Spike passed two whole days, tracked by the clock on the nightstand, in torturous solitude, before Warren finally returned to the room. By the time he did, all Spike could think about was his overwhelming hunger. It had been a week since he’d fed, and he’d lost quite a bit of blood in the accident.

And he was not getting any better. The pain he felt whenever he tried to move his legs was getting worse, and a dizzy, faint feeling began to accompany him constantly. He had to have blood, and soon. He thought about the “refrigerator full of blood” Warren had mentioned – in fact he could think of little else. He wondered what it would take to get Warren to bring him some of the blood he claimed to have downstairs.

But when Warren entered the room, his claim became reality. He held a standard hospital issue bag of blood in his hands when he walked through the door – and Spike’s rapt attention in the next moment.

“So how’re we doing up here, Buddy?” he asked casually, looking his prisoner over with a disapproving frown. “You don’t look so good, man. You hungry?”

Spike was painfully aware that Warren was not going to simply give him the blood. There had to be a catch. Cautiously, silently, he nodded.

“What’s that?” Warren frowned when Spike still did not respond. “Ok, new rule, pal. When I speak to you, you answer. Out loud. Is that clear?”

Spike’s pride boiled up in him; he was not going to give in to this pathetic kid’s attempts to control him. All the boy got was a sneer of contempt.

Warren shook his head, laughing a little as if amused by Spike’s defiance.

Then in an instant his smile vanished. A cold look in his dark eyes, he lifted one foot and pressed it down, hard, on Spike’s injured left leg.

Spike had not been expecting that. The pain was intense, and he let out an anguished cry before he could stop it.

Warren only pressed down harder, and repeated, “Is that clear?”

Suddenly, the pathetic kid seemed quite a bit more intimidating. Unable to speak for the pain, only wanting to make it stop, Spike nodded desperately.

Warren’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he only increased the cruel pressure he was exerting.

“*Yes*!” Spike gasped finally, forcing out the words. “*Yes*, that’s clear!”

Finally removing his foot from Spike’s leg and sitting down on the floor, smile back in place, Warren said with satisfaction, “That’s better. You’re a slow learner – not too bright, Sparky – but you’ll get it eventually. Things will go a lot better for you if you just do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it.”

Spike felt his anger and pride rise up again at that – but this time dared not show it.

Warren leaned his back against the bed behind him, getting comfortable. So this was to be an extended visit, then, Spike realized with annoyance – and a little fear. As the pain faded, however, his attention was once again focused on the bag in Warren’s hand.

“So…you hungry?” Warren asked again. His expression was calm, composed, but a hard look in his eyes told Spike that he meant business.

“Yes,” Spike rasped, his voice hoarse and weak from pain, dehydration, and simple lack of use.

Warren nodded, satisfied. “Thought so. You know,” he went on, his voice soft and patronizing, as if correcting a willful child, “you wouldn’t have had to go hungry this long if you’d just shown a little respect last time. You’d already to halfway to walking again by now – and we’d both be a lot happier.”

Spike wondered again what the boy was planning – why he was even in this place. Though at the moment, he really didn’t care that much. All he could think about was the blood Warren held in his hands, idly shifting from one hand to the other. He could see it, smell it, almost taste it, right there, within his reach – if he could have reached for it. The irony of it was painful.

“See, what you’ve gotta realize, Spike,” Warren went on, his eyes narrowing in a cold smile, “is that this is completely out of your hands. You can’t do anything to change it. You can’t get away.” He laughed mockingly, his eyes moving up and down, taking in the pitiful sight Spike knew he must be by now. “No one’s coming for you. From here on out, Spike,” Warren paused, catching his eye before going on, slowly, distinctly, “Your whole world…is nothing more or less than I say it is. You’ll eat when I say you eat, sleep when I say you sleep, *do* absolutely *everything* I tell you to do. Understand?”

Spike had no intention of refusing to answer again, but his answer was not what Warren had in mind. In spite of his perilous situation, as always, his pride and anger took over his mouth.

“I *understand*, you pathetic ponce, that you think you’re some kind of bloody mastermind, but you’re just a stupid little boy playing games.” Though he knew it was nothing more than a bluff, he went on in a threatening tone, “When the Slayer finds out about this, she’ll kick your bloody ass!”

“For hurting *you*?” Warren sneered, an odd glint in his eyes.

Spike suddenly felt sick again, but he went on, “Bloody right she will! Me and the Slayer – we’re thick as thieves, we are! And she won’t be a bit pleased when she finds out…”

”You think she still cares?” Warren interrupted, his voice quiet, speculative, but a cruel gleam in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” Spike demanded, terribly afraid that he already knew the answer.

“Come on, Spike,” Warren laughed. “We’ve been watching the Slayer for weeks. We’ve got cameras *everywhere* -- don’t you think if I’m gonna spy on a hot chick like Buffy – I’m gonna put a camera in the place where she’s most likely to be naked?”

Spike wanted to slap the leer right off Warren’s face, would have, regardless of the chip, had his hands been free. To think of the bloody pervert, spying on Buffy when she was showering, dressing, infuriated him. Enraged him. Such a violation…

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of shame came over him as he realized what else Warren had seen happen in Buffy’s bathroom. He turned his head away, unable to face him, knowing that he knew what he had done.

“So – I really don’t think the Slayer’s rushing out to rescue you, Spike.” Warren’s voice was soft, with a quiet triumph. “And I can’t think of any other friend you’ve got strong enough to take me on now. Actually,” he shrugged with a smirk, “I can’t think of any other friend you’ve got, *period*. Which means – you’re kinda stuck here with me.”

He paused before adding with a wicked smile, “I’ve gotta hand it to you though. I wouldn’t have thought you’d had it in you. Most of the stuff I saw made it look like you were pretty much whipped. But when I saw that tape…” He paused, looking Spike right in the eye, shaking his head with a suggestive smile. “Well, if it’d been me – I’d have finished it. Slut had no right holding out on you after all the stuff she did with you before.”

Blind rage overtook reason and Spike yanked against the chains, determined to tear the little creep to pieces, chip or no, snarling, “You bloody pervert! I’ll kill you! Don’t you dare go near her!” Because he suddenly had the fearful thought that, as strong as he was now, Warren just might be able to take Buffy on.

Warren’s eyes flashed fury at his prisoner’s outburst. “You know,” he said, standing up suddenly. “I don’t think you’re that hungry after all.”

Despite his rage, Spike’s heart sank at those words. So it would be another few days of starvation, then. Much more and he wouldn’t be able to move, much less heal.

Warren glared down at him as he said coldly, “I don’t like your attitude, Spike. You still aren’t getting it. I think I’m gonna have to let you know just how serious I am about this.”

Spike braced himself for the blow…which didn’t come. Warren simply turned and walked out of the room. Spike was confused for a few moments. Why had he simply left? He had opened his bloody mouth again and managed to enrage the boy, so surely he would be coming back.

Without the blood. He felt a desperate sob rising in his throat, as the hopelessness of his situation struck him fully. It was beginning to seem that if he was going to avoid starving in this room indefinitely, his only option – loathsome as it was to him – was submission to Warren.

His thoughts turned to Buffy, and the things Warren had said. He was deeply ashamed of what he had done, and humiliated to know that Warren had seen it. The thought of Buffy brought the ache back to his chest. Warren was right. She was probably wishing him dead right now, grateful that he had disappeared. He desperately wanted to see her, to talk to her, to tell her how sorry he was, but now he would never have the chance to make things right – as if that was even possible!

*Wait!* he suddenly reminded himself. *Stop thinking like this is over! It’s not! There’s got to be a way out of this mess, you’ve just got to find it!*

But a cold sensation swept over him as he realized that there truly was no way out at the moment. He was utterly and completely alone in this, having brutally shattered the fragile affections of the only person capable of helping him, and he was physically unable to help himself. There was just no way, he realized.

But there *was* a way to make it easier, a tiny voice reminded him. A way to get blood, a way to get well again, so maybe – maybe he could find a way to escape.

Submission to Warren. *Bloody hell.* The thought sickened him. He wrestled with it in his mind. Maybe he could do it, just long enough to convince the boy that he wouldn’t be any trouble, maybe get the chains off, just long enough to find a chance to get away.

For the briefest moment he considered it, but then his pride rose up again and declared that he would rather die than submit to the annoying pathetic little boy who fancied himself an evil genius. *It doesn’t matter what the whelp does,* he told himself firmly. *I’m not gonna bow down before him and beg him for anything. Not bloody likely!*

And at that moment, he heard an odd metal clanging sound in the pipes running up the wall from the radiator.

And the cold metal behind him slowly began to warm.


Dawn walked through the front door at about 5:00, after her afternoon study session. She was greeted by her sister – actually dressed, and not in her Doublemeat Palace uniform, smiling, and holding a huge bowl of popcorn.

“Movie time,” Buffy announced, sounding almost cheerful.

Okay, maybe it was forced cheer, but Dawn was relieved to see her sister at least trying to get over whatever it was that had had her depressed for a whole week. She had tried to get Buffy to talk to her, but she had refused to tell her what was wrong, saying only that it was personal, and not to worry about it.

When Dawn had gone by Spike’s crypt to see if he had any idea what was bothering Buffy, and found him gone, not just out but *really gone*, she had wondered if perhaps that was the answer. Was it possible that Buffy cared about Spike more than she was willing to admit?

But now, Buffy didn’t seem upset at all. If you looked really close, you could see the pain that still showed deep in her emerald eyes. But Dawn didn’t want to look close right now. She wanted to enjoy her first glimpse of her smiling sister in over a week.

She followed Buffy into the living room, where Xander sat on the couch, waiting for them. Buffy sat down next to him, patting the seat beside her for Dawn.

“Where’s Willow and Tara?” Dawn asked, smiling at the mere thought of her two friends, who were just beginning to repair their wounded relationship.

“Out,” Buffy said knowingly. “I think they went to Tara’s new apartment. For a little privacy.”

As they settled down to watch the movie, a stupid-but-hilarious Jim Carrey flick, Dawn watched her sister closely. She was pleased to see that Buffy was actually laughing, and seemed to be honestly having a good time. She noticed also that something seemed different between her sister and her former crush.

They seemed – closer, somehow. And Xander seemed different, himself. Maybe – more confident? supportive? She couldn’t think of the right word, but as she watched, it occurred to her that for once, Xander seemed to be the strong one, while Buffy was just barely grasping at the rope in his hand, to drag herself out of her depression.

Dawn felt a little pang of jealousy when she thought of Buffy telling Xander what had been bothering her, and not her. She was her own sister. Why couldn’t she tell her what she was going through? She wanted to be there for Buffy, but Buffy wouldn’t let her.

Still, she was relieved that at least Buffy seemed to be doing better. The movie ended, and the one after that, and it was getting late, but Xander made no move to leave, and Buffy didn’t seem to want him to. Dawn excused herself to her room, thinking maybe Buffy wanted to talk to him about something.

Once she had shut the door, in the privacy of her own room, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking. After a little while, she heard the front door close, and Buffy’s footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of her bedroom door across the hall closing as well.

Still no sign of Willow or Tara. Dawn thought that the little group of friends seemed to have diffracted lately, starting with Anya, when Xander left her at the altar. She had been the first to split off from the group. Then when Tara and Willow had gotten back together last week, although it was of the good as far as Dawn was concerned, it meant that they didn’t spend as much time around either. And with Buffy’s recent depression, Dawn had ended up feeling very, very alone.

Here in her room, now feeling more confident that her sister was going to be all right, Dawn finally allowed herself to break down as she had wanted to for almost a week now. All the changes, all the confusion, would be easier to take, she thought miserably, if her own best friend had not abandoned her as well.

She missed Spike. Badly.

He was the one person that she knew she could talk to about anything. How could he have left and not even said goodbye? Her worries that his leaving was connected to Buffy’s depression, and probably a result of the problems between them, had kept her from confiding in her sister about it.

She had no one to talk to.

She lay on her bed, her tears falling down her face to soak her pillow, and wished that Spike was there to hold her as he had in those terrible months when Buffy had been…gone.

The tears had a calming effect on her, and she felt herself drifting off. Just before she fell asleep completely, a very random thought occurred to her.

There was something else that was different about Xander tonight. For the first time since the wedding that wasn’t, he had spent an entire evening at the Summers’ house – without mentioning Anya once.