "And that's bloody all." He flung an arm over his face, hoping Buffy would take the hint and shut up. It always came down to the same thing. She needed him to do things for her, to baby-sit her mother and sister, to fight the hellgod. Bloody crumbs, was all it was.
* * *
Damn, Buffy thought while she watched Spike on his bunk. How could she have been so blind? Since their capture, Spike had grown thinner and thinner, his cheekbones even more prominent than usual. His shirt, once tight around his chest, hung loose now. And she had felt the bones beneath his skin when she grabbed his arm.
She had been so convinced that their kidnapping was Glory's doing that she never stopped to consider other possibilities. Since Spike mentioned it, she had to admit that their cell did resemble a lab room. Stark white walls, white tiles on the floor, and Buffy had no illusions about the mirrored wall. It had to be a one way window; somebody could be watching right this minute and they'd never know. But who? And why? She didn't think the government had set up shop in Sunnydale again. And the Watcher's Council? They were an annoying pain in her behind but she didn't think they'd risk their Slayer's life for this sort of test. After all, every day she spent in this prison cell, was a day that the hellmouth went unguarded. No, it wasn't the Council.
Almost a week had passed since that fateful patrol. Six days since she found herself locked up with Spike in a small cell with two cots along a wall, a stack of old magazines for entertainment, and a screened-off area that held a toilet and a small shower stall. It was a miracle he had not driven her insane yet.
A week ago, life on the hellmouth was progressing at its accustomed pace. After Willow teleported Glory to parts unknown Buffy continued to go out on patrol, slaying fledgling vampires or the occasional demon. Spike accompanied her most nights, whether she wanted him to or not. That particular night, cloudless and moonlit, they were engaged in their usual verbal sparring about who helped who, and why, and how. Spike got her so worked up that she ran off, failing to notice the dark shape until it was too late. They shot her with a tranquilizer dart and the world had gone black before she could even cry out. It wasn't until she woke up in this cell that she discovered they took Spike too.
How could she have failed to notice that, although she was well fed, Spike was forced to go hungry? What would it be like for him, Buffy wondered. It never occurred to her that vampires had an actual need for blood; she always assumed it was what they desired. After all, they couldn't die from hunger. She really didn't want to have to stake him, for reasons she was not prepared to examine any further. Suffice to say she needed his help. There had to be another way to keep the blood lust at bay.
"Spike?" she called softly. "What's going to happen? With you, I mean. I... I need to know."
A muffled groan was her only reply. Spike remained motionless and Buffy was about to return to her own cot when he sat up. "You do have a stake on you, somewhere, don't you?" he asked. His tone was grave and Buffy swallowed the quick comeback that automatically formed on her lips.
"Yes," she admitted. "Never leave home without one."
Spike nodded thoughtfully. "Right, then. Promise me you'll use it, when the time comes."
Buffy blinked. "What--Oh. It's that bad?"
Spike gave another nod. "Yeah. The blood lust will drive me bonkers. I've seen it happen once or twice, and let me tell you, pet, it's not a pretty sight."
TBC
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Mutant Enemy/UPN/Twentieth Century Fox Television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.
Part 1
The small panel at the bottom of the mirrored wall slid aside and a tray with two dome-covered plates was pushed into the cell. Spike hopped from his bunk and strode over to the tray. Hoping against hope that whoever their captors were had finally decided to show mercy, he lifted the silvery dome. He was once more disappointed.
"Hmm," Buffy muttered from her bunk as the aroma of the food started to permeate the air. "Smells good."
Spike scowled in her direction and grumbled something noncommittal. Easy for her to say.
Still, glaring down at the steaming platter, Spike had to agree with Buffy: the food looked and smelled appetizing. Tiny round Parisian potatoes were baked to a golden crisp and accompanied by fresh, green sprouts of broccoli. The slab of meat - tonight it was veal, from the scent - still sizzled from the grill. Yeah, he had no reason to complain about the food they got served in their prison. If he had been human.
With a frustrated scream, he kicked the tray, upturning the two plates so that potatoes and broccoli rolled everywhere across the immaculate floor.
"Hey!" Buffy protested. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could kick the tray again. "That's my food too. I don't care what you do with yours, but I am hungry!"
"You don't think I am?" Spike whirled around, pulling himself free from her grip. His eyes flashed a dark, angry blue. "You still don't bloody get it, do you, Slayer?" he hissed, struggling to keep his demon contained. "How you ever survived this long is beyond me."
Buffy took an involuntary step back in face of the vampire's fury. "Get what?" she asked warily. "I do. Get it, I mean. Glory came back, kidnapped us, locked us in this cell, and is hoping we'll let it slip where the Key is. Which we won't. Right? We just have to hold out until she grows tired of this game and lets us go. What are you complaining about anyway? It's not like we're starvi-- Oh..." Her voice trailed off.
Spike watched as understanding dawned on her face. "Exactly," he spat. "While your arse's growing fat on the blueberry pancakes for breakfast, and the baked potatoes, and the bloody chocolate pudding desserts, I *am* starving here."
"I'm not getting fat," Buffy murmured a token protest although her heart wasn't in it. They stopped bickering several days ago, when they both realized they were stuck together for who knows how long and had come to an uneasy truce. She tilted her head to study him.
Spike didn't like the way her eyes widened when she took a real good look at him. Although he couldn't see himself in the mirrored wall, he did have a pretty good idea what he looked like. It was six days since he last fed. It couldn't be pretty.
He had not lied to Giles and Buffy when he told them what happened to a vampire who didn't feed. He just hadn't told them the whole truth. The blood lust would drive him slowly insane. Mad enough to make Dru look like the epitome of mental health. Already distorted nightmares plagued his dreams. And Buffy's heartbeat had been growing steadily louder over the past few days. She was the single source of food within reach, and the call of her blood was getting stronger by the minute. Spike knew he would drive a stake through his heart before he hurt Buffy but if this situation lasted much longer, he might never have a choice. And the soddin' chip was not going to stop him. The blood lust would grow so strong that it would overrule the chip's neural pain.
He was torn from his inner musings when Buffy walked past him and began to kick the mirror with all her might. "Hey!" she yelled. "You! Glory! Get your godly butt down here. I wanna talk to you."
Spike quirked an eyebrow. "Slayer, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Getting their attention," Buffy said over her shoulder before striking the mirror with her tennis shoes again. Except for a couple of new scuffmarks where her rubber sole caught the shiny surface, nothing changed. Nobody came to see what the ruckus was about. "When somebody kidnaps a vampire, they should feed him properly."
Spike goggled at her back. "Careful, Summers," he said with an amused smirk. "A bloke might think you actually care."
She turned around and gave him a dirty look. "Don't flatter yourself," she said. "I just don't want you to consider me as a meal. Although Mr. Pointy would be happy to make your acquaintance."
Hurt flashed behind Spike's eyes before he managed to suppress it. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Slayer," he said, trying to sound offhanded. "I'd rather bloody starve before I drink your blood. I tasted Slayer before. It's not all it's made out to be." That was a lie but the cold way she mentioned her trusty stake irked him. Couldn't she at least pretend she cared?
He turned away from her to flop down on his bunk, and folded his hands behind his head. What he wouldn't give for a fag. Unfortunately, he ran out of cigarettes three days ago. "Do you really think they give a damn?" he asked. "Whoever is behind this, doesn't give a bleedin' fig about the Key." The stark room rekindled unpleasant memories of his stay with the Initiative. "It's not that bitch Glory that got us. You and I, Slayer, are part of an experiment. Could be interesting research too, if you're into that sort of thing: starve the vampire; see how long he lasts. And when I can no longer resist the blood lust, the chip zaps me until my head explodes, or you'll drive a stake through my heart. Either way, it's the end of the Big Bad."
Her sharp intake of breath told him that she hadn't yet considered the theory he presented. He opened one eye and studied her in the mirror. She was standing near the wall, a thoughtful crinkle between her brows.
"You don't think that it's Glory," she repeated.
"No, luv, I don't," he said, closing his eyes again.
"Then who?"
Spike shrugged. "Could be anybody with a thing against vampires. Plenty of those around. Captain Cardboard's mates, or the Watcher's Council."
"Why didn't you tell me before?" Buffy demanded. "If you had--" She started pacing. "We've been going about this the wrong way, waiting until they grow tired. While we should have been trying to get out of here."
"We did try that, hon. Besides, I didn't think it'd matter to you. After all, you win too. Just sit back, relax, keep Mr. Pointy ready, and I'll be out of your hair in a couple of days. Or," he said, while shifting back to a sitting position and turning to face her, "you could stake me right here and now and get it over with. That's probably what they're waiting for. You would be home with the Nibblet tonight." He sat motionless, watching Buffy, unsure what he wanted her reaction to be. If she did as he suggested, she would be safe. If she didn't... What would that tell him?
Shock washed over Buffy's face. "I couldn't do that," she breathed.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked, baiting her further. "You've told me you'd stake me so often, I lost count after the three hundred and forty-first time. Bollocks, Slayer, don't tell me that was all talk! It's not that hard. All it takes is a little stab in the right place and 'poof!', Spike's nothing but a soddin' big pile of dust."
Buffy shook her head. "I know. I don't want--" She flustered. "I need you. To keep Da--to fight Glory," she amended.
"Right," Spike muttered. "And that's bloody all." He flung an arm over his face, hoping Buffy would take the hint and shut up. It always came down to the same thing. She needed him to do things for her, to baby-sit her mother and sister, to fight the hellgod. Bloody crumbs, was all it was.
* * *
Damn, Buffy thought while she watched Spike on his bunk. How could she have been so blind? Since their capture, Spike had grown thinner and thinner, his cheekbones even more prominent than usual. His shirt, once tight around his chest, hung loose now. And she had felt the bones beneath his skin when she grabbed his arm.
She had been so convinced that their kidnapping was Glory's doing that she never stopped to consider other possibilities. Since Spike mentioned it, she had to admit that their cell did resemble a lab room. Stark white walls, white tiles on the floor, and Buffy had no illusions about the mirrored wall. It had to be a one way window; somebody could be watching right this minute and they'd never know. But who? And why? She didn't think the government had set up shop in Sunnydale again. And the Watcher's Council? They were an annoying pain in her behind but she didn't think they'd risk their Slayer's life for this sort of test. After all, every day she spent in this prison cell, was a day that the hellmouth went unguarded. No, it wasn't the Council.
Almost a week had passed since that fateful patrol. Six days since she found herself locked up with Spike in a small cell with two cots along a wall, a stack of old magazines for entertainment, and a screened-off area that held a toilet and a small shower stall. It was a miracle he had not driven her insane yet.
A week ago, life on the hellmouth was progressing at its accustomed pace. After Willow teleported Glory to parts unknown Buffy continued to go out on patrol, slaying fledgling vampires or the occasional demon. Spike accompanied her most nights, whether she wanted him to or not. That particular night, cloudless and moonlit, they were engaged in their usual verbal sparring about who helped who, and why, and how. Spike got her so worked up that she ran off, failing to notice the dark shape until it was too late. They shot her with a tranquilizer dart and the world had gone black before she could even cry out. It wasn't until she woke up in this cell that she discovered they took Spike too.
How could she have failed to notice that, although she was well fed, Spike was forced to go hungry? What would it be like for him, Buffy wondered. It never occurred to her that vampires had an actual need for blood; she always assumed it was what they desired. After all, they couldn't die from hunger. She really didn't want to have to stake him, for reasons she was not prepared to examine any further. Suffice to say she needed his help. There had to be another way to keep the blood lust at bay.
"Spike?" she called softly. "What's going to happen? With you, I mean. I... I need to know."
A muffled groan was her only reply. Spike remained motionless and Buffy was about to return to her own cot when he sat up. "You do have a stake on you, somewhere, don't you?" he asked. His tone was grave and Buffy swallowed the quick comeback that automatically formed on her lips.
"Yes," she admitted. "Never leave home without one."
Spike nodded thoughtfully. "Right, then. Promise me you'll use it, when the time comes."
Buffy blinked. "What--Oh. It's that bad?"
Spike gave another nod. "Yeah. The blood lust will drive me bonkers. I've seen it happen once or twice, and let me tell you, pet, it's not a pretty sight."
TBC
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Mutant Enemy/UPN/Twentieth Century Fox Television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.