Title: Past Imperfect 9/?
It suddenly occurred to her that she was wearing a
grey jumpsuit, and she shuddered as she realized it
was not what she had been wearing earlier, nor could
she remember having put it on herself. She licked her
dry lips and fought the wave of hysteria that
threatened to wash over her. She had no idea how long
she'd been out, how long she had been in this place,
but her entire body ached with the need for her mate's
blood.
From somewhere across the room, a door quietly opened
and closed again, and seconds later, tall hooded man
appeared at her bedside. He stared down at her a
moment, then reached for a glass on the metal table
beside her.
"Thirsty?" he asked. "Would you like a drink?"
His voice was kind in its softness, but Willow looked
at the clear liquid with distrust.
"It's only water," he assured her.
She nodded slightly, and he supported her head with
his hand, raising it so she could take several sips of
the cool water. She closed her eyes as he lowered her
head back down onto the pillow.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm sorry we had to do it this way. I'm sorry we
frightened you."
"What is it you want?"
"The vampire."
"You know Spike?" she asked.
"Of him," he nodded. "I've met him only once, but he
wouldn't remember it. He was unconscious at the time."
"You drugged him," her accusing eyes glared up at him.
"Yes," he nodded again, his gentle gaze never wavering
from hers.
"Let me go," she hated the words as they drifted from
her lips.
"I can't. We need you. He'll come after you."
A small smile formed on her lips, "Believe me. You
don't want that to happen."
"Whatever he's planning to do, it won't work," he said
confidently.
"Don't bet on it," she warned him.
"It's rare for a vampire to fall in love with a
human," he noted.
"He's a rare man."
"He isn't a man; he's a demon," her captor's voice was
suddenly tinged with bitter hatred, which he quickly
brought under control. "Rest now. I'll come back
later. I promise; you're safe here."
She waited until she heard the door close behind him
before whispering, "You're not."
***
The blonde vampire was pacing the floor, jaws
clenched, angry eyes glaring ahead of him.
"Spike, sit down," Buffy spoke from an armchair.
"You're treading a hole in Giles' rug."
"Screw the damned rug. I want her back. Now," he
growled through his teeth.
"I know that. Don't you think we all want her back?
You can't go looking for her in broad daylight."
He kicked the coffee table, and Buffy reached out to
steady it as it threatened to topple over. Spike threw
himself onto the sofa and scrubbed his fingers through
his hair.
"She needs me. I can feel it. It's been hours," he
moaned before jumping back onto his feet. "Where the
hell did they take her?"
"You'll find her. The same way she found you," Giles
said from the kitchen entryway. "That's why they took
her, after all. They knew you'd come after her."
"Why Spike, though? If they just want to stick needles
into him, wouldn't any vampire do?" Buffy asked.
"That, I don't know," he admitted. "But I have a
couple of friends at the university. I asked them to
do some discreet checking. The two young men whose
names you discovered aren't the only ones involved.
There are six others. All local lads. They all
graduated from Sunnydale High four years ago."
"Why didn't they run screaming from the Hellmouth at
the first chance?" she wondered.
"Apparently, they had a different agenda," he
answered.
"I'm going to make another sweep of the town. Think
you can stand being left here alone with him?" Buffy
asked, letting her eyes wander over to Spike, who had
resumed his impatient pacing.
"I'll manage," he nodded.
***
Buffy returned to Giles' house just as the sun was
setting and nearly ran into Spike as she came through
the front door.
"Did you find anything?" the watcher asked.
She shook her head, "Wherever they are, they're
well-hidden. Spike, can you feel Willow? Is she
drawing you to her?"
"She's the only thing I _can_ feel," he answered
gruffly and stepped around her.
"Wait a minute! Don't you think we ought to come up
with a plan before we--"
"Oh, I've got a plan," he assured her. "Find the sods.
Rip their heads off. Bring Willow home."
Buffy looked over at Giles as the vampire pushed past
her.
"It is a plan," the man conceded.
She sighed and called after Spike, "You aren't doing
this alone, you know!"
"Then you'd bloody well better keep up," he snapped
back at her from over his shoulder.
***
Willow moaned softly and tried in vain to raise her
hands to her pounding head. He was nearer, much
nearer. Everything inside her screamed out to him. The
only thing that prevented her vocal cords from
following suit was the knowledge that to do so would
mean giving his proximity away.
The man who had been there earlier had quietly
returned after she'd lapsed back into sleep. Unseen
from his position in the far corner of the room, his
hands gripped the arms of his chair as he watched the
little redhead's body suddenly tense. The chair
squeaked softly as he pushed himself up and wordlessly
left the room. Willow squeezed her eyes shut as she
realized she'd been observed, that whoever had been in
the corner knew what she knew. Spike was close. Very
close.
Author: Ruby
E-mail: ruby_113@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-16
Disclaimer: Joss owns all.
Summary: Spike has had a slight mental adjustment.
Archive: Charity's site, Willow's Men, Fever of Fate,
and all the rest of my usual haunts.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Dedication: For Bridget, whose methods of torture go
way beyond evil.
Willow's eyes snapped open. She squinted against the
harsh light and turned her head to gaze around the
unfamiliar room. She tried to sit up, only to discover
she was strapped firmly to the narrow bed. Two wide
leather bands were wrapped around her body, one just
below her chest, the other over her ankles, and her
wrists were shackled to either side of the cot by two
more leather manacles.
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