Chapter Six

            Tara awoke to see Willow crying softly.

            "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

            Willow looked up excitedly.  "You're awake!  I mean, properly awake.  How do you feel?"

            Tara thought about it.  "Okay," she said cautiously.  "To say I'm in a hospital bed with no recollection of how I got here."

            "You were attacked, baby.  At the museum.  They left a note and they hit you over the head.  You'll be okay," Willow reassured her girlfriend, holding her hand tightly.  "They said you'll be fine."

            Tara nodded, wincing at the pain in her head.

            "But you're on a lot of painkillers, so don't worry if things seem a little fuzzy," Willow added.

            "I don't remember anything," Tara said.

            "Apart from Spike."

            "Spike?"  Tara frowned.  "I don't - he came to the museum..."

            "You said he was the last thing you remembered."

            "I did?  When?"

            "This morning.  When Riley was here.  You don't remember?" Willow asked anxiously.

            Tara closed her eyes.  "He was... he was tall.  And... dark hair.  American."

            "Who?  Riley?"

            Tara nodded and opened her eyes.  "He's Buffy's boyfriend?"

            "Well, I think he used to be... He's in the army or something official.  He said he really needed to find the people who'd hurt you.  I didn't think - I didn't think it would be Spike..."

            Tara frowned, her brain too foggy to work it all out properly.  "Spike hurt me?"

            "That's what you said.  The last person you saw.  Spike, right?" Willow asked, gripping Tara's hand in panic.

            She nodded, confused.  "But I didn't think... I don't know... Willow, I don't remember..."

            Willow nodded and stroked Tara's hair.  "It's okay, baby.  You need to rest.  Don't worry about it.  Riley's gone after Buffy and she's safe now."

            "She's safe?"

            "Yeah.  He got his army buddies to call Giles.  He and Buffy are out of the country."

            "And Spike?"

            "He said you don't need to worry about Spike any more."

            *

            Spike opened one eye and found that the other was glued shut.  Wherever he was, it was too dark to see anything, so he closed his eye again, because it hurt like mad.

            He tried to figure some things out.  One, he was lying on a hard floor.  Cold, like cement.  Two, he was wearing nothing at all.  Three, he hurt.  Everywhere.  And four, there were chains on his wrists.  And ankles.

            He rolled onto his back and immediately wished he hadn't, because it hurt like someone was stabbing him.  Back on his side, he opened his eye again and looked around.

            "What are you doing here?" asked a very faintly familiar voice.  American, female, frightened.  And also slightly annoyed.

            "Anna?"

            "I thought you might be dead," she said, and sounded like she'd been crying.

            Spike tried to sit up.  He wasn't entirely sure Anna was the right name, but it would do for now.  Hauling on the chains on his wrists, he found they were attached to the breeze-blocked wall and he could just about gain enough leverage to sit up.  His vision adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out two bodies, one huddled in the corner, the other chained to a wall, hands outstretched, head down, either dead or unconscious.  Both were out of his reach.

            "I'm not dead," Spike said.  "Do you know where this is?"

            She - the figure in the corner - shook her head, and Spike heard a metallic clink.  She was chained too.

            "I think it's a - a basement or something, they come in over there," she flicked her dirty brown hair at a concrete staircase in the opposite corner.  Five steps, a metal railing, and a metal door at the top.  There were a couple of very small windows, too small for a person to get out of, high up above the girl's head.  They were dirty and Spike couldn't see the sky, just that it was dark outside, almost as dark as it was inside.

            "Who are they?"

            She sniffed.  "A man and a woman.  He brought us here.  I think.  He tricked us.  She came in with you.  She's very strong.  You're - you're Buffy's friend, right?  William?"

            "Call me Spike.  Look, Anna-"

            "It's Anya."

            "Right."  He nodded his head, painfully.  His neck felt like it had been broken and stuck back together with Pritt-stick.  "Did you see their faces?"

            She nodded.

            Damn.  That meant they weren't planning on letting them go.  At all.

            Not that this would have been a huge problem to Spike, usually.  He'd escaped from worse situations than this.  But not totally naked.  No weapons.  One working eye and what felt like a bullet wound to hamper him.

            "Can you describe them?"

            She sniffed again and lifted a manacled hand to push her hair from her face.  "He's tall.  Dark hair.  Good-looking in a Heathcliff sort of way."

            Angel.

            "And her?"

            Anya wrinkled her pretty nose.  "Odd-looking.  Black hair, pale eyes, like a cat."

            "Does she speak oddly?  London accent, sounds kind of crazy?"

            Anya nodded.  "You know her?"

            Drusilla. 

            Spike ground his teeth.  "Used to be in love with her.  Don't worry," he added as Anya shrank away, "I came to my senses.  Unlike her.  She's cracked.  Don't goad her."

            Anya sniffed again.  "Why did she bring you here?"

            He sighed.  "You know Buffy.  I know Buffy.  She has something the Angelus want."

            "They're the Angelus group?"

            "In charge of it."

            "Oh God," Anya whimpered, and Spike ignored her.

            "Who's he?"

            She looked up at the slumped, chained figure, and her voice cracked.  "My husband."

            Spike peered closer.  He did look slightly familiar.  Only last time Spike had seen him, Xander Harris hadn't had a broken jaw.

            "Why are you naked?" Anya asked suddenly, and Spike looked down at himself.

            "Left in a hurry."

            "Left where?"

            "Where I was hiding with Buffy.  Where is she?"

            Anya sniffed.  "I thought she was with you.  You were taking her to safety, right?"

            Panic flared in him.  "She was with me before I woke up here.  I think I was shot.  They didn't bring her here too?"

            Anya shook her head.  "Just you."

            She wasn't here.  Angel or Dru or whoever had shot Spike and brought him here and Buffy... Buffy was somewhere else, maybe being tortured on her own, maybe already dead, miles away, facedown in a river with her finger cut off...

            No.  He forced himself to think as straight as he could.  If they'd got Buffy's ring, then they wouldn't be keeping him and Anya and Xander alive - if indeed Xander was still alive.  They didn't know where Buffy was, and that at least was something.

*

            Buffy woke to the sound of bells, old church bells, lying between clean soft sheets in an unfamiliar bed.  Her body ached and her sinuses felt blocked, like she'd been crying for a long time.

            She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, slowly remembering the hotel and the flight and Riley rescuing her.  And then she remembered Spike - or rather, her body did - and she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that came with the thought of what he'd done to her.

            Or had he?  She hadn't exactly protested.  She'd been willing.  And it had been good.  Could that classify as rape?  Riley seemed certain it was.  But Riley wasn't there...

            Except for when he shot Spike...

            She sat up and looked around his him.  His bed had been slept in and loosely remade, but he wasn't there.  The bathroom was dark beyond its open door.  But there was a note by her bed, she suddenly saw it, and she recognised Riley's writing with a slight wrench.

            'Gone out to see a contact.  It's best if you stay in the room.  Rest.  Order whatever you like from Room Service.  I'll be back later this morning."

            Buffy glanced at the clock.  Already nine am.  She must have slept fifteen hours last night.  She'd cried for ages, cradled against Riley's strong body, until he'd gently lifted her and put her into bed.  She'd nothing to wear but her hotel robe, so he took a t-shirt from his kitbag for her to sleep in.  She remembered this t-shirt.  He used to wear it all the time.

            She sat back and picked up the room service menu Riley had thoughtfully placed on top of the phone by her bed, and ordered cereal and orange juice.  When it came she sat and ate in bed while she thought about what to do next, then when she'd finished, got up and rummaged through her suitcase for her address book.

            "Giles," she said, feeling tearful when she heard his voice on the other end of the line.  "It's not really early there, is it?"

            "It's just after eight.  Buffy, where are you?  Are you all right?  We got a very cryptic message last night from one of Riley's friends..."

            "I'm okay, Giles," Buffy said, touched by the flustered concern in his voice.  "I'm in Prague.  I think.  Riley brought me here."

            "What happened?"

            She sighed and tried to put it all together.  "I was with Spike-"

            "Did he hurt you?  Where did he take you?  God, Buffy, I can't believe I trusted-"

            "He didn't hurt me," Buffy said, and amended to herself, Well, not on purpose.  "I'm fine.  He took me to somewhere in Yorkshire, I think.  A little old abandoned cottage-"

            "My shooting cottage," Giles said.

            "Oh.  Yeah.  Very, er, cosy.  And then Riley burst in when we, er, were sleeping, and shot Spike and took me to the airport and, uh, here I am.  How's Tara?"

            "Tara?  Well, yes, she's all right.  Getting better.  If it hadn't been for her, you might still be with Spike.  Buffy, I'm so sorry I let him take you..."

            Buffy pressed her hand to her forehead.  "I don't understand.  Why did Riley shoot Spike?  What does Tara have to do with it?  And why are you sorry?  Spike didn't do anything.  Did he?"

            "He attacked Tara," Giles said, and Buffy was glad she wasn't standing up.  "She said he was the last thing she saw.  Riley came to talk to her and then he set off after you and Spike.  I'd thought he might have taken you to Yorkshire."

            "He attacked her?" Buffy whispered.

            "Yes.  I called the police about him but they said the cottage was empty when they arrived.  You don't know where he might have gone?"

            Buffy felt tears spill down her face.  "We left him there.  Riley said they'd deal with him... I think he might be dead..."

            Silence, then Giles said, "Oh Buffy, I'm so sorry to have put you through all this."

            "You didn't know," Buffy hiccupped.

            "I should never have trusted him.  I knew what he was like.  Well, you're safe now.  And he didn't hurt you?"

            Buffy debated telling the truth.  "I'm okay," she said, as the door opened and Riley came in, wearing a fur hat and a long coat.  "Riley's back.  I'll speak to you later."

            She replaced the receiver and explained, "Giles," to Riley's enquiring glance.

            "I'm not sure that was a good idea."

            "Why not?"

            "They could trace the call."

            "Who could?  Riley, who are you hiding me from?"

            He sighed and sat down.  "I don't know if Mr Giles explained any of this to you..."

            "About the ring and the Angelus group, yeah, I got the Cliffnotes.  Why are you here?  How did you know..."

            "I've been thinking this might happen.  The Angelus have been looking for that ring for a long time, Buffy.  They want all five, together they're worth more than the president."

            "Doesn't say much," Buffy said under her breath.  "If you knew it would happen-?"

            "I didn't know.  I thought it'd be safe with you.  You'd be safe with it.  I didn't mean any of this..." Riley ran his hands over his face.  He was still handsome, Buffy noticed with detachment, but he looked older, more capable.  His hair was shorter and his face more serious.  He was a grown-up now, she realised.

            "Buffy, you could give up the ring and you'd be safe.  I've been talking to a jewellery dealer who would very much like to get his hands on an Angelus ring-"

            "That's what it's called?"

            "That's what it's called now.  No one really knows what they were called, if anything.  Made by an Italian jeweller in the sixteenth century, probably for one of the Medicis.  The Angelus have been looking for them for years, trashing museums and private collections, killing jewellers and historians... Your friend Giles could be in a lot of danger.  He sent Xander and Anya home."

            Thank God, Buffy thought.  Spike knew them now.  He knew they were close to Buffy.  He'd already attacked Tara and God knows what kind of trap he'd been setting for Buffy, seducing her and keeping her in that cottage until morning, when the Angelus group would come and cut off her finger...

            But just under her skin Buffy could remember his touch.  Remember how, out in the barn after the first time, he'd kissed her so sweetly.  How she'd fallen asleep with his arms tight around her, hid fingers stroking a lazy pattern on her ribs.  How he'd looked at her naked body like it was a jewel, how he'd exalted in her pleasure.  He couldn't be all bad.  He'd kissed her with his eyes closed.  Buffy had sneaked a look.

            "Buffy," Riley said, and she looked up.  He looked serious.

            "Riley."

            "When I found you.  Yesterday.  You were... He was..."

            "Both totally naked?"  Buffy felt like she should be more traumatised by this.  Surely she hadn't cried out all her tears already?  She even sounded a little light hearted...

            "He was trying to..." Riley seemed to be having trouble with the words.  "He was trying to rape you, wasn't he?"

            Buffy thought about it, and her mind felt detached.  So Spike had nearly killed Tara and possibly betrayed Buffy to the Angelus group.  He could have raped her, too.  And yet, and yet...

            And yet, surely that caress was not the caress of an evil man?

            Suddenly, Buffy realised what was going on.  For Riley it was much easier to imagine she had been raped by Spike, making her a victim he could take care of, than to think she had gone to him willingly.  If Buffy said she'd voluntarily slept with Spike, Riley would be crushed.  And whatever her other thoughts on the matter, the facts remained that Riley had rescued Buffy from someone who had nearly killed her friend, and that Buffy, try as she might, still had feelings for Riley.

            "He tried," she said quietly, "but I'm okay."

            Riley slumped in relief.  "You're sure?  You're covered in bruises-"

            "He knocked me around a bit," Buffy said, and she wasn't lying exactly.  She knew Spike would be in pretty bad shape too.  "But he didn't force me into anything.  Thank you, Riley."

            Riley pulled her into his arms, and Buffy knew it was her turn to comfort him.

*

            "Okay," Spike said, so bored he was actually considering crying for something else to do, "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... W."

            Anya looked around.  "Is it walls?"

            "Nope."

            "Windows?"

            Spike shook his head.

            "W... W... W..." Anya repeated for a bit, while Spike nearly fell asleep.  "White."

            "What's white?"

            "Your teeth."  She peered closer.  "Mostly.  Some of them look a bit bloody..."

            "Yeah.  Thanks.  Can't see me own teeth, can I, love?"

            "Then what is it?"

            Spike flicked his head at Xander, still hanging off the wall.  "Wanker."

            "Don't call my husband that!  I'll have you know he no longer-"

            The door opened, and Spike thought he'd never again be so glad to see a kidnapper.

            "Dru," he greeted, stretching his shoulders.  "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

            She stood there, looking regal and bonkers, the light filtering through the dirty windows giving her dark hair a sort of halo.

            "Is he dead yet?"

            Spike looked at Xander.  "Give him an hour or so."

            "No!" Anya cried, but Spike glared at her.

            "If you kill him now, that'll be a release," he went on, looking steadily at Drusilla, who descended the steps slowly.

            "He needs to be awake," she said, and lifted a small bottle of water to splash in Xander's face.  "If he's not awake, then he can't see.  And if he can't see he won't speak."

            Anya looked at Spike in fear and confusion.  But Spike understood.

            "He'd have told you, if he knew," he said quietly.  "He doesn't know anything.  Neither of them do."

            "She doesn't," Drusilla shot a contemptuous glance at Anya, who, to her credit, managed to look straight back without cowering.  "Pretty boys scream and girls squeal.  But she said nothing."  She aimed a swift kick at Anya, and Spike winced, feeling it in his own bruised ribs.  "But he must know.  He knows the girl.  Besides," she trailed a long nail down Anya's wet face, "Angel wants to play with you."

            "He doesn't know anything," Spike repeated.  "He's as dumb as shit.  Torture her and he'll lie to you to make you stop."

            Drusilla pouted.  "Maybe I'll torture her anyway," she said.  "Or you, for being such a naughty boy.  You lost her, didn't you?"

            "I didn't lose her," Spike said through gritted teeth, "I got shot and now I'm here.  Why did you shoot me, Dru?"

            For a second she looked confused, a human, adult confusion.  Then, "Poor Spike," she said, and her childish voice was back.  "He's so hurt he can't remember."  She bobbed down in front of him.  "Would you like me to kiss it better?"

            Her breath was sweet and clean and Spike remembered her kisses, her soft body in his arms, her nails in his back.  The handcuffs and the whips and the guns.

            "Dru," he said, his face inches from hers, "I'd rather wear pink nylon."

            She pulled back, snarling.  "You know where she is."

            "I don't know," Spike said tiredly.  "I'm hurt and I'm knackered and I don't have any bloody clothes on, Dru, why would I know where she is?"

            "You smell of her.  Was she good, William?  As good as me?"

            "Well, she was better than fucking an ironing board, so yeah.  Better than you, Dru."

            Drusilla stood up and lifted one foot with a hefty heel on it, and stamped it into Spike's chest.  He cried out, doubling over, and when his head was down she smashed her foot into the side of his face.

            Then she stalked away, heels clipping up the steps, the door clanging shut behind heavy locks.  Then there was silence, as Spike tried to catch his breath and figure out if Drusilla had broken any ribs.  Maybe one or two.  He was having trouble breathing.

            "Spike?" Anya said, and she was holding something in her chained hands.  A black shawl.  Drusilla's shawl.  "Catch."

            It landed a foot from Spike's leg and he pulled it closer with his heel.  "What?" he mumbled, his mouth full of blood.

            "She dropped it.  You could wear it.  Like a, a sort of sarong.  Like David Beckham..."

            Spike tried to smile at her as he covered himself up, but his whole body ached and throbbed.  Dru had done quite a number on him before she dragged him into the cellar, and now she'd made it worse.  He concentrated on breathing.

            "And Spike?" Anya said, her smile brittle.  "Really like an ironing board?"

            "Worse," he croaked.  "Ironing boards warm up after a while."

*

            It took Buffy a week to work up the courage to escape, then a day to work out her plan.  Sergei, the lovely boy who brought up her room service meals, kept asking her if she was all right, why didn't she leave the room, she was always crying.  Buffy told him she was unwell, and having trouble sleeping.  Sergei brought her a whole box of sleeping pills.

            At least, she thought they were sleeping pills.  She hadn't a clue what the unfamiliar writing said.  But she was fairly certain that a couple of them would lay out a full grown man.  A man, say, Riley's size?

            It wasn't that he was mistreating her.  He was being perfectly lovely, but that made Buffy want to scream.  She wasn't made of glass, she was completely all right, if a little crazy from being locked in this hotel room all the time with only foreign TV for company.  Riley was out a lot, talking to 'contacts', occasionally sent on flimsy errands by Buffy for a certain kind of shampoo or some cream for her bruises or perhaps a new nightgown.  Because the truth was that, much as she'd missed him when they broke up, as grateful was she was for his rescuing, Buffy couldn't stand being around him.

            And she still wasn't sure she'd been rescued - that there had been anything to rescue her from.  She was pretty sure now that it was just Riley's paranoia that had convinced her Spike had raped her.  Buffy knew her own strength and her own boundaries, and she knew she'd never have let someone do something like that to her.  But Riley would have preferred to believe that Buffy hadn't gone willingly to this evil man, so she let Riley believe she'd been raped.  And part of her believed it sometimes, when she remembered that Spike had nearly killed Tara.  For all Buffy knew, Spike had been leading her into the arms of the Angelus.  He wasn't a good man.

            But he hadn't raped her.

            Buffy knew she had to get Riley to sleep so she could escape.  She'd gone on a tidying binge that day, packing her suitcase when Riley was out, and she'd called reception and asked them to book her a flight to London, any airline, any class, any airport.  Fifteen minutes later they called Buffy back with a reservation number and said they'd get a taxi for her when she was ready.

            She found herself shaking as she planned it.  She had to get back to London and talk to Tara - maybe Tara knew something about this Angelus group.  Maybe Spike had said something to her.  Or maybe Giles knew, but with his typical reticence just hadn't thought to tell her.  But she had to get away from Riley.  She needed his room key and the local currency he carried to pay the taxi driver, and she knew he kept them in a money belt while he slept.

            And Buffy new that Riley was a very light sleeper.

            So she had to knock him out.  She could hit him over the head, or she could... Buffy took a deep breath as she thought of it.  She could seduce him.  Riley slept like the dead after sex.  He'd never wake up, even if she hired a brass band to play America The Beautiful over his head.

            So she sweated and shook all day, trying to persuade herself that it was the best course of action.  She put on her prettiest, clingiest dress - she'd lost weight and it didn't suit her, but Buffy knew she'd just have to live with that - made herself up very carefully so that the cosmetics were invisible, washed her hair and sprayed a tiny bit of perfume down her cleavage.  And she waited for Riley.

            She ordered some champagne - partly for seduction purposes, but also to calm herself down - and when Sergei came, he was obviously impressed.

            "Miss Buffy, you look better zan all veek."

            "Well, I feel better, Sergei."  Buffy took the champagne.

            "I vos vorried you vere not sleeping..."

            Buffy stared at him.  Sergei, she thought, you're a bloody genius.

            "No," she said, "not sleeping at all.  I only wish..." she sighed.

            "Vish vot?"

            "That I had my sleeping pills.  They were prescription, quite powerful, but I left them in America... I don't suppose.. I don't suppose you'd have anything here like that, would you?"

            Sergei tripped over himself in his haste to fetch them for her, and Buffy could have kissed him in relief.  But instead she tipped him with American dollars, which impressed him greatly, and shut the door.  She took out several pills and mashed them into powder, sprinkling them into one of the champagne glasses.  Her heart was thumping.  She was about to change out of her seduction outfit, when the door opened again and Riley came in.

            He stopped, and stared at her.

            "Buffy?  You look - wow."

            She smiled.  Riley had always made her feel pretty.

            "I was tired of vegging around in my jammies," Buffy said.  "Riley, I want to go out.  Just down to the restaurant for dinner, maybe?  Not even very far.  I'm so bored up here..."

            Riley's sharp eyes swung to the ice bucket.  "Champagne?"

            "Well, I felt like celebrating," Buffy gave him a smile.  "The end of my depression."

            "Well, I..." He looked her over again, and Buffy all but fluttered her eyelashes at him.  "I guess one glass couldn't hurt.  I'll open it."

            Yeah, Buffy thought, because a girl who trains with fifteen pound weights couldn't possibly get the cork out of a champagne bottle, could she?  But she gave him a pretty smile and picked up the clean glass for herself.

            Riley poured her drink first, then his own, clinked her glass, and drank.  Buffy's heart was thumping like a rave beat and her hand was shaking.  The champagne bubbles were choking her.  She felt sick with nerves.  What if it didn't work?  Or she'd given him too much - what if the sleeping tablets reacted with the alcohol and killed him?  God, she didn't want Riley to die.

            "So where did you go today?" she asked, her smile aching.

            Riley sat down and started to take off his boots.  "I went to talk to the jeweller," he said.  "A collector.  He's really interested in the ring you have."

            Buffy closed her fingers into a protective fist.

            "The ring that people have nearly died for?  I can't imagine why."

            "If you sold it to him you'd have a lot of money," Riley went on earnestly.  "And then the Angelus group wouldn't be chasing you any more."

            When he put it like that it did make sense, but...

            "Then they'd come after him instead," Buffy said.  "And who's to say they'd even believe I didn't have it any more?  They might catch me and - Spike said they were vicious-"

            "And you believed what Spike said?" Riley snapped, but there wasn't a lot of anger in it.  He was already starting to look sleepy.

            "I don't want to give up my ring," Buffy said stubbornly.  "It's beautiful and I love it, and it reminds me of - of what we had..."

            Wrong thing to say.  Riley looked up at her, and Buffy caught her breath, because he had the look he used to give her when he was about to make love to her.

            "You still think about that?" he asked, taking her free hand and pulling her towards him.  Buffy considered throwing her champagne in his face, but she didn't want to wake him up too much.  She put the glass down on the table and sat beside him on his bed.

            "Well, of course I think about it," she said.  "It was a whole year, Riley, and what we had was special, but it's - it's over now..."

            "It doesn't have to be," Riley said, stroking her hand, turning his lovely hazel eyes on her.  He brought his hand up to her face and gently brushed away her clean hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.  "God, I've missed you, Buffy..."

            He brushed his lips against hers, and Buffy thought in panic, surely he should be passing out soon, surely...

            Riley kissed her, and Buffy felt like a wooden doll.  She kept her mouth closed, wondering when it was that she'd got over Riley.  His kisses used to melt her.  Now they did nothing, but make her feel vaguely grubby.  But if she wasn't responding, Riley barely seemed to notice.

            "Buffy," he mumbled, "I love you, Buffy..."

            And then he fell heavy against her, and Buffy knew he'd passed out.

            "You know, that's just not a turn on," she said, and he lay still.  "Riley?"

                She checked his pulse, rolled him on his side so he wouldn't swallow his tongue, and searched his pockets for the door key and his money.  She scribbled a note on hotel notepaper, left it by his bed, took her suitcase, and was free.