Chapter Twenty-One

Possession

Anya and Xander looked up from where they were huddled together on the sofa as Buffy shoved Spike ahead of her into the living room, shocked expressions on their faces as they took it in. Xander's shock visibly gave way to fury, however, as he rose and came to stand directly in front of the blonde vampire.

He drew back his fist and struck him, and demanded in a voice of pure hatred, "Where is she, you sick little pervert? What did you do to her, you disgusting freak of nature?" He drew back his fist to strike again, infuriated by Spike's silence, but Buffy moved to stand between them, facing Xander, turning her back toward Spike.

"I've got it, Xander," she said in a soft, calming tone. God, but she was good, Spike thought. She was right; they would never believe him if he tried to explain. She could convince them of anything. But her back was to him, now, and the front door was standing open still…maybe…

He had almost reached the door when she caught him, slinging him back so hard that his back hit the banister of the staircase, sending a jolt of searing pain down his spine that sent him to his knees. Crouching down beside him, she put a deceptively gentle hand on his cheek; he flinched. She smiled, but her eyes were full of rage as she said softly, "Are you gonna try that again, Sweetheart?"

He shook his head, looking away from her, unable to face the menace in her eyes.

Buffy stood up straight and turned back toward Xander. Beside her, Spike struggled to rise back to his feet, gasping for breath as he slowly recovered from the pain. But Buffy calmly, without turning, placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. The unspoken order was clear enough; he was not to move until she told him he could.

As Buffy told Xander her version of what had happened – some long, melodramatic tale involving Spike's ordering her to meet him at Willie's if she wanted to see Dawn alive again – he looked around the room, breathing hard, trying to get his bearings. He suddenly noticed Anya – still sitting on the couch, staring at him with wide, stricken eyes.

Anya always had seemed uncomfortable with the way the others treated Spike. Probably had something to do with the fact that, but for a punishment placed on her by her former boss, it could as easily be her in his place, the object of the constant abuse and ridicule. And now, was it his imagination inventing false hopes, or did she look terribly distressed by what was happening?

He urgently sought her eyes until they met his. Then he moved his lips in a silent plea, behind Buffy's back while her attention was focused on Xander. "Help me," he mouthed the words, desperation in his eyes.

Anya did not know what to do. For some reason this felt so wrong to her, and sure, she didn't have a lot of experience with human emotion and intuition, but she would never have thought that Spike would ever hurt Dawn, and now, as he knelt on the floor at Buffy's feet, beaten and helpless, she could not imagine that he was even capable of such a thing. Buffy was the one who was frightening her, with her calm, smooth words and tones with were the exact opposite to her violent actions. Spike's face was bruised and bleeding, so she had obviously hurt him at some point on the way from Willie's to her house, yet now, she was so calm and together – wasn't that supposed to be a sign of – evil or – or mental illness or something? Extreme mood swings and drastic shifts in behavior? She couldn't remember. Being human was so hard sometimes.

But faced with the unmistakable terror in Spike's eyes as he looked up at her imploringly from his place on the floor, she made her decision in a moment, and hoped it was the right one. With an almost imperceptible nod, she agreed to his plea.

"Get Tara," he mouthed back to her again, relief now showing through the fear on his face.

Anya nodded again, just slightly, and a surge of relief washed over him. At least he knew that Tara would know where he was. He could only hope that the girls could pull off the ritual quick, before Buffy could finish with him. But the cruel, self-satisfied smile she gave him as she hauled him to his feet by his shirt collar and toward the stairs to the basement, told him that that was not going to be a problem.

She was planning to take her time.

The thought was not comforting.

Dawn greeted Tara at the door, so frantic that it was difficult for Tara to understand her at first. Spike had still not come back, and the girl was in tears.

Tara looked sick. "And he didn't tell you where he was going?" she asked, shaking her head, fear in her eyes.

Dawn shook her head. "He's been gone more than two hours, Tara! What if Buffy found him? What if --?"

"Dawnie, honey, shh," Tara comforted her, pulling her into her arms. "We're gonna find him, it's gonna be ok." But she was not at all sure herself.

Spike…Spike where are you? she called frantically. But there was only silence in response to her thought. That was not a good sign.

Suddenly there was a loud insistent knocking on the apartment door. Premature relief flooded her as she hurried to open the door. It's him, it's him, it has to be! she told herself, hoping against hope that it was.

She could not conceal her disappointment when she opened the door and saw Anya standing there. "Come in," she said automatically, stepping out of the way to allow her to enter…and then remembering Dawn, standing right in the middle of the living room! The others were not supposed to know where she was! Tara glanced anxiously at Anya to gauge her reaction to Dawn's presence here, in her apartment.

Anya frowned as she said, "I knew Spike didn't kidnap you like Buffy said…" Her voice trailed off. Then she continued thoughtfully, gesturing toward Tara, "But maybe he did kidnap her and you helped, since he's the one who sent me here? But why would you want to kidnap Dawn when…"

"Anya," Tara broke in impatiently, her eyes wide. "Spike sent you here? Where is he?"

"He's at Buffy's house, and Buffy's acting like a mental patient and Xander's hitting him for no good reason because it's the only thing he can do to help and it makes him feel less insignificant…except it's not…helping…" Her voice trailed off again at the stunned expressions of both girls' faces. Dawn's was quickly giving way to utter panic.

"Buffy has him! Oh my God! Tara we have to go…" The girl was already headed for the door.

"No!" Tara said forcefully, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her back, leaning down to look her in the eye. "Dawnie, no! What you need to do right now is calm down. The last thing we need is for Buffy to get you back too!"

Dawn was furious by now, tears streaking her face. "I am not going to leave him there for her to do whatever she wants to him!"

"No…we're not, Dawn," Tara continued, a calm assurance in her eyes. And something else that silenced Dawn, and sent a shiver of familiar remembrance down Anya's spine.

Tara was radiating a sense of unmistakable power.

"Anya, can you stay here with Dawn?" Tara asked, turning to her quickly, not yet releasing Dawn.

Anya nodded slowly, watching the other woman cautiously. She had always known that Willow had power; you couldn't help but notice it, the girl exercised it so frequently, made it such a focus in her life. But she had never seen it so obvious in Tara before, and it was vaguely unsettling to her.

"Fill her in, Dawnie. Spike trusted her enough to send her here. That's good enough for me. We may need her help with the ritual. I'm going to your house, and I'm not coming back without Spike," Tara continued, holding Dawn's gaze.

What Dawn saw there was reassuring. Suddenly, her sister did not seem so unstoppable as she had previously thought. The look on Tara's face actually almost made her feel sorry for her sister – almost. She would not want to be on the receiving end of the growing fury in Tara's eyes.

Dawn agreed with a nod. "Ok."

"I'll get the urn while I'm there, and we'll get this thing done," Tara finished.

Dawn nodded again, and Tara pulled her too her in a tight hug before letting her go. "I'll be back soon," she said as she turned to go. As she shut the door behind her, a determined fire in her eyes, she declared, "Nobody messes with my boyfriend!"

Locked in Buffy's basement, his wrists shackled behind his back in heavy iron manacles, attached to the wall behind him by a thick, three-foot long chain, Spike waited for the Slayer to return. After chaining him up down here, she had gone back upstairs to see her friends off. But from what he could hear of what was happening upstairs, Xander and Anya had left a long time ago.

He tried to figure whether or not Anya would have had to time to get clear of Xander and get to Tara's apartment yet. Surely the girl would have enough sense not to let the whelp know what she was doing. He would only be against it. A new fear went through him at that thought. What if she had told Xander, and he had talked her out of it? Or worse, told Buffy?

At that moment, he heard the basement door swing slowly open and soft, slow footsteps on the stairs. Awkwardly he stumbled to his feet; he did not want to be at any greater disadvantage than he had to be when she reached him.

She approached him slowly, smiling, in no hurry. She knew that she had him exactly where she wanted him, like a cat cruelly toying with its prey, merely prolonging the agony of its death.

She slowly, boldly, looked him up and down before meeting his eyes with mockery in her own. "I've missed you," she said suggestively, taking a couple more slow steps.

What he saw in her eyes chilled him through. No…no…no… He could feel panic building, tried to fight it back. Tried to think of Tara.

Her smile fading instantly to a thin, hard line, she ordered coldly, "On your knees."

A sick sense of revulsion swept over him. No, no, no! She can't! Steadying himself, he stood his ground. I'm not your toy anymore, Buffy, he said in his mind, as he still had not found the courage to say it to her face, despairing because even in his mind he didn't sound sure. But he forced himself to meet her eyes, and did not obey.

Buffy's lips pursed in annoyance, and he could see the rage building in her eyes, but she just shrugged. "All right. If that's the way you want it, Baby…" Suddenly she struck him brutally in the face, then followed the blow with a vicious kick to his ribs that dropped him where he stood.

Coughing, choking on his own blood, he struggled to pull himself back up to his knees, as she said softly, laughingly, "You always did choose the hard way, didn't you, Baby?"

Kneeling now, as she had commanded, but only trying to get his bearings before standing again, he struggled to make his eyes focus through the spinning stars that danced in his vision. When he could finally see again, she was standing so close that her body was mere inches from his face. Oh, God, no, please, no!

His stomach was churning with fear, as he was faced with this repetition of the scene over a month ago, when he had been so brutally assaulted by her. He could feel the trembling starting in his hands, and began to scramble backward away from her in desperation.

But she reached out a hand of steel and gripped the back of his head, holding him there in her relentless grip, as she laughed cruelly at his terror. He was shaking uncontrollably now, shaking his head in a silent plea, his eyes shut against it.

But she just held him there, as if just to prove to him that she could, and he dared to open his eyes again. Looking up at her with wide, shock-filled eyes, he saw the vicious pleasure in her eyes at the power she held over him.

Ruthlessly her strong hand on his head pulled him an inch or so closer to her, and a fresh wave of panic washed over him; he could feel tears of shame and desperation forming in his eyes.

Then, not releasing her grip, she crouched down so that now her face was level with his. Her cold, piercing green eyes forced his to look up at the cruel smirk on her face. Then, once she knew she had his full attention focused on her, she said in a deadly, still voice, "I thought you said you weren't going to let me touch you anymore, Baby." There was a challenge in her eyes, demanding a response.

Trembling uncontrollably, utterly broken, he whispered, barely audible, "Please…please no, Buffy…please don't!" His tears flowed freely now, and he was shaking his head just slightly, pleadingly.

Buffy smiled at him with mock-affection, then leaned in to slowly kiss him, her vicious fingers tangled in his hair forcing him to submit to the kiss, her tongue shoving past his trembling lips in a ruthless invasion . When she pulled away she watched him for a moment, trembling, on his knees, at her mercy. Then she released him, stood up, regarding him like the thing beneath her she had always told him he was.

Her voice soft, as if she were bestowing some great mercy, she decided, "Not tonight." Then she turned and walked back up the stairs.

The moment he heard the basement door close behind her, he collapsed back against the wall behind him, sobbing. And though he knew it would not be heard, his heart sent out a desperate cry.

Oh, Tara, Tara, please hurry!