Service Unit

Chapter Eighteen – Clothes

He woke to the sound of someone retching. He lay still, listening, and realized it was his owner... Buffy. It was Buffy. He blinked. He remembered. Everything. He'd been so careful to stuff all the memories of his past into a box and lock it up tight, but seeing Buffy, hearing her speak his name and the names of others – Dawn, Giles, Angel – had broken the lock and smashed the box, freeing them all. And apparently, his subconscious had been busy while he'd slept, slotting his memories into their proper places like a manic postman.

He closed his eyes. He could hear her crying now. Great heaving sobs, the kind that made your nose run, and your throat hurt, and twisted your stomach into knots. Part of him wanted to go to her, offer some kind of comfort, but that part wasn't in full control yet, it seemed, because he couldn't force himself to get out of bed. The most he could do was sit up and lean against the headboard like he had the previous evening. He apparently couldn't overcome his training just yet, so he sat, listening to Buffy cry for a while then get quiet then retch again. It didn't sound like she was bringing anything up, so she must have emptied her stomach already. What was she doing that was causing her to throw up?

She was quiet again and his mind started to wander. He knew who she was. He knew who he was... well, in name, anyway. He was William Pratt, aka William the Bloody, aka Spike. He knew that, but... he didn't feel like Spike. Something was missing. He'd recovered all his memories, even the ones from when he'd been human, which he could have done without, but the… life didn't really fit, but it was the only word he could think of… the life behind them was gone, making them look like old, washed out newspaper clippings.

It was like he was an outsider looking in on a life that was long past. Like he was looking through an old scrapbook… someone else's scrapbook. Images raced through his mind, and although he knew that the man in the images was him and that the events had actually happened… it wasn't him. He wasn't that man… that demon… anymore. He didn't know who… what… he was, but he wasn't Spike… or even William. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and gritted his teeth. He was… he was Service Unit 238. That's all he knew how to be now.

His eyes popped open. That realization scared him more than anything he'd experienced during his entire time as a slave. What if this was all he could ever be? What if he couldn't get the missing part of himself back? He wanted to fit himself back into his old life, bring those washed out images back to full color, but what if he couldn't? What if he couldn't be what his owner… what Buffy, needed? What if…. what if she couldn't love him like this?

Spike tried to call on his demon to help him, but the bastard was still MIA – the bloody coward! The little pansy was still hiding wherever it'd run off to the day he'd been broken. Spike closed his eyes again and concentrated, trying to call it back from wherever it was, and although he felt a slight stirring somewhere in the back of his mind, nothing happened. His fangs didn't lengthen, his eyes didn't turn amber, and his ridges didn't form.

He wanted to reach up and feel his gums to see if his fangs had grown out again or if they'd given up as well. He began to lift his hand then froze with it only an inch or so off the mattress. His eyes flew open, wide with panic, and he darted them quickly around to see if he'd been observed. He quickly dropped his hand back to the bed and swallowed hard in relief. No one had seen him. But she said I could move. His eyes darted to the doorway. My owner… no… Buffy… gave me permission to move.

He steeled his nerve and tried again, but his arm refused to budge. He clamped his hand closed in a frustrated fist and tried to lift it off the mattress, but still nothing happened. He was physically unable to raise his hand up to touch his mouth. Because it wasn't allowed. He slid his hand away from his leg then back, then he lifted it off the mattress, raising it above his head, then set it back down. She gave me permission to move, but not to touch myself, so if I try to move with that as my intention, I can't. He tried one more time to lift his hand toward his mouth, but no matter how much he strained, he couldn't bypass his training, and he suddenly hated himself for being so weak.

He was worthless! Completely worthless! He'd never be Spike or William the Bloody or even that ponce William ever again! He was nothing, no one… a failure. An utterly useless lump of flesh, good for nothing but taking it up the ass and servicing whoever held his lease, and he couldn't even do that right anymore! Buffy would surely cast him out, decide he wasn't worth the trouble, and leave him sitting in the street like the worthless piece of trash he was. He couldn't be a man, he couldn't be a demon, and he couldn't be a proper service unit, so what good was he?

His attention was diverted back to the woman in the other room. Buffy was crying again and he could hear her saying something as she sobbed, "God, Spike… Please… please, Spike. Please come back to me. I love you… God, I love you so much. Please… love me."

She loved him. Or so she said. His hatred for himself suddenly morphed into fury at her. Without warning, he was overwhelmed with red-hot burning resentment and anger, the likes of which he hadn't felt in… so long he couldn't remember. It flared inside his gut and seemed to physically heat his body with its intensity as angry questions blazed through his mind. If she loves me so bloody much then why didn't she come for me? Why did she leave me to be tortured and raped for so many years? She'd known he was in Los Angeles with Angel. The memories were a little fuzzy because of the drugs he'd been given, but he was sure Angel had told him that Buffy knew he was back and wanted to see him. So why didn't she look for me when I didn't show up? Do I mean so little to her that she couldn't even be bothered?

And how does she look exactly the same? Yes, she's a Slayer and maybe they age more slowly than regular humans, but… it's been YEARS since I was taken! YEARS! And she looks like she hasn't aged a day from the last time I saw her! The image of Buffy standing in front of him in the Hellmouth flashed in his mind and he studied it then compared it to his first remembered image of the woman who was still crying in the living room. He frowned. The Buffy he'd seen yesterday when he'd first opened his eyes had actually looked younger than the one he remembered. Hellmouth Buffy had been under a great deal of stress, having had the fate of the entire world resting on her small shoulders, and it had shown in the small wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, her grayish pallor, and how thin she'd been, but Living Room Buffy had a little more meat on her bones and she looked fit and healthy, if not exactly happy.

Spike shook his head as his fury bled away, the flames dying almost as quickly as they'd flared. No. Something else was going on. The Buffy he'd known, the one from his wan, lifeless memories, didn't say she loved someone unless she meant it, so he had to believe she'd been sincere the several times she'd expressed her love for him since he'd been unpacked. Plus, she wasn't that good an actress to be able to fake the anger he'd read on her face and in her posture… at least she'd never been able to fool him. He'd seen her angry more than once, and what he'd seen yesterday had been genuine. And Buffy didn't play games like some teenage drama queen, so what would be the point of her sobbing on the couch just now when, as far as she knew, he was still asleep. She wasn't putting on an act. Not to mention she'd never purchase a demon pleasure slave; that he was completely sure of. He doubted she'd even known such things existed before yesterday.

She wasn't crying anymore. He listened intently, but couldn't hear anything except her breathing and the ticking of a clock. He wanted to get up and go out there; find some way to ask her just what, exactly, was going on, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't force himself to get up off the bed. He could open and close his eyes, lift and lower his hands – as long as he didn't intend to touch himself – move his legs, lie down, and sit up, but that was it. That was all he'd been given permission to do.

He tipped his head back and let it rest against the headboard then tried calling up his demon again. Nothing. Well, the stirring way at the back of his mind had maybe seemed a little bit more, but still no fangs or ridges. If he could get his demon to respond, get it back on the job, then he might be strong enough to fight the training, but as things stood… He sighed. It was looking like he'd be Buffy's slave for a while longer. He hoped that it wouldn't be forever, but the fear that he'd never be 'Spike' again, that he'd never be anything worthy of her love, was a palpable weight that felt like it was crushing his unbeating heart.

XX

XXXX

XX

When Buffy stepped into the bedroom, Spike was awake and sitting up, leaning against the headboard. She smiled at him as she walked up to his side of the bed and sat down next to his knee. "Morning, or, I guess, afternoon. Did you sleep okay?" He nodded, his expression melting into a look of concern as he took in her swollen and red-rimmed eyes. She shrugged then held out one of the two mugs she was holding, trying to make her smile a little brighter. "I'm fine. And I'm really proud of you for sitting up on your own instead of waiting for me to tell you to. That's good, Spike… super-good. Here you go."

He took the mug from her after only a few seconds and drank it down quickly. She took the empty and replaced it with the full one in her other hand. He drank that one a little slower, rolling the last of it around in his mouth. His eyes drifted closed as he swallowed and a very slight, almost not-even-there smile flitted across his lips. He opened his eyes, his gaze intent on her as he held out the empty mug. Buffy took it then asked, "Do you want some more?"

He considered for a few seconds then shook his head. "Okay. I want to check your injuries to see how you're healing. Is that all right?" He blinked then his brow furrowed a little before he nodded tentatively. Buffy set the empty mugs down on the nightstand then stood up and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Just lean forward a little so I can look at your back." He did and she smiled. His back was nearly healed; just the deepest claw marks and punctures still needing a little more time. She patted his shoulder then sat back down. "It's looking good, Spike. Should be fine by tomorrow." She laid her hand on the comforter that was bunched at his waist. "Can I look at the rest?" His brow furrowed again then he nodded. She lifted the comforter and sheet away from him, pulling them into her lap, and peered at his genitals. They looked practically normal. There were a few scratches still scabbed over on his penis, but his scrotum looked just as she remembered it. She pointed at his groin. "Do you still hurt?"

Spike seemed to consider then shook his head once and nodded once. Buffy lifted her hand and rocked it back and forth as she said, "Kind of?" Spike nodded. "Okay. Will you roll onto your side so I can check… uh…" He slid down and rolled onto his right side before she'd finished speaking then bent his left leg, lifting his knee to his chest. Buffy didn't notice his flinch as she glanced at the back of his right knee, noting that the punctures were still scabbed over, but the scabs seemed a lot smaller than they had been when she'd given him that sponge bath. Then she leaned down and checked his anus. The swelling and bruising were practically gone, and although she could still see evidence of tearing, it was slight. She reached out and patted his hip. "Looks okay. You can roll back over." He rolled slowly and resumed leaning against the headboard. "Um… do you have much pain… back there?" He shook his head.

She replaced the covers, smiling a little at his look of surprise, then took his hand in hers. "Good. Okay… um… I have some clothes for you if you want to wear them. You don't have to if you're comfortable being naked… and believe me, I really don't mind the view at all, so don't wear them on my account or anything, but I have them if you want them. Do you?"

The look of shock on his face was almost comical as he considered her words, then his brow knitted and he frowned. She squeezed his hand to get his attention then nodded at his torso. "It's okay for you to wear the clothes, Spike. Like I said, I don't mind the view of you without them, but I also don't mind the view of you in them. You look good either way, and I'm fine with whatever you want to do, so if you want the clothes, just nod."

Buffy sat quietly and let him think then smiled widely at him when he brought his eyes up to hers and nodded forcefully. "Okay then. I'll be right back with them. I have jeans and sweats, but I think the sweats would be a little more comfortable until you're…" She waved at his groin area. "…all the way healed. The jeans might… uh… chafe areas that you'd rather not have chafed right now with your whole 'allergic to wearing underwear' thing. You know?" She held up her hand in a 'stop' gesture at Spike's confused expression. "You don't have to answer that; I'm just babbling. Be right back."

She returned a few minutes later carrying a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks. "Do you need help putting these on?" Spike looked a little scared as he considered the clothing in her arms then he shook his head, his expression changing to one of determination. "All right." She set the clothes down next to his hip and picked up the empty mugs. "I'll go take care of these and come check on you in a few minutes."

She took a few steps toward the door then turned back. "Oh, and you have my permission to touch whatever part of your body that you want. And… uh… you can touch or pick up or move any of the stuff in the apartment." She closed her eyes and bobbed the mug in her right hand up and down a few times like she was checking things off a list as she muttered, "He can open or close his eyes, he can move whatever, he can touch whatever… oh!" She opened her eyes. "You can also go wherever you want to in the apartment, so if you want to come out to the living room when you're done getting dressed, you can. Or you can stay in here, or go into the bathroom, or the kitchen, or wherever. Oh, except the guest bedroom. It's the only closed door in the hallway. Please don't go in there. I'll explain why in a little while, okay?"

Spike nodded, but his expression was slightly confused and Buffy said, "We'll take it from the top. Nod if you understand each thing as I name it off, okay?" Spike nodded again. "You can open and close your eyes whenever you want." Spike nodded. "You can move whatever part of your body you want." Spike nodded. "You can go anywhere in the apartment except the guest bedroom." Spike nodded. "And you can touch anything in the apartment including yourself and me." Spike blinked then nodded. "Okay. I think that covers everything, but if I forgot something, we'll handle it when it happens. I'll let you get dressed."