The knock on Faith’s bedroom door came far too soon for her sadistic pleasure, somehow still unsated at a bare half an hour before dawn – but it was nowhere near soon enough for Spike.

Faith had indulged all of her twisted fantasies, the ones that even while he had been playing the part of her dutiful lover, Spike had never been willing to consent to. The long hours had passed in a mercilessly slow haze of agony and humiliation for him, helpless in her hands, the vicious, psychotic Slayer free to use him without restraint to satisfy her basest urges.

And for Faith – that was saying a lot.

When the soft, polite knock sounded on the door, Faith was playing with a wickedly sharp, jagged-edged dagger. She ignored the knock at first, intent on the cruel design she was creating on the stomach of her victim, as she straddled his hips on the bed. He fought back a cry of pain, straining uselessly against the bonds that held him to her bed.

She had long since removed the order not to fight her, finding his absolute lack of resistance boring; she had opted instead for her old standby of ordinary bondage, of the non-magical variety.

The knock sounded again, louder, more insistent.

“Just a second,” Faith snapped, smiling slyly, still intent on her torment of the vampire who had dared to reject and betray her. She tore the jagged tip of the blade through his flesh again, with a vindictive smile at his feverish moan of pain – though by this point he was almost beyond feeling the pain anymore.

“*Now*, Faith,” a familiar voice spoke impatiently through the door.

With a pouting glance at the clock, Faith sighed. “Nearly sunrise already.” She leaned down over Spike, who weakly, instinctively, tried to pull away from the threat of her very presence so near to him. She put her hand behind his head and pulled him closer to her, relishing the panic in his eyes before he closed them, turning his face away from her in fear and shame.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” she murmured close to his ear, a cruel smirk on her face as she met his eyes. “Maybe I should ask Giles for another night…you think?”

He could not hold back the little whimpering sound that escaped his throat at that thought. Surely the Watcher would not allow her to control him for another hellish day and night…but then, he had not thought that Giles would have allowed this, either. When he had agreed to the plan Giles had told him about and left the house with him the night before, he had never thought that he would end up subjected to Faith’s brutal torture again.

Faith laughed softly at his obvious dread at the thought of having to stay there for another day. It was as close as he had come to the begging she had wanted at the beginning of the evening. It was a matter of her pride that she never had ordered him to beg her for mercy, as she had threatened. She had been determined that he would do that on his own; and while he had not, his obvious terror now was gratifying to her sadistic nature.

With a smug smirk, she rose from the bed to answer the door. Suddenly, as an afterthought, she turned back purposefully toward the bed, and Spike could not help but tense at her approach, expecting more of the suffering she had inflicted on him all night. But she merely leaned over him and unlocked the chains that bound his wrists, smiling coldly into his eyes.

"Don't think Giles is much for the kinky stuff, do you? Don't wanna shock his elderly system too bad," she sneered, keeping her voice low so as to not be heard by the Watcher on the other side of the door.

Spike thought that Faith had to be delusional if she thought she was going to keep the Watcher from knowing exactly what she had been doing. The smell of blood and sex was so overwhelming that he knew, even without the enhanced senses of a vampire, Giles would not be able to miss it. He was naked and covered in terrible wounds from head to toe; the man would have to be a fool, or deliberately blind to it, not to know what she had done to him.

But then, Faith grabbed him and jerked him off the bed onto the floor at her feet, and he realized that her words were just a malicious excuse to further abase and degrade him. He stayed there, too weak to move, gasping with the pain of too many cuts and bruises to count coming into sudden contact with the cold, rough wooden floor.

Faith crouched down in front of him, and he drew back against the bed, his breath coming fast and shallow as she ran a hand down his side to his hip in a casually suggestive way. "Maybe I'll just have Giles leave the spell on you," she mused with a cruel smirk. "After the ritual. Could be fun to keep you around for a while -- my own personal toy."

He flinched, horrified by the suggestion, trying not to show it -- and failing miserably.

Faith laughed, standing up and walking to answer the door.

Giles' expression was one of shock, disgust -- and finally anger -- as he took in the scene before him. The blood-stained sheets, the vicious tools of Faith's torture -- and the devastated vampire on the floor by the bed.

"Sure I can't keep him for another night?" Faith wheedled, smirking at Spike's involuntary shudder at her words. He was clearly terrified of that possibility.

Giles' voice was low with barely restrained fury as he answered simply, emphatically, "*No*."

"Aww," Faith pouted. "You're no fun," as Spike nearly sobbed in relief.

Ignoring the deranged Slayer's comment, Giles turned his attention to Spike, reaching down to help him up with surprising gentleness.

Despite his weakness, Spike jerked away from the man's hand, shooting him a look of bitter accusation as he choked out, "Don't touch me!" The sheer pain and rage in his voice was breathtaking.

Giles stepped back, looking at him with pity -- and regret, that he quickly tried to cover -- as he said softly, "Very well." From where he stood, he murmured a few Latin words, waving his hand over the fallen vampire.

Spike was surprised to feel his pain begin to ease, fading away until it was gone completely. As he watched in amazement, the wounds that Faith had inflicted closed up and disappeared before his eyes, and he felt his strength returning.

"Get up," Giles ordered softly, and Spike unwillingly obeyed, a war between gratitude and intense hatred raging in his heart for the man who had just healed him of the horrific abuses that would not have been possible if he had not allowed them in the first place. At least -- he had *physically* healed him.

The memory of the torture and violation he had experienced at Faith's hands was still there.

For the moment.

"Come on," Giles ordered, his voice low and troubled. To Faith he said quietly, without looking at her, "We'll return when it's time for the ceremony."

"See you Saturday," Faith nodded, her tone flippant as she flopped down on the filthy bed, soaked with the blood of her victim. But then, she was covered in his blood as well, he thought bitterly, so what difference did it make to her?

Spike followed the Watcher silently down the stairs and out of the mansion. No one hindered their progress; apparently Faith had made it clear to her minions that these two were indeed welcome in her mansion. Spike walked behind Giles, keeping a distance between them, despite his attempts to slow his pace and allow the vampire to catch up with him.

A distant roll of thunder sounded in the gray morning sky, indicating that the sun would not be an issue for a while yet; a storm was rolling in, echoing the mood between the two men.

Finally, Giles stopped altogether, and turned to face Spike, who had also stopped, several yards away from him. He wanted to be nowhere near Giles at the moment, but knew that that was not really an option. Giles still had the power to stop him with a single word if he wanted to.

"Spike," Giles began with the tone of an apology.

"*Don't*," Spike interrupted him, his voice low and trembling, on the verge of furious tears, as he took a backward step away from him, shaking his head.

"I didn't have a choice, Spike." Giles spoke evenly, quietly. "If there was any other way..."

"Any other way to *what*?" Spike demanded, his voice rising with his emotions at the Watcher's calm dismissal of what he had done. "To -- to *betray*..." His voice broke off, choked with tears that he did not want to shed in front of Giles.

"As hard as it may be for you to believe at this moment, Spike -- I haven't betrayed anyone," Giles said softly. "I have only done what I had to do."

"And what *you* feel that *you* need to do -- that comes before everyone and everything else, doesn’t it?” Spike snapped, his eyes blazing golden flashes of fury. “Doesn’t matter the cost to those around you!”

“I told you that there would be a cost,” Giles reminded him, a sad smile on his face that did not quite reach his eyes, his words nearly carried away completely by the rising wind around them.

“A *cost*!” Spike repeated in a violently trembling voice of bitter disbelief, clearly on the edge of breaking down. “You never told me that you were going to – God, you let her…” His voice broke off, as great wrenching sobs took him over, and suddenly he no longer had the strength to stand. Physically healed, but emotionally devastated, he sank to his knees on the ground.

A loud peal of thunder heralded the breaking forth of the rain that had threatened, and as it began to fall hard around them, Giles stepped slowly closer to the trembling, sobbing vampire, his own face streaked with rain or tears, and unexpected compassion in his blue eyes.

Spike did not move, seemingly no longer aware of the Watcher, as he collapsed completely into his pain – until Giles knelt in front of him on the cold, wet sidewalk, stretching a cautious hand toward his head.

When he had nearly touched him, Spike jerked back violently, his voice coming out in a roar of defensive rage and pain, “*Don’t* bloody *touch me*!”

Giles withdrew his hand, and just stayed there for a long moment, watching in silence as Spike struggled to regain his composure. Finally he spoke softly, “I need to reverse the control spell, Spike.”

Spike did not respond as his sobs slowly faded into silence, but he did not pull away, when Giles reached toward him again.


“So you had to go do the broody guy thing last night, huh?” Buffy asked Spike casually as they readied themselves for bed in her room that night.

“What?” Spike frowned, his tone slightly offended as he informed her pointedly, “I do *not* brood. What are you talking about, love?”

Buffy climbed into the bed beside him, where he already lay waiting for her. She was amazed at how natural it seemed now, after just a few nights – sharing her bed with Spike. It was just assumed between them now that as long as he was staying in her house, that would be the sleeping arrangement. Besides Giles, however, her friends still thought that Spike was spending his nights chained up on the floor, and Giles had been sworn to secrecy by Buffy.

“What would I have to brood about anyway?” Spike questioned, a little defensively, putting his arm around her as she settled in beside him. “I’m here with you, pet.”

“Sweet,” Buffy remarked, his comment earning a smile. “But not distracting enough, Mister. As far as the cause of your broodiness – oh, I don’t know – could it be something tall, dark and annoying with oh-God-what-was-I-thinking hair?” Even as she spoke, Buffy was amazed at how drastically her feelings for Angel had changed recently.

She had spent most of the day in the basement, trying to figure out what he was up to, if anything, trying to judge whether or not he could be trusted, and while she had tried to question him, he had done nothing but try to talk to her about resuming their doomed relationship, and talk her into unchaining him. She wondered why she had never noticed before how over-dramatic and impressed with himself he always seemed to be.

It had taken her forever to find out anything useful from him at all. She had finally left the basement convinced of two things. The first was that she was over Angel. Once and for all, whatever feelings she had once had for him were gone, for some reason -- *most likely replaced by Spike-obsession,* she mused.

The second thing that she was sure of was that Angel was not being straight with her. His answers were vague and evasive, and there were holes in his story – things about the timing, and other details, that just did not make sense.

How had Faith known so many details about Angel’s past, his relationship with Buffy even, in order to tell them about them as he claimed that she had, when he had come back from hell half out of his mind and not remembering them for himself? According to Angel, Faith had given him details that even Spike could not have known about the events of the previous spring.

How had she known? And that raised another question – why had Spike been unaware of Angel’s presence, if he had been there the whole time, in Faith’s dungeon?

Angel had no satisfactory answers for any of her questions, and Buffy suspected that he was indeed Faith’s secret partner. But she was not certain – and that was what was keeping Angel from being dust, for the moment. In spite of everything, after all that had passed between them, she could not bring herself to actually dust him unless she was completely sure.

And she was not.

But there was one thing she *was* sure about. Spike.

“You know you don’t have anything to worry about, right?” she asked him softly, rolling over onto her stomach, half on top of him, leaning up to kiss him gently on the lips. “You’re the one I want.”

His crystal blue eyes softened at her open affection, and he ran his hand lightly through her loose, disheveled blonde hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I’m not worried about the big pouf,” he assured her. “He’s the one chained up in the basement – and I’m the one up here. Aren’t I?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied lazily, reaching up to kiss him again.

He gently wrapped his arms around her, and she allowed him to hold her for a few moments, deepening the kiss, before reaching behind her to pull his arms down onto the bed, breaking the kiss with a vixenish smile into his eyes.

“Wanna play?” she whispered, her fingers entwining with his as she raised his hands in hers over his head, holding them there as her mouth trailed soft kisses from his lips down his throat to his chest.

He gasped at the sensation of her hot mouth on his cool flesh, arching up against her gently restraining hands. “God – Buffy!” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “So – hot…”

The sound of pleasure and need in his voice heightened her arousal, and she gripped his wrists in her hands, her tongue darting out to trace slow, tantalizing circles on his chest. When her teeth closed lightly around his nipple, scraping down slightly as she moved back up his chest toward his neck, he released a moan of pleasure at the unexpected intensified sensation.

“God! Buffy – need you – love,” he gasped for breath, straining against her hands on his wrists.

“Uh-uh,” she whispered, rising to his ear, nipping at it lightly before going on. Her voice was tender and her eyes shining with affection as she told him in a soft, teasing murmur, “I’ve got you right where I want you, Baby. Don’t fight it.”

And then something happened that Buffy had never expected.

Though her words had been playfully commanding, there had been nothing but tender intent behind them. She had wanted to use this night to show Spike how much she cared about him, how much she wanted to give *him* pleasure.

But at her whispered word -- *don’t fight it* -- he suddenly jerked against her hands at his wrists, letting out a strangled cry that startled her. It took her a moment to realize that he was really struggling in earnest.

“Let me go!” he gasped. “Let go! Don’t!” he cried in a desperate whisper, his eyes closed as he fought to escape her grip.

She just lay there for a moment staring at him blankly, not moving, before she finally could gather her wits enough to release him, cursing herself silently for her slow reaction. He scrambled out from under her, and she quickly backed off, staring at him in shock and concern as he moved to the head of the bed, sitting up against the headboard, panting, as his eyes, distant and panicked, gradually came to focus on her again.

“Buffy,” he whispered finally, staring at her as if just recognizing her. “I – I’m sorry,” he said in a voice of dismay, as he remembered how he had just acted with her.

She shook her head firmly, though her eyes were still wide and shocked. “Don’t be,” she insisted. “You were really freaked out, Spike. I would think it was another nightmare – except – that would have to mean that you were asleep.” She gave a little pouting frown, her eyes revealing some insecurity as she added, “which under the circumstances, is not a very flattering thought for *me*.”

He didn’t even smile, shaking his head solemnly. “No. No, I was awake, love. Just – just like you said,” he confirmed her words when he could find none of his own. “Just a little freaked out.”

“Okay…also not so very complementary to me,” she pointed out with a little grimace. “Was that like – like some kind of flashback?” she guessed, her eyes filled with concern as she slowly went to sit beside him at the head of the bed.

After a moment’s pause, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, that – that must be it,” he agreed, his voice still distant, his eyes seeming to focus on some image that she could not see, in his memory or imagination.

Encouraged by his not shrinking away when she approached him, Buffy cautiously put a hand on his shoulder, drawing nearer to look him straight in the eyes. “Spike – you know you’re safe with me, right?” she asked him anxiously, searching his eyes.

“What?” He frowned, puzzled.

“I mean,” she looked down suddenly, oddly embarrassed, after everything they had done that had *not* embarrassed her. “We play around and stuff, and – and I act all controlling and everything, but – but you know that I’d never – I mean – we’ll never do anything – you don’t want to. You know that. Right?” Once she had managed to get her point across, she looked up at him with open, vulnerable eyes.

His eyes widened in surprise. In spite of everything, since that fateful night when everything had changed between them, he had never been afraid of Buffy. “Right. Of course, love,” he assured her. “I know.”

Buffy looked at him for a moment longer, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. Satisfied, she nodded slowly as she backed up off the bed, rising suddenly and walking to the closet.

“What are you doing, love?” he asked her.

She did not respond as she dug around on the floor of her closet for a few moments. When she turned around, his heart sank a little when he saw what she held in her hands. So that was why all the questions about trust and all, he thought. As much as he *did* trust Buffy – he was really not up to their usual little games at the moment. He thought that if she tried to put those chains on him right then, he would be sick.

But he knew that if she wanted to – he would.

Buffy was smiling a little shyly as she approached him, and he could see the desire in her eyes. Stifling a sigh, he made himself return her smile, holding out his wrists to her in an exaggerated pose.

He was surprised when she frowned, pulling the chains back.

“What’s wrong, pet?” he asked her, and was absolutely stunned by her next words, accompanied by a seductive smile, as she walked forward to deliberately place the chains *in* -- not on – his hands.

“What? Don’t *I* get a turn?”