Service Unit

Chapter Twenty Three – Dope

Buffy sat back down on the loveseat, wiping the burn gel off her finger with the dish cloth, apparently unconcerned with his half-nakedness. "Okay, where were we? Oh… yeah. Years. You were there for years, and you think I knew that and just left you there. You think I could do that, be that cold… that heartless… to someone I love."

Spike dropped his gaze to his bare legs, closing his eyes in shame. He'd hurt her, he could hear it in her voice, and she'd still treated his injury, still relieved his pain while she was in pain because of him. He was a complete shit, not worthy of her attention, much less her love. She should just tear off her collar and toss him out before he hurt her any further. She could give him back to his trainer… send him back to where he belonged… where he had some use and wouldn't be a bother…

Buffy reached out and took his hand in hers, downshifting his self-loathing before it could get up to cruising speed, then said quietly, "Spike, look at me, please."

He forced his eyes open and fixed them on her face, expecting to see disappointment or maybe anger, but her expression was loving and a small, slightly sad smile curved her mouth. "You're a dope, Spike." At his frown she squeezed his hand. "Although I can see why you would think what you do. You were there a long time, and nobody came riding to the rescue, so you probably thought I'd abandoned you, right?" Spike nodded sadly. "Well, I didn't. I didn't even know you were gone. The demon Angel gave you to took you to a different dimension and the time there was…"

Spike's eyes widened in sudden understanding and he spoke, making sure to whisper so he wouldn't start coughing, "Longer. Like when you were… dead. That's why you don't look any different. How long was I…"

"Twenty-three years."

Spike swallowed hard and whispered, "Twenty-three years."

Buffy whispered, "Yeah."

"Feels longer than that. A lot longer."

"Yeah."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Buffy rubbing her thumb across the back of Spike's hand. He cleared his throat and grimaced again and she stood up. "Let me go find those cough drops. I think they're in the bathroom."

He didn't practice speaking while she was gone this time; he just sat, staring at his knees as he thought about what she'd just told him. Twenty-three years. He'd been a sex slave for twenty three years. A service unit. Was still one, actually. And it was because of Angel. He GAVE me to a demon? GAVE ME?! Why? What'd I ever do to him? He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting it rest on the back of the loveseat as some of the more annoying things he'd done to Angel over the years paraded through his mind. So, he gave me up to demon slavers because I was insolent as a fledge? Because I went against him during the Acathla debacle? Because I kept following him around when I was all ghostly? Because I beat him to the Cup of Perpetual Torment, otherwise known as Mountain Dew? All of those things are small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, so what did I do to him that was bad enough to warrant giving me into slavery?

He thought back to the last memory he had of his life before he'd woken in the slave compound. He'd been lying in a hospital bed at Wolfram and Hart and Angel had come into his room followed by some old man. Angel hadn't seemed to be angry or upset when he'd said that Buffy knew he was back and wanted to see him, and then… He couldn't remember anything after that. His eyes popped open and he lifted his head off the loveseat. Buffy. That right bastard. He gave me up to keep me away from Buffy. That old man must have been the demon owner of the slave compound. He looked toward the bathroom door where he could hear Buffy rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. So how'd I end up here, then? WITH Buffy?

Buffy came back into the living room with a bag of cough drops. She dug one out of the bag then unwrapped it and handed it to him. "Here. I'll make you another cup of tea, too. Maybe both of them together will help."

He took the cough drop and popped it into his mouth then watched as she carried his half-empty mug into the kitchen and dumped out the cooled tea. She came back, doctored his tea then hers, and they sat quietly again while they drank it. When Spike moved to set his empty mug on the tray, he flinched, a pained gasp issuing from between his lips. Buffy looked at him with concern, "What's wrong? What hurts? Is it the burn?"

He leaned back against the seat and said in a whisper, "Not the burn. Something in here," he motioned toward his low belly, "is ruptured or torn and hasn't quite healed yet, but I'll be fine. I've had worse."

Buffy leaned across him and deposited her mug on the tray then stood up. "I know you have." She held out her hand. "You need to rest so you'll heal. Come on." He lifted his hand and laid it in hers and she pulled him to his feet then led him to the bedroom. She helped him out of his t-shirt then disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a wet wash cloth. She quickly wiped off the partially dried secretions that coated his belly and balls; carefully avoiding the burn gel on his thigh, then she wrapped the cloth around his flaccid cock and wiped once.

She looked him over then shrugged. "You're not completely clean, but it'll do for now. If I wipe you any more you'll get hard and I don't want to leave you like that. You need to rest, and to do that you need to be comfortable."

She tossed the wash cloth into the hamper then maneuvered him into bed. As she was tucking the covers around him, she asked quietly, "You were in pain the whole time we were having sex, weren't you?" He dipped his head in a shamed nod and she sat down next to him then leaned over, pressing her forehead against his. "You're such a dope." She kissed him gently then whispered against his lips, "But I love you anyway. Get some sleep. I'll come check on you in a while." She sat up and started to stand, but stopped the movement when he reached for her hand and grasped it tightly. She looked down at her hand then up to his face. "Spike? What is it?"

Spike cleared his throat and said in a voice barely above a whisper, "How do you know I've had worse?"

She nudged him over just a little then brought her legs up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged next to his hip. His hand was still holding hers and she lifted it and laid it in her lap. "I read your records."

Spike looked at her sharply, his voice just a little louder, "My records? What records?"

"Your trainer kept notes on your training, punishments, and service in a big binder. They're really detailed and there's even pictures, so I know what you've…"

Spike's voice deserted him and he mouthed, "You know it all? You've seen?" as a look of deep mortification settled onto his face.

He turned his head away and Buffy squeezed his hand. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of, Spike. Look at me, please." He turned back to face her and glanced quickly at her eyes then lowered his gaze, focusing on her chin instead. "You don't. In fact, you should be proud of yourself. You're so strong, you've been through so much, so many horrible things, and you're… well, not fine… not completely, but you will be, eventually. You're strong enough to get through this, Spike, I know you are. You've made it this far without going completely bonkers, so I know you can do it."

Spike closed his eyes, turning his head again as he whispered, "You know it all. You know what they did… what I did." Those thoughts he'd hoped would wither and die suddenly dropped on him like a ton of bricks, crushing him under their weight. He was filthy… a filthy, disgusting, vile creature. He was defiling her bed with his filth… again. And he was defiling her with his touch. She shouldn't be touching his disgusting skin… shouldn't be exposed to his filth. It took nearly every scrap of determination he possessed to do it, but he pulled his hand out of hers and slid a few inches across the bed away from her, whispering desperately, "I… You shouldn't have to touch me… You… I'm disgusting… filthy… The things I've done…"

Buffy laid her hand lightly on his forearm. "You're not disgusting or filthy, Spike, and I have no problem touching you. You were forced to do those things, and I don't think any less of you because you did. You adapted, just like you always do, and in fact, I think more of you because you got through it. You survived."

He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, self-loathing evident in every line of his features, and his voice cracked as he said, "I didn't adapt, Buffy, they broke me. I wasn't strong enough to last more than a few months. And I've spent years doing every degrading, abominable, and horrific thing I was ordered to do, not fighting back at all. I'm weak and useless and not fit to be in your company."

"A year and a half, Spike."

"What?"

"It was a year and a half before you broke. EIGHTEEN months, not just a few." A small sob issued from her throat. "You fought through eighteen months of constant torture and r..rape…" She lifted her hand to her mouth to trap another sob, her eyes locked on his. "Do you have any idea how strong you are? Any idea at all?"

He shook his head and looked away from her again, his hand moving to touch the skin just under the silk collar he still wore. "I'm not. I… You OWN me, Buffy. I'm your toy… your slave… and the training is screaming at me to kneel at your feet where I belong… to stop defiling your bed with my filth. I can't even touch the collar you put on me because I've not been given permission to do so. I'm trying to fight it, but…" He twitched then dropped his hand back to the bed, clenching them both into fists. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat again, his voice getting raspier the more he spoke. "If you tapped me right now or told me to do something, no matter what it was, I'd follow the order immediately… I'm not strong."

Buffy spoke sharply and Spike flinched at her tone. "You ARE. Look at yourself. God, Spike! You were there for twenty-three years and look at you! Anybody else would have been completely insane after all you've been through. And you're not! You're thinking and you're talking in complete sentences and you make sense. And you're still in bed! You're still fighting! And you're winning!"

Spike turned his head slightly back toward her then closed his eyes, his voice breaking. "It's so h..hard. Every minute is a struggle. I even have to fight the training to be able to tell you that." He looked up at her in desperation. "Is it always going to be like this, Buffy? Is it? Because I don't think I…"

Buffy cut him off. "Spike, you can. You've only been here a day. One day. And look how much you've progressed in that one day. I know it's hard. I know that, but it will get easier. You just have to keep fighting." She reached out and grasped his hand again, pulling it into her lap. "I know the training makes you think you need an owner, and I'll be that for you until you don't need one anymore, but I'm going to try not to command you… unless you need me to. All right?"

Spike nodded miserably, but didn't try to pull his hand from her grasp. "I'll try, Buffy."

"Good. Now, I need to ask you something and I want you to be completely honest."

He glanced up at her then dropped his gaze back down. "Yes?"

"Did we have sex because you wanted to… wanted me, or did we have sex because you think you have to 'service' me?" The look on his face told her the answer. He'd serviced her. She sighed deeply and he looked up at her, guilt and shame turning his features dark and stormy. "Spike, you don't have to do that. If you want to get groiny, then I'm all for it, but I want it to be because you want to, not because you think you have to. That's not why you're here."

Spike's voice was a rough, desperate whisper as he turned his face away, "But if I don't… if I can't be useful to you then you won't keep me… and that's all I know how to do now. All I'm good for. I'm not Spike anymore… I'm your toy… and people don't keep toys they aren't playing with… especially useless broken ones."

Buffy squeezed his hand. Hard. "Look at me." He immediately turned his head, focusing his gaze once again on her chin, and she said quietly, "Up here, Spike." He raised his eyes to hers and nearly flinched at the fire he saw in them as she said, "I want you to listen to me very carefully. You. Are. Not. My. Toy. And you aren't useless or broken! You're the man I love, and sex isn't your payment for staying here with me. I want you here, and even if we never have sex again, I'll still want you here. I love you, you dope. And we'll get your demon back, either through my blood or through the ritual, but we'll get it back, and then you'll have it to help you fight the train…" She stopped when Spike's eyes widened and asked, "What?"

"What ritual?"

Buffy smiled. "Oh, yeah, guess I kind of forgot to tell you about my plan. Let me go grab the cough drops and I will." She stood up and straightened the blankets, saying over her shoulder as she walked toward door. "Think back to when you first came to Sunnydale."