an unknown dimension, approximately 15 Earth years later
I'd do just about anything to gain knowledge about Spike's well being. After all, I haven't seen him for fifteen years.
I've never been one for skulking in shadows or hiding from my foes. Buffy Summers is a take-charge, action-oriented kind of girl. . . woman. I'm an ex-slayer and an ex-vampire. Let's just say that makes me anything but shy or timid when I'm forced into a fight. But, for now, I'll stick to the creeping in the darkness. And I suppose I've learned the value of observing the enemy from afar before jumping into full attack mode. On the other hand, maybe being imprisoned by vampires for such a long time makes anything seem like action.
Over the last fifteen years, I've perfected the art of invisibility, using the ring I still wear on my finger. Today is my first "real" attempt to use my new skill. Slipping out of the cell where Rhonda, Aydin, Aimée, Jenn, and I are housed was easy given the unchanging patterns of our captors. The hard part is making my way through the maze of confinement blocks and finding where Spike is housed.
Luckily, I have my flight plan pretty well laid out. The prisoner across the hall, a human of unknown origins, knows the place forward and backward. Poor guy's been taken out of his cell and tortured enough. He's reportedly glimpsed Spike at his torture sessions, which makes me worry even more.
Although dimly lit, the prison hallways are almost obsessively clean. Spike always said Drusilla was a neat freak, liking everything in perfect order. Keep her environment tidy gave her some semblance of control over her insanity like autistic children who don't want anything in their surroundings changed. Makes me wonder why she chose a sticky, goopy Chaos demon when she cheated on Spike centuries ago.
Thanks to slayer training, I hear the vampire guard before he gets within twenty feet of me. Chastising myself for getting distracted from my task, I press my torso against the nearby wall and hold my breath, praying he walks by without stopping to search for the source of the human stench and heartbeat that I'm surely broadcasting to his ears.
Stupid vampires never fail to act counter to my wishes.
His body tenses as he goes on hyper-alert, his hand reaching for the submission stick at his waist. I flinch involuntarily at his gesture, having been on the receiving end of that stick one too many times. As he approaches me, he carefully checks the shadows at each cell entrance that's set back from the narrow hall. Hesitating at my side, he recognizes the source of his senses' suspicions but appears confused about the lack of solid evidence.
Preparing myself to defend and run, I fight valiantly to contain the urge to inhale deeply in response to my rapidly pounding heart. The vampire stands inches from me, sniffing the air in short huffs and raising the stick at me.
As he swings the weapon, an uproar of kicking and pounding echoes loudly at the end of the cellblock, giving me the cover I need to duck and slip past the vampire. He charges toward the sound, intent on showing the offending noisemaker that he's the boss.
The clattering and banging that results brings more vampires to the scene, so I hide in a doorway until they're all safely past. With a grin on my face, I rush the opposite direction, confident that I'll reach Spike without further hindrance. I might even get to spend several more minutes than I anticipated with him. Prisoner takedowns can take quite a while, considering that Dru's vampires tend to enjoy inflicting pain slowly.
Two floors down and six-and-a-half cellblocks later, I arrive at my destination. Entering into cells from the outside is simpler than getting out of them, so I push my way in without further thought.
Stumbling into the well-lit cell, I almost fall over the trail of dishes and shoes that the occupant has purposefully laid out as a primitive alarm system. Smart. I grab the nearest object and use it to prop open the door, so I can exit later.
The figure on the bed rolls my direction but remains shrouded in a cloak of ink. A familiar accent blessedly fills my ears, "Who's there? Come on out. I right say that it's bloody unfair for you to come back so soon. My time's already passed just yesterday, and if I'm right, I'm not due up for another five days or so."
My throat is suddenly blocked by emotion, and I'm so overcome that I find no power to voice words.
"Where are you? The door's open, but I can't see anyone." Spike pauses, his legs appearing over the edge of the bunk. "I don't have time for games. It's my nap time."
Then, I remember that he can't see me. I'm invisible.
Flying at him, I launch myself onto his lap, flinging my arms around him and inhaling the warm, alive scent that I've clung to for the past fifteen years. He grunts softly at the impact, but with the sense memory of a thousand years, his arms automatically find their way around my waist. Instinctually, his hand shakily goes to my face, and his fingers explore the familiar curves and indentions. When his fingertips pass over my lips, I press a gentle kiss to his flesh, and he moans at the gesture.
"B-buffy?" His voice is so filled with desperation that I barely detect sound.
Untangling my arms from around him, I tug off the ring that's worn a groove in my finger. Even in darkness, I witness the light that's born in his eyes when he views me. "Yes, Spike. It's me."
With a small cry, he buries his head in my neck, planting an array of firm kisses to my neck and along the line of my chin. He tightens his arms around me to assure himself that I'm firm and real. "Oh my g. . . . I love you so much. And if this is a mirage induced by the beatings, don't tell me. Let me enjoy this moment. Please."
"What do you mean beatings?" I pull back and make sure my eyes fix on his azure ones.
Gazing down, only then do I notice the state of his body.
What's visible of his skin on his arms, legs, face, and neck reveals deep bruises and long lacerations that are still oozing fluids, blood and pus. Some of the welts are so red and puffy that I'm scared they might be infected. Hesitantly, I touch a cut on his arm with as much gentleness as I can manage, and he lets out a hiss of pain.
"Spike," I whisper, studying the scars on his beautiful face. "What have they done to you?"
Tears fill his eyes, and he brings his hands to cover his ruined face. "Are you real? Do you still love me?"
I recall his tenderness after I was burned beyond belief by the sun. Compassion and love course through me, and I realize that being human means his wounds might never completely fade. "I'm real. I promise. I'm here. You aren't hearing or seeing things." I pull his hands down as soothingly as possible and kiss his knuckles lovingly. "And, yes, I will never stop loving you with all my heart and soul."
"It won't heal properly. It's horrible to look at."
I hate how he refers to himself as a thing. . . the way I used to do. The memory is bittersweet. "*You* are not horrible to look at. You think a little scar or two would kill my love for you after a thousand years? Maybe if I was sixteen-years-old, but I'm not an egocentric teenager. I'm me. You're you, and you're as handsome as the day I met you."
He looks at me uncertainly, so I continue, "Do you remember the day we met? You sent a vamp after me just to observe my whatever you want to call it. . . slayer form or something. I remember thinking to myself that you were the biggest predator I'd ever met."
Something of a smirk plays at the edges of his lips. "I was, wasn't I, pet?"
"Hardly."
"What do you mean 'hardly'?"
"Okay, so maybe you've been the biggest *pain* in my side since the day I met you, but you're hardly the worst predator I've ever faced," I modify slightly.
He grins. "Pain in your side. Hmm. That could be good. At least, you'll always notice me."
I nudge his tender nose with mine. "I got so used to the pain in the butt that is you that I've been trying desperately to reach you for fifteen years."
A low whistle emits from his lips. "Fifteen years?"
I nod. "Yep."
"I lost track after I started being beaten unconscious most of the time," Spike admits.
"What's the deal with all the beatings?"
He shrugs. "Dru couldn't handle the fact that I wouldn't let her re- vamp me and that I didn't love her anymore. . . didn't want to play our games anymore. She doesn't actually participate. . . just lets her little flunkies have a round. . . or two or three with me."
"She wanted to re-vamp you?" Somehow I'm hardly surprised. "And other things. How come if you don't have sex with a woman, she tries to beat you to death?"
Spike laughs, and the sound is music to my ears. "I don't know, pet. I don't know." When the laughter fades from his eyes, he asks, "How long do you have with me?"
I glance furtively at the door. "More time than you think."
"How did you get here?"
"A lot of careful planning. While Dru's vamps have been harassing you, they've pretty much left us alone," I explain, enjoying the feel of his fingers in my hair.
"Us?"
"Rhonda, Aimée, Jenn, Aydin, and I have been holed up in a cell together. It's bigger than yours. We've been devising a way. . ."
"Who's Jenn, love?"
"From 'The Lunar Tide." The singer." Surely he remembers.
Spike shook his head in confusion. "Why would Dru care about her? I was investigating the group at the other end of the club. I believe they knocked me unconscious fairly early on. I don't know a thing that happened after except that I landed here."
"Oh!" I think for a minute about how to recap the events and what I've learned most efficiently. "Jenn is a slayer-in-training. Dru's minions captured her on one of their brief visits to Earth. Apparently, they needed slayer blood to continue to open the portal between dimensions due to the Prenwick fiasco. They thought turning her would make things easier on them, but it didn't."
"Because her blood changed on the turning," Spike speculates.
"Yes. And she didn't lose her soul because she's a slayer. . . or was at least a potential one. So, they devised a trap to lure Reyni to the moon. Although they didn't exactly capture Reyni."
"They got Aydin though."
"And they've been able to use her blood to do partial openings. At least, they take her blood every week." Aydin usually comes back to the cell a pale, unconscious wreck. Thankfully, they don't beat her. She never speaks of what else they do to her besides draw blood.
Spike is thoughtful. "They *are* opening gateways. A slayer's daughter has powerful blood as well. From what I heard, they've opened quite a few gateways, but they can't fully re-open the channels to the way they were prior to Prenwick's spell until they have Reyni's blood."
"Something big is brewing, and we have a plan. I wanted you to know. It took me a long time to find a way to get to you. I was really worried about you." I stroke his broken face as if I'm afraid I might never see him again.
"And I about you." He pulls me close despite the pain. "I'm always with you, you know that?" His hand covers my heart. "Right here."
Tears well at the thought of having to go back to my crowded cell and allowing Spike to be harmed again. "I'm not leaving just yet."
"You're not?"
Conveying the "no" with my eyes, I bring my lips to his with all the pent up passion I've banished for the last fifteen years. I melt into the warmth that I've only imagined, wanting. . . needing to become one with my love.
He speaks against my mouth before continuing to kiss me, "The guards, love."
Breathing heavily, I whisper, "We have plenty of time."
Spike requires no further encouragement.
Determined to show him how much I love him, scars and all, we make quiet, deep, and passionate love on his bunk, undisturbed by the vampire guards.
TBC. . .
What is Drusilla's big plan? How can Buffy and crew stop it? What will happen to Spike? Stay tuned. . .
Next chapter will be for "Three Wishes." :o)
Thanks for the great reviews! They mean a lot! ;o) Sandy
http://www.secretloft.com/ed/
I'd do just about anything to gain knowledge about Spike's well being. After all, I haven't seen him for fifteen years.
I've never been one for skulking in shadows or hiding from my foes. Buffy Summers is a take-charge, action-oriented kind of girl. . . woman. I'm an ex-slayer and an ex-vampire. Let's just say that makes me anything but shy or timid when I'm forced into a fight. But, for now, I'll stick to the creeping in the darkness. And I suppose I've learned the value of observing the enemy from afar before jumping into full attack mode. On the other hand, maybe being imprisoned by vampires for such a long time makes anything seem like action.
Over the last fifteen years, I've perfected the art of invisibility, using the ring I still wear on my finger. Today is my first "real" attempt to use my new skill. Slipping out of the cell where Rhonda, Aydin, Aimée, Jenn, and I are housed was easy given the unchanging patterns of our captors. The hard part is making my way through the maze of confinement blocks and finding where Spike is housed.
Luckily, I have my flight plan pretty well laid out. The prisoner across the hall, a human of unknown origins, knows the place forward and backward. Poor guy's been taken out of his cell and tortured enough. He's reportedly glimpsed Spike at his torture sessions, which makes me worry even more.
Although dimly lit, the prison hallways are almost obsessively clean. Spike always said Drusilla was a neat freak, liking everything in perfect order. Keep her environment tidy gave her some semblance of control over her insanity like autistic children who don't want anything in their surroundings changed. Makes me wonder why she chose a sticky, goopy Chaos demon when she cheated on Spike centuries ago.
Thanks to slayer training, I hear the vampire guard before he gets within twenty feet of me. Chastising myself for getting distracted from my task, I press my torso against the nearby wall and hold my breath, praying he walks by without stopping to search for the source of the human stench and heartbeat that I'm surely broadcasting to his ears.
Stupid vampires never fail to act counter to my wishes.
His body tenses as he goes on hyper-alert, his hand reaching for the submission stick at his waist. I flinch involuntarily at his gesture, having been on the receiving end of that stick one too many times. As he approaches me, he carefully checks the shadows at each cell entrance that's set back from the narrow hall. Hesitating at my side, he recognizes the source of his senses' suspicions but appears confused about the lack of solid evidence.
Preparing myself to defend and run, I fight valiantly to contain the urge to inhale deeply in response to my rapidly pounding heart. The vampire stands inches from me, sniffing the air in short huffs and raising the stick at me.
As he swings the weapon, an uproar of kicking and pounding echoes loudly at the end of the cellblock, giving me the cover I need to duck and slip past the vampire. He charges toward the sound, intent on showing the offending noisemaker that he's the boss.
The clattering and banging that results brings more vampires to the scene, so I hide in a doorway until they're all safely past. With a grin on my face, I rush the opposite direction, confident that I'll reach Spike without further hindrance. I might even get to spend several more minutes than I anticipated with him. Prisoner takedowns can take quite a while, considering that Dru's vampires tend to enjoy inflicting pain slowly.
Two floors down and six-and-a-half cellblocks later, I arrive at my destination. Entering into cells from the outside is simpler than getting out of them, so I push my way in without further thought.
Stumbling into the well-lit cell, I almost fall over the trail of dishes and shoes that the occupant has purposefully laid out as a primitive alarm system. Smart. I grab the nearest object and use it to prop open the door, so I can exit later.
The figure on the bed rolls my direction but remains shrouded in a cloak of ink. A familiar accent blessedly fills my ears, "Who's there? Come on out. I right say that it's bloody unfair for you to come back so soon. My time's already passed just yesterday, and if I'm right, I'm not due up for another five days or so."
My throat is suddenly blocked by emotion, and I'm so overcome that I find no power to voice words.
"Where are you? The door's open, but I can't see anyone." Spike pauses, his legs appearing over the edge of the bunk. "I don't have time for games. It's my nap time."
Then, I remember that he can't see me. I'm invisible.
Flying at him, I launch myself onto his lap, flinging my arms around him and inhaling the warm, alive scent that I've clung to for the past fifteen years. He grunts softly at the impact, but with the sense memory of a thousand years, his arms automatically find their way around my waist. Instinctually, his hand shakily goes to my face, and his fingers explore the familiar curves and indentions. When his fingertips pass over my lips, I press a gentle kiss to his flesh, and he moans at the gesture.
"B-buffy?" His voice is so filled with desperation that I barely detect sound.
Untangling my arms from around him, I tug off the ring that's worn a groove in my finger. Even in darkness, I witness the light that's born in his eyes when he views me. "Yes, Spike. It's me."
With a small cry, he buries his head in my neck, planting an array of firm kisses to my neck and along the line of my chin. He tightens his arms around me to assure himself that I'm firm and real. "Oh my g. . . . I love you so much. And if this is a mirage induced by the beatings, don't tell me. Let me enjoy this moment. Please."
"What do you mean beatings?" I pull back and make sure my eyes fix on his azure ones.
Gazing down, only then do I notice the state of his body.
What's visible of his skin on his arms, legs, face, and neck reveals deep bruises and long lacerations that are still oozing fluids, blood and pus. Some of the welts are so red and puffy that I'm scared they might be infected. Hesitantly, I touch a cut on his arm with as much gentleness as I can manage, and he lets out a hiss of pain.
"Spike," I whisper, studying the scars on his beautiful face. "What have they done to you?"
Tears fill his eyes, and he brings his hands to cover his ruined face. "Are you real? Do you still love me?"
I recall his tenderness after I was burned beyond belief by the sun. Compassion and love course through me, and I realize that being human means his wounds might never completely fade. "I'm real. I promise. I'm here. You aren't hearing or seeing things." I pull his hands down as soothingly as possible and kiss his knuckles lovingly. "And, yes, I will never stop loving you with all my heart and soul."
"It won't heal properly. It's horrible to look at."
I hate how he refers to himself as a thing. . . the way I used to do. The memory is bittersweet. "*You* are not horrible to look at. You think a little scar or two would kill my love for you after a thousand years? Maybe if I was sixteen-years-old, but I'm not an egocentric teenager. I'm me. You're you, and you're as handsome as the day I met you."
He looks at me uncertainly, so I continue, "Do you remember the day we met? You sent a vamp after me just to observe my whatever you want to call it. . . slayer form or something. I remember thinking to myself that you were the biggest predator I'd ever met."
Something of a smirk plays at the edges of his lips. "I was, wasn't I, pet?"
"Hardly."
"What do you mean 'hardly'?"
"Okay, so maybe you've been the biggest *pain* in my side since the day I met you, but you're hardly the worst predator I've ever faced," I modify slightly.
He grins. "Pain in your side. Hmm. That could be good. At least, you'll always notice me."
I nudge his tender nose with mine. "I got so used to the pain in the butt that is you that I've been trying desperately to reach you for fifteen years."
A low whistle emits from his lips. "Fifteen years?"
I nod. "Yep."
"I lost track after I started being beaten unconscious most of the time," Spike admits.
"What's the deal with all the beatings?"
He shrugs. "Dru couldn't handle the fact that I wouldn't let her re- vamp me and that I didn't love her anymore. . . didn't want to play our games anymore. She doesn't actually participate. . . just lets her little flunkies have a round. . . or two or three with me."
"She wanted to re-vamp you?" Somehow I'm hardly surprised. "And other things. How come if you don't have sex with a woman, she tries to beat you to death?"
Spike laughs, and the sound is music to my ears. "I don't know, pet. I don't know." When the laughter fades from his eyes, he asks, "How long do you have with me?"
I glance furtively at the door. "More time than you think."
"How did you get here?"
"A lot of careful planning. While Dru's vamps have been harassing you, they've pretty much left us alone," I explain, enjoying the feel of his fingers in my hair.
"Us?"
"Rhonda, Aimée, Jenn, Aydin, and I have been holed up in a cell together. It's bigger than yours. We've been devising a way. . ."
"Who's Jenn, love?"
"From 'The Lunar Tide." The singer." Surely he remembers.
Spike shook his head in confusion. "Why would Dru care about her? I was investigating the group at the other end of the club. I believe they knocked me unconscious fairly early on. I don't know a thing that happened after except that I landed here."
"Oh!" I think for a minute about how to recap the events and what I've learned most efficiently. "Jenn is a slayer-in-training. Dru's minions captured her on one of their brief visits to Earth. Apparently, they needed slayer blood to continue to open the portal between dimensions due to the Prenwick fiasco. They thought turning her would make things easier on them, but it didn't."
"Because her blood changed on the turning," Spike speculates.
"Yes. And she didn't lose her soul because she's a slayer. . . or was at least a potential one. So, they devised a trap to lure Reyni to the moon. Although they didn't exactly capture Reyni."
"They got Aydin though."
"And they've been able to use her blood to do partial openings. At least, they take her blood every week." Aydin usually comes back to the cell a pale, unconscious wreck. Thankfully, they don't beat her. She never speaks of what else they do to her besides draw blood.
Spike is thoughtful. "They *are* opening gateways. A slayer's daughter has powerful blood as well. From what I heard, they've opened quite a few gateways, but they can't fully re-open the channels to the way they were prior to Prenwick's spell until they have Reyni's blood."
"Something big is brewing, and we have a plan. I wanted you to know. It took me a long time to find a way to get to you. I was really worried about you." I stroke his broken face as if I'm afraid I might never see him again.
"And I about you." He pulls me close despite the pain. "I'm always with you, you know that?" His hand covers my heart. "Right here."
Tears well at the thought of having to go back to my crowded cell and allowing Spike to be harmed again. "I'm not leaving just yet."
"You're not?"
Conveying the "no" with my eyes, I bring my lips to his with all the pent up passion I've banished for the last fifteen years. I melt into the warmth that I've only imagined, wanting. . . needing to become one with my love.
He speaks against my mouth before continuing to kiss me, "The guards, love."
Breathing heavily, I whisper, "We have plenty of time."
Spike requires no further encouragement.
Determined to show him how much I love him, scars and all, we make quiet, deep, and passionate love on his bunk, undisturbed by the vampire guards.
TBC. . .
What is Drusilla's big plan? How can Buffy and crew stop it? What will happen to Spike? Stay tuned. . .
Next chapter will be for "Three Wishes." :o)
Thanks for the great reviews! They mean a lot! ;o) Sandy
http://www.secretloft.com/ed/