It seemed to be forever before they'd let him out. Spike hated hospitals at the best of times, but right now all he wanted to do was go home and curl up on Buffy's bed and think about her. He couldn't even look at Alice's room: her bed was neat and small, and it was bereft of her favourite toy, the little scruffy dog she carried everywhere. It had been salvaged from Spike's car: charred and dirty, unsuitable for a child but enough for Spike to hold and wait with for Alice to come home and claim it.
The police had come up with nothing - apart from his car, wrecked beyond belief, thirty miles away in a landfill. He'd described the woman who shot him and they'd run a lot of names by him, but none of them meant anything. It was only when he said she had a barbed wire tattoo on her right arm - she one she'd raised to shoot him - that they suddenly came up with a suspect.
"Faith Andersen." The cop showed him a photo, and it was definitely her. "Yeah, she's wanted for a lot of things. Murder, assault-"
"Kidnapping?"
"Not until now."
"Who's she working for?"
"No one we know of. Live wire. She's got a juvie record but of course we're not allowed to see that."
Spike rested back on the sofa. The house seemed very empty without Buffy. "Why would she take Buffy and Alice?"
The cop shrugged. "We're working on it."
But if Faith was a murderer, then she could have just killed Buffy and Alice. There was nothing at all to let him think they were still alive.
Except that he was still alive.
He'd told her countless times, and desperately meant it: he couldn't live without her. Without her near, he couldn't draw breath. The only reason he'd managed to get himself home and get out of bed in the mornings was Will. Maybe that was the only reason he was still around. He loved his kids as fiercely as he loved his wife.
But he still felt empty without her.
Xander and Anya had taken care of Will while Spike was still hospitalised, and Willow had gone to his school to explain that his mother was away and his father ill. Spike wouldn't let her tell them the truth. He figured he should be the one to do that.
He'd been to see Will's teacher this morning, sat down in her office and explained that Will's mother and sister were missing. Will was coping well - he figured they were on a kind of vacation and they'd be back soon - and he thought it was cool beyond belief that his dad had got shot.
Miss Calendar had been less enthusiastic. "A little boy like Will, he relies on his mother. He needs her around."
"I need her around too," Spike said. "There's bugger all I can do about it right now."
He stormed out and got in Buffy's car, which he hated because it was crap and because it reminded him of her. Thank God it was an automatic, so he didn't have to use both hands. His right arm was in a tight sling to immobilise his shoulder while it healed.
He was really getting sick of being shot at.
It was made all the worse by the fact that it hadn't happened for a while. Well - he hadn't been hit, put it that way. When he was off 'obtaining' art for Buffy, people frequently shot at him. But the last time he'd been seriously hurt was when Glory had tried to kill him and Will. His son had only been a baby then, and both Spike and Buffy had nearly died saving him.
And then before that, not long after he'd met Buffy, that whole entanglement with the Angelus group. Oh, they'd shot at him, beaten him, tied him in a cellar and starved him, burnt him - although that was slightly Buffy's fault, too.
Spike reflected that he only seemed to get seriously hurt when Buffy or one of the kids was involved. He never risked himself otherwise.
But it was better a world without him than a world without them.
He got home and kicked his way out of the car, slamming the door shut. He hated this big ugly van. Why'd she need something so big? She was tiny, and the kids were hardly big. She needed something smaller - she'd never been good at parking anyway. Something safe and strong, something reliable so she didn't get caught breaking down at the side of the road...
He was startled out of his mental car catalogue by the person sitting on the porch steps. Riley stood up - always a few inches taller, he towered over Spike from the porch.
Spike ignored him and rummaged in his coat pocket for his keys.
"Aren;t you going to say hello?"
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
Riley supposed that was the best he'd get.
"I came to see Buffy."
Spike unlocked the door and strode in. "She's not here."
"Well, I can see-"
Spike slammed the door. Riley opened it again.
"Get out of my house," Spike said.
"I just want to see Buffy."
"I told you, she's not here."
"Well, when will she be back?"
Spike's fingers curled into a fist and his eyes closed for a second. "I don't know," he said in despair.
"Where is she?"
Spike turned away and went through into the kitchen. "Don't know that either."
"Don't know much about your wife, do you?"
"I know she got kidnapped a week ago," Spike snapped, taking down a bottle of bourbon from a high cupboard and sloshing some into a glass. "That's more'n you know."
Riley was silent for a second. "Kidnapped?"
"Yeah. Her and Alice."
"Her daughter?"
"Our daughter," Spike said, glaring at him, going through into the living room and throwing himself at the sofa.
Riley followed, and leaned in the doorway. "So you actually got her to marry you."
Spike narrowed her eyes. "Was there something you wanted, or did you just come here to annoy me? 'Cos I gotta tell you, I'm really not in the mood to-"
"How'd you do it?"
"Do what?" Spike gave up on the glass and drank straight from the bourbon bottle.
"Get her to marry you. You tell her you love her?"
"I tell her every day," Spike said, and winced, because lately she hadn't been here to hear him.
"And you know what, I think she actually believes you."
"Damn right she does, Captain Cardboard, because it's actually true. I love my wife, I love my kids, and I don't like you. And if you don't have anything useful to say, I'd advise you to leave because-"
"What? You're gonna throw me out?" Riley loomed over him. "With one arm? What happened to you? Bar fight?"
At that Spike moved, and even with only one arm for balance he still flowed to his feet like a cat, in an instant, graceful and menacing.
"I got shot," he said. "By the people who took my wife and my daughter," he emphasised the words just to piss Riley off a bit more, "and that's the only reason I didn't go after them. They left me bleeding and unconscious. If the bullet had been an inch lower it'd have killed me."
"What a shame," Riley said. "Did it occur to you maybe Buffy left you unconscious and bleeding on purpose? Maybe she wasn't kidnapped, Spike. Maybe she ran away."
Spike's free hand curled into a fist, but he managed to restrain himself.
"They knocked her out too," he said. "They took her. Even got a name as to who did it."
"I see you're champing at the bit to go and find her."
At that Spike's eyes narrowed again. "Find who?"
"Buffy. Your beloved wife, remember?"
Spike relaxed, and stepped away. "Listen, mate," he said suddenly. "You still an army yes-man?"
"NSA," Riley said tightly, "not army."
"Still got orders to follow and a pretty gun to shoot. You want to help Buffy? Think you can tear her away from this slave pit I've obviously been chaining her to," he gestured around the pretty, comfortable house, decorated with the kids' toys and pictures of the four of them laughing together. "Maybe you can do something for me. For her."
Riley looked around the room for a second. "I'm listening."
"Coppers give me a name to hate. See, the women who shot me-"
"It was a woman?" Riley was obviously amused.
"Yeah, a woman, with her .45 aimed at me. I got a good look at her face. Pretty girl, very distinctive. Got a lot of tattoos to help me remember her by."
"Lot of women have tattoos."
"Yeah, but not all of them have nice juicy police records. You ever hear of a Faith Andersen?"
Riley shook his head minutely.
"Well, hear of her. As I'm so obviously of no sodding use to Buffy, you can help me out." He glanced at the clock. "And now I'm gonna go any pick my son up. Our son." He gestured to a big picture of Will. "Looks like me, don't you think?"
With Riley sufficiently pissed off, Spike kicked him out and went and sat in Buffy's car. He was early to pick Will up, but then in this car it would probably take him hours to get there. Maybe he should go out and buy Buffy a new car. A present for her when she got back.
But no, she'd be pissed off with him if he bought her a car without consulting her first. He'd wait until she got back. Then they'd pick one out together.
Because she sure as hell was coming back.
A week passed, though Buffy was hardly aware of it. She spent most of her time in that little metal room with Alice chained just out of reach, and Faith sitting there on her table, fondling her rifle in a phallic way. She'd learned Faith's name by accident - a dark-eyed man had come to the door and beckoned to her through the small glass window. Faith had grinned and stepped out, taking her gun with her, and as soon as the door was shut Buffy saw her dark head against it, moving rhythmically as the dark-eyed sailor pounded into her. Buffy closed her eyes, grateful Alice was asleep and didn't have to listen as Faith loudly - probably on purpose - screamed in ecstasy.
And the man cried out, "Dios - Faith!"
Buffy wasn't good on Spanish, but she knew Faith was an English word. Or a name. She addressed the other woman by it twice before she noticed, and wasn't corrected.
She was always hungry. Food occasionally came - bits of bread or greasy meat, smelling foul to Buffy, but divine at the same time because she was so starved. There was never enough for even one meal though, and Faith watched with interest as Buffy gave the lion's share to Alice.
The little girl complained constantly about the chains that hurt her wrists - after the first day, Faith had had a set resoldered to fit Alice's small limbs, and they chafed all the time. Her skin, like Buffy's, was raw; but unlike Buffy, she wasn't carrying bruises inside and out.
Buffy had told Alice her father was dead, stretching out her hands to comfort her daughter while Faith watched boredly. Alice hadn't really believed her at first, so Faith had chipped in that she shot him point blank in the chest and no man could survive that.
"Data could," Alice referred to her Trekkie hero.
"He's an android, sweetie, and I'm not sure if he could anyway," Buffy said.
"My daddy's really strong," Alice said, her lip quivering. Her eyes were so big and blue and trusting Buffy nearly cried.
"I know, sweetheart, but some things can bring down the strongest man. He was trying to protect you, love. You and me. He always said we were the most important things to him."
"What about Will?" Alice said.
"Well, yes, Will was important to him too." God, already she was using the past tense. This was horrible.
"Where is Will?" Alice looked around as if expecting to see him hiding under the table.
"I... I don't know," Buffy said. "I guess Uncle Xander and Auntie Anya are looking after him. Or Willow and Tara." It was too kitsch to call both the girls 'auntie', so she'd never bothered. Spike did sometimes, to piss them off, but Buffy always-
She closed her eyes. She was determined not to cry in front of Faith.
"Who's Will?" Faith asked, and Buffy opened her eyes.
"My son." It still gave her pride to say that - an old-fashioned pride that she'd created such a strong, good-looking, healthy boy. His father's heir, although that, of course, was still a bone of contention.
"Lord Stanchester has an heir? Well - I guess your kid's the viscount now. Or is it the earl - I don't know how these English things work."
"He'll be Will Dashwood," Buffy said. "Spike renounced the title. Our nephew inherited."
"Nephew?"
"Yes. Spike had a sister, Darla. Her son Connor was the next in line after Spike gave up the title. He's two now. The youngest earl in the Stanchester line."
"Fascinating," Faith drawled.
"Mommy, why did Daddy re - re-"
"Renounce? He gave it up because he didn't believe in it. There's a lot of responsibility to being an earl, love, and your daddy never was good with responsibility."
"That, and the fact that the old earl disinherited him," Faith said idly.
"He did not," Buffy said hotly. "He threatened to, but he had no one else to pass the title to. He had to give it to Spike or it would have died out."
"Grandpa was a mean old man," Alice said, even though she'd never met him.
"Well, yes, he was," Buffy said, because there was no denying it. Ethan Rayne Dashwood had been a nasty piece of work. Part of the reason Spike had renounced his title was that he found out his father had been so desperate to secure an heir of good blood that he'd offered Buffy a substantial amount of money to walk away and never claim paternity from Spike.
Buffy had, of course, ignored him and married Spike anyway, but it had been a source of contention between them. She'd never really seen him as the Viscount of Spellingdon, and she definitely couldn't think of herself as a viscountess - and then, after Ethan died, they'd been the Earl and Countess of Stanchester, which was both hilarious and depressing, all at the same time. Poor Will, for the first few years of his life, until Connor was born, had been styled The Honourable William Dashwood, and then he'd inherited the viscount's title, at the age of eighteen months. Little Alice had been born a Lady - but when Spike gave the Earldom up, all their titles had vanished, and Buffy was glad. It had been bloody stupid filling out forms and having to cross out Miss/Ms/Mrs and write in 'Lady'.
She'd never suited being a lady, anyway.
And now, huddled in dirty clothes in a dirty metal room, chained to a wall while a fierce woman held a gun over her, Buffy had never felt further from her erstwhile title.
"Is that why we were taken?" she asked Faith. "Because of the title?"
"I don't give a fuck about the title, B. You were taken for your hubby's stash."
"His stash?" Buffy didn't understand. "Of what?"
"I don't know. Money, art, whatever. Drugs for all I know. Someone wants you 'cos you'll know where it is."
"But he doesn't have a stash of anything," Buffy said, confused. Spike had a bank account, like normal people. Actually, he had several, for tax purposes, and a few of them were offshore and therefore ever so slightly illegal, but he certainly didn't have a big stash of money and art and precious things locked away somewhere, like a dragon's hoard.
"Nice try, B. He's gonna beat it out of you. Or maybe he'll let me."
"Who's 'he'?"
"You'll find out."
At some point, Faith stopped kicking the crap out of Buffy - and stopped threatening Alice - and settled down to threats instead. She spent pretty much all day in that little room, just watching her two captives. Buffy guessed there must be a crew somewhere on the ship, but apart from the man who came to bring food - a plate of something steaming for Faith and some scraps for Buffy and Alice - and shag Faith up against the metal door, she saw no one.
Days blurred together - very little light came in through the little porthole, and there was usually an electric light on, a bald bulb swinging from the ceiling. At night though, Faith left for her own bed - or her sailor's - and Buffy and Alice were left together. Alice slept most of the time, for which Buffy was grateful. Lack of food and stimulation sent her daughter into some sort of stupor, which probably wasn't good for her, but at least she was missing the beatings and threats inflicted on her mother.
So far she'd managed to protect Alice by taking whatever punishment Faith felt like dealing out. But that could easily change.
Buffy was aware how close to death she'd come on that first day. Women throughout history had died horribly in childbirth, or after a miscarriage, simply because they'd been unaware of how invasive germs really were, and of how dreadfully important cleanliness was. It made Buffy shudder to think of that doctor touching her in this filthy room. Even if he'd been clean, and the table had been clean, there was so much dirt around, her clothes must have been filthy. Her skin and hair were crawling now - it had been a week since she'd showered, and the memory of the water beating down on her body while Spike pleasured her made her cry in the night.
He was gone. She'd seen that gun pressed against his chest, heard the dreadful thump of the bullet tearing through him. Seen him fall backwards through the wood. He was gone, her husband, her lover, her friend. Buffy couldn't remember ever loving or relying on someone like she did on Spike. She trusted him completely.
When she'd been pregnant she'd been more aware of how other women looked at him. He was the same as always - strikingly handsome, moving with confident grace, an air of predatory menace and sexual superiority floating around him. And there had been Buffy, tired and aching and bloated, feeling horribly ugly, knowing that other women looked on Spike with pity and longing. Hey, stud, come and try me out instead of that fat pregnant bag.
But he'd never even glanced their way. His every thought had been for her: he comfort, her happiness, her love. He'd done everything for her. He'd fought and stolen and killed to keep her safe - her and the kids, and Dawn too. He knew what was important to her, and it was important to him too.
One morning Faith came in and Buffy felt so depressed she didn't even look up. Faith called to her with increasing sharpness, and eventually came over and kicked Buffy's back where she lay facing the wall.
"Don't ignore me, I know you're awake."
"Leave me alone."
"You know, I don't feel like it."
Buffy said nothing.
"Well, if you're not going to entertain me, maybe the kid can," Faith said, and that got Buffy's attention. She rolled over to see Faith aiming the gun at Alice, who was still asleep, and said quickly, "Okay. What do you want?"
Faith withdrew the gun and went to her table. Her heels clanged on the metal floor.
"What were you crying about?"
"What do you think?"
"If it's your dead baby I'll be so disappointed. Thought you had more backbone, B."
Buffy hauled herself into a sitting position, resting her aching back against the wall.
"Not my dead baby," she said, her heart twisting at the thought of it, "my dead husband."
"Well, he was a major hottie, I'll give you that. What was he like in the sack?"
Buffy opened her mouth to tell Faith that there was more to Spike than a hot guy who was good in bed - but then she was assaulted with the memory of them crashing to the floor while the table collapsed around them, his body sliding against hers, his skin hot and slick with sweat, his fingers digging into her flesh, making her writhe and gasp with pleasure - and she caught her breath, flinching.
"That good, huh?" Faith whistled. "Wow. Shame he's dead then."
Buffy glared at her coldly.
"How long you two been together?" Faith asked, crossing her legs on the table.
"Six years."
"You know he was titled before you married him?"
"Yes, but not before I..." it sounded hokey to say it. Not before she'd fallen in love with him.
"What was your dress like?" Faith asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Your wedding dress. What was it like?"
Buffy blinked. "Uh, which one?"
"How many times you been married?"
"Well, twice, actually. We... after Will was born we sort of broke up for a while. We got divorced and started again. So my first gown was the big maternity thing, and my second one was this little white summer dress. It had daisies on it, and on the veil, too." Buffy thought of the photo over the mantel - her and Spike laughing together at something Xander had just said, arms around each other, bright and happy with love. She smiled a little as she remembered.
"Maybe I should call you Liz Taylor," Faith quipped, bringing Buffy back to the miserable present. "So he knocked you up before he married you? Shotgun, huh?"
"No," Buffy said, "I... he didn't know I was pregnant. We were sort of broken up then, too."
Faith shook her head incredulously. "You broke up twice?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, I can see how that'd make him the love of your life."
"We had some problems," Buffy glared at her. "We fixed them. We were - it was all fine until you-" her fists clenched; she was not going to cry.
"Yeah, sorry, B. Got my orders, you know."
"Your orders included killing my husband and my baby?"
She shrugged. "Call that artistic licence."
"It's a bit of a stretch to say you're sorry then, isn't it?"
Faith's eyes dropped, and she said nothing.
