He was fairly sure two fingers were broken as well as at least one rib. 

There were very few parts of his body that didn’t ache, but his head was definitely not one of those. It pounded, screaming its agony through the rest of his body in a protest so loud all he wanted to do was fall back into blissful unconsciousness. It was close, so close, but he heard his name being called, repeatedly, and wondered why. 

“Giles, wake up!” 

Prying open one eye and wishing he hadn’t, Rupert Giles opened both his eyes to look into the frightened and annoyed face of Cordelia Chase. Only Cordelia could be annoyed at his predicament, Giles thought and wondered why whatever drugs the hospital gave him weren’t working. Maybe he should ring the nurse for more medication, anything to help with the incessant throbbing in his body. 

“Cordelia,” he rasped, lolling his head to the side to get a better look at her. “Do be quiet.” 

Cordelia snorted and helped him up, gentle despite herself. “Look, Giles, we don’t have time for your little nap, there are worse things going on now than your headache.” 

Giles seriously doubted that, as his head was all he could think of, but he dutifully let Cordelia help him into a sitting position, little things finally entering his conscious. Like the fact that his hospital bed was hard and uncomfortable and…stone? Looking around through bleary eyes, Giles noted something else that caused his headache to be pushed to the back of his problems.

They were in a cage. 

Or rather several cages it looked like, all connected to each other with the rest of Buffy’s friends and family. He and Cordelia were in one, the watcher noted as the girl helped him sit against the bars of the cage, propping a single pillow behind his head. There were six other cages attached to his in a semicircle in what was unmistakably a dungeon. 

Each cage had its own occupant: Willow directly across from them, then Oz, Xander, Joyce, a strange man, and…Spike? What was the blonde vampire doing in the dungeon, obviously a prisoner? Giles frowned, and looked away from the disturbing scene to take in their prison. There was a window almost directly above Giles’ cell; wide open but small enough that none of them could conceivably climb through. 

It showed not the blackness of evening, or even the sunlight of the morning, which Giles vaguely remembered having seen as…Xander?…rescued him. It should have been morning, Giles thought, shouldn’t it? 

No, through that window Giles saw a thick red haze, and suddenly he felt the heat of the air and knew that his breathing problems weren’t from his injuries, or not completely at least, but from the heaviness of the air, the hot humidity that blanketed everything. 

“Oh, dear,” he whispered as everything registered. 

“Yeah, you might say that, watcher,” Spike spoke up from his seemingly relaxed position against his own cage. Opening sparkling blue eyes, which shot repressed ice-fire, the vampire looked around the group and snorted. 

“This is my thanks, eh?” His reward for trying to bring his family back together. Figured. “Angelus didn’t much like your little idea of stopping him,” Spike laughed, amazed that he’d been duped into this. That he was now in a cage when he should have been in charge. “So he kidnapped the lot of you.” 

“But why?” Willow asked from her position near the cell bars, holding as tightly onto Oz as she could, a position she hadn’t left since being tossed in the cell. Tears marred her pale skin, and the bruises from their earlier attempt at re-cursing Angel had yet to start to fade. 

Joyce looked at everyone and wondered just what kind of people her daughter hung out with. These people were the least dangerous looking types she could imagine; the computer geek, the class clown, the school librarian, she didn’t know the man beside her, but Joyce remembered the vampire from earlier, and knew Cordelia dated Xander. She had no idea why they were all here, but she knew it had to be their fault that Buffy was in whatever trouble she was.

Of course, Joyce also had a little trouble accepting what her daughter told her, but that was probably just a little teenage rebellion. 

Honestly, vampires, demons, and saving the world? Ridiculous. High school juniors did not save the world from fictional monsters. Buffy was obviously delusional. Maybe she and Hank shouldn’t have taken her out of that sanitarium so quickly. But they’d been fighting, and it was Joyce’s way of showing that Buffy was perfectly fine. Apparently, her daughter wasn’t, and this was the result. 

Spike snorted again. “Because,” he said, and absently started patting himself down looking for his cigarettes. “You bunch of losers were in his way.” 

And Spike should have figured that, the vampire admitted now. He didn’t realize that Angelus’ obsession with the slayer extended to the length it did. No, he let his jealously cloud his judgment and make decisions for him. Now, with the clarity of hindsight, Spike realized that everything Angelus did, he did for Buffy. 

Out of his obsession with her, out of his need for her; because of his lust for her, and because she didn’t – at least not visibly – return those affections. 

“So if we’re the losers,” Xander spoke up, “Then what does that make you? Mr. I’m-the- only-vampire-in-the- basement?” 

Giving up his fruitless search, Spike leaned back against the bars, closing his eyes. “It makes me the vampire who gave up everything for his family,” he said too quietly for anyone to hear but Cordelia and Giles who were closest. 

“Family?” Cordelia demanded. “They’re a dysfunctional group if they tossed you in here.”

Spike shrugged, not opening his eyes. “It’s just a small misunderstanding, luv. As soon as we work it out, I’ll be back in the fold again.” 

“All warm and cozy, I’m sure.” Spike glared at her, but Cordelia just glared right back. She was trapped in a cage in the basement dungeon of something she wanted no parts of. A vampire who was just as locked up as she was didn’t faze her. 

“What happened? Last I remember,” Giles whispered his eyes closing again in an ineffective attempt to lessen the pain. “Last I remember was Xander rescuing me from Angel, and us moving out of the mansion and into sunlight.” 

It was the sunlight that stayed foremost in Giles’ mind, the light and heat that beat down on the bruised watcher, shining his way away from the darkness of Angelus into hope. It was warm and bright and there, and Giles thought they’d won, that if Xander could rescue him then that meant that Buffy was there, and she was fighting Angelus, and she was going to win because she knew that there was no hope for Angel to return to her. 

“Drusilla ambushed us,” Xander informed the watcher in a flat voice. “We were just about out the doors when she was there, with a bunch of minions.” 

“We were in the hospital,” Cordelia said as she frowned at Giles. The older man didn’t looked well at all. “Doing that spell again,” she looked to Willow and Oz who nodded. “A bunch of vamps entered and took us. Down through the sewers – and let me tell you, I may never forget that stench – and threw us in here.” 

“So you didn’t complete the spell, Willow?” Giles asked certain he was missing something. As far as he remembered, they were in the middle of the spell when he was taken, not in a hospital. 

“No,” the redhead said as she shook with the force of the interrupted black magicks. “When we tried it, Giles,” she said, “Dru and her minions broken it up, killed Kendra, and took you. We tried it again, later, but I guess Buffy couldn’t keep Angel occupied long enough, and it didn’t matter, anyway; those vamps entered and took us.” 

Spike looked at Willow in confusion. Buffy was out for the kill when he talked to her to plan their little conspiracy and when she and Angelus fought. There was no holding back, at least not on her part, no waiting for Willow to do her little spell. It was Buffy and Angelus, and that was it; they were in it to the end, one way or the other: Angelus out to capture Buffy, and Buffy out to kill her lover. 

Taking a deep breath to scent the air, the vampire noted the scents of the humans, confused, battered, scared. And wondered at the boy, Xander. 

What was he hiding? And why the hell did Spike care? Spike decided that he just didn’t. He cared about something other than himself, he cared about his family, and this, sitting in a barred cell, in a dungeon in the pits of hell, was where caring got him. No more, never again. But he was curious about the other one, the demon. 

“Hey you, of the bad dresser,” Spike called into the next cell. “Where’d you come from, what’s your story?” 

The demon said nothing, turning his eyes towards the vampire’s. He settled his hat more firmly on his head, arranging his gaudy jacket around him, and resumed doing whatever it was he was doing. Which looked like sitting there and listening. 

The human children resumed their talking, wondering where their slayer friend was, where they were, what happened to the world, and if this was the apocalypse then why were they still alive? The watcher and the vampire remained silent, the watcher more because of his wounds, no doubt, and the vampire because he was stuck in the same position as the humans, an arrangement he obviously found beneath him. 

Whistler was in serious trouble. 

He couldn’t leave the cell, the dungeon, the mansion, or even, and this was the most distressing, this plane. Normally, he possessed the ability to warp from plane to plane, place to place, wherever he was needed, whenever he was. Except, he never found himself in Hell, put there by a being that just absorbed all Acathla’s energies, powers, and knowledge. 

Oh yeah, serious trouble here. 

The demon figured he had one chance to make all this work. He had one chance to fix this world, or at least try. And that was to get the slayer out of here. Whistler knew that Buffy was within the mansion; he could feel her there, the Slayer Power combined with something else, something that felt suspiciously like Acathla, but Angelus received all those powers, so it didn’t exactly make sense.

Since he couldn’t warp out, Whistler figured that his other senses were affected, too. Buffy was the Slayer, and her power eclipsed nearly everything else. Acathla’s opening probably just distorted this world’s balance – okay, yes, but more so than just that – and Whistler was affected because he was trapped here. 

If he could help the slayer escape, then maybe she’d be able to fulfill her destiny and get everything back on track. The Destiny Demon sighed; love fucked everything up, it made destinies go screwy and perfectly good warriors loose track of those destinies. It was a nuisance that wasn’t needed, and in this case, dangerous to the point of, well, hell. 

(What are you prepared to give up?) 

(The correct answer was that she was prepared to die. That she was prepared to kill her lover, not help create the world they now inhabited. The correct answer was that Buffy was willing to do whatever it took to keep the balance; kill Angelus and destroy Acathla, resume her place as the Power’s servant, and continue to lead the good fight.) 

So he’d help the slayer escape, show her how to rally the remaining forces of light. Maybe, in doing so, Whistler could somehow escape this plane and go someplace not quite as…hot. 

Spike sat up quickly, eyes trained on the only door in the room, a thick steel construct that would put to test even his considerable vampiric strength. All his senses told him that Angelus was behind that door, but stronger, not the grandsire Spike remembered. (You were my Yoda, man!) And Buffy, the slayer was there as well; stronger, more powerful than she was even the last time he saw her…and that worried Spike. 

Not for the sake of Buffy or what her seemingly augmented strength posed for the slayer, but for him. If she was somehow in league with Angelus, or if she blamed Spike for their failure – which she shouldn’t, Buffy hadn’t killed nearly the amount of minions either of them thought she had. When Angelus and Dru had the time to sire or recruit all those others, Spike didn’t know, but there were more there than either suspected. 

No, there was something within Buffy that called to Spike just as Angelus’ blood always called to the younger vampire. Angelus couldn’t turn a slayer: that was impossible. So what the hell had he done to her? 

Spike looked out their only window at hell and decided that that was enough.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Time to say hello to some old friends, my love.”  

Buffy looked at the door Angelus indicated and froze. 

Her family was behind that door, she knew it. Willow and Xander, Giles and her mother, maybe even Cordelia and Oz. Was her father there? Aunts, uncles, cousins she hadn’t seen in years? Grandparents she was never really close to in the first place? Who else? Who was behind that door, who else waited her? 

He waited patiently for her, and if Buffy had been thinking clearly, she’d have found that odd. But she wasn’t, too focused on what lay behind door number one to worry about too much else. To worry about Angelus’ sudden patience, his sudden allowance of her to actually take her time. 

Angelus loved it. He loved her fear, not of him, not of this new world he’d created just for her, but of them. She was afraid of the people who mocked and belittled her at every turn, she was afraid to face them, afraid to see their censure at her actions and inactions. Through it all, through all those ten minutes that Buffy stood frozen before the large metal door, Angelus savored her fear. 

And equally savored the fact that she was not afraid of him. 

Still, he wanted to move onto the next stage of his plan – Buffy – and he couldn’t do that until this stage was finished. Complete with tears, begging, anger, hatred, and acceptance. Licking his lips at the thought, Angelus placed his hand under Buffy’s chin, gently raising her head until her eyes met his. He wanted to see every emotion on her beautiful face. 

“Come, now, Buffy, open the door.” His words were soft, his tone mocking; and when Buffy looked into his eyes she saw two things that stood out: anticipation and cruel humor. If she had looked just a little deeper, lust and affection would’ve stood out, too, calling to her in a way she hadn’t even begun to understand. But she wasn’t ready for that and couldn’t admit it, even if she had chosen to see those other emotions. 

Steeling herself with a softly uttered, “Bastard,” that Angelus merely chuckled at and knowing that if she didn’t go in there, Angelus would only force her to do so, Buffy opened the door and stepped through. 

She stood there, small and fragile looking, framed in the doorway with Angelus next to her, strong, powerful, and possessive, and stared at the sight before her for long minutes. 

Those before her stared back. 

He had a captive audience and he knew it. Really getting into his role as the storyteller now, he leaned back and took a drink from his glass, continuing.  

Buffy felt so out of place in the dungeon wearing the clothing Drusilla dressed her in. The long midnight black dress hugged her figure, falling in a graceful line to the floor. The heels were just tall enough where she could walk in them but not too tall, where she’d teeter and make a fool of herself. She wore the jewelry Angelus had given her over the months, necklace, bracelet, anklet, earrings, and ring.

The belly chain didn’t work under the tight dress, and he’d taken that off before Buffy dressed. She’d grumbled that she could unclasp it, alternatively angered that he was so overbearing, and that he removed something she’d come to adore as part of Angelus (Angel). 

Her hair was curled at the ends and piled high on her head, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face, leaving her neck bare and exposed, just as Angelus wanted it. (When you’re mine, darling, everyone will know it; you’ll carry the mark with you for eternity.)  

Drusilla – the vampire who never needed a mirror – did her makeup; accenting her eyes and making Buffy look exotic and elegant. How she’d managed that, Buffy didn’t know, but the vampiress had. Buffy felt beautiful, dirty and depressed, but beautiful. She once again didn’t bother to examine those feelings, afraid of what she’d find within herself. 

Now she stood before her friends, back straight, eyes forward, head held high so Angelus could say nothing about her. She knew him, knew him all too well when it came to insecurities, hers specifically, and Buffy wasn’t about to let him exploit yet another one. If he could find nothing to taunt, even for these few moments, then Buffy knew she could survive the next day. 

Because she realized, as she stood before her friends and family, Buffy realized that as she stood before them, scented in oil and dressed in the finest silks and jewels while they were covered in dirt, bruised and bloodied, their clothes torn, and trapped behind cages made of, no doubt, the strongest metals, that she’d have to survive the day. And the next, and the next, one day at a time. 

It all clicked then: Angelus’ rules, his insistence she bathe and dress accordingly…the means with which he’d ensure her compliance lay before her. 

Her eyes locked with Angelus’ triumphant ones, the smug smirk on his face answering her unspoken question. Yes, he silently told her, he’d planned this all along. And he’d won. 

Spike’s snort of laughter caught Buffy’s attention, and she turned hazel eyes towards him, slowly breaking contact with Angelus. He said nothing, though, his own ice-blue eyes locked with Angelus’ cold, unforgiving ones. Saluting the elder vampire, Spike let loose one last resigned chuckle, returned to his position against the bars, and closed his eyes once more. 

“What,” a voice echoed through the room, seizing everyone’s attention. “Or who are you supposed to be, Buffy?” 

The voice was from Cordelia and everyone stared at the woman, and her bizarre sentence for a moment, some in agreement of her words – Joyce, Xander, Willow – some because they knew already – Giles, Spike, Whistler. Buffy briefly closed her eyes against the tears that wanted to fall but said nothing. She had no answer for the other woman, no means to tell her what happened without breaking Angelus’ rules (Betray me, and you won’t be the only one to suffer). 

Angelus’ hand clenched around Buffy’s, in anger Buffy knew, but she wasn’t sure if it also had to do with keeping her still. Her body was tense, poised to fight, ready for action. Any action she took, Buffy thought as she looked back at Angelus’ hard face, would have dire consequences. 

“My Queen, of course,” he drawled, stating it as if the answer to the caged woman’s question was the most obvious one in the world, “My Goddess. And,” he continued with a menacing step forward, Buffy still by his side, “If you’re smart, which, considering the loser whom you let paw you, you’re obviously not,” his hard gaze cut to Xander as the boy folded his arms across his chest in silent defiance. “She’s someone you could stand to emulate.” 

His smirk hardened. “She’s someone you bow to.” 

Something broke in Buffy then, some small part deep, deep inside her cracked open at Angelus’ words; but she hastily closed it back off. She couldn’t afford to let his words affect her, not in any way. She couldn’t afford to want to hear more of the non-cutting words he’d just said, for she was afraid if she acknowledged it, even to herself, then she’d realize too many things…about herself, about Angelus, and about their relationship. 

“Buffy?” It was her mother, and the slayer was hard pressed not to run to her mommy’s arms and will the world to disappear. Joyce didn’t understand her only daughter, and Buffy was mostly okay with that, but she did offer something only Angel ever had. Silent comfort when Buffy needed it most. 

Angelus’ hand tightened further on hers, warning Buffy not to move. She shot him a look, fire and hatred, and he only laughed. “Have you nothing to say to your…friends, my dear?” 

She didn’t know what to say to them. Sorry, she was sorry that she’d disappointed them and she was sorry they were here, but they were alive; and Buffy was almost positive that others weren’t so lucky, not with what little she’d already seen of their new world. She wanted to forget the last 24 hours (four plus months) and burrow into Angel’s arms, secure in the knowledge that her friends were safe and free, and not locked in a dungeon. She wanted so many things, and now, now it looked like she wasn’t going to get any of them. 

“No?” Angelus mocked, his laughter clear for Buffy to hear, though all but Spike missed that tone. “Ah, well, maybe another time.” 

With that, he turned to leave, Buffy’s hand still held securely in his larger and stronger one. She struggled briefly, wanting more time with her family, wanting to say something, to find the words to promise…what Buffy didn’t know; that she’d find a way to keep them safe, that she’d do everything in her power to keep them alive and well, and that eventually, somehow, she’d find a way for them all to escape. 

“Come, lover,” Angelus whispered in that seductive voice of his, dark sin and promise washing over Buffy. “You don’t want to start something before you hear the rest of my terms, do you?” He raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes boring deep into hers, and Buffy was torn between drowning in those depths and running for her life. 

“No,” she finally whispered, her throat dry, “No, I don’t.” With one last look behind her, her eyes pleading with her friends to understand, Buffy willingly let Angelus lead her out of the room. 

Once the door was closed, she leaned against it for a minute, trying to calm her raging emotions. Tears, stupid useless tears clogged her throat and burned her eyes. Stamping them down, forcing them away, she opened her eyes, cool, hard green, and met Angelus’ amused ones. 

“So talk,” she spat, straightening. Her head lifted high, eyes never wavering from his, shoulders back, spine straight. Whatever he had to say, whatever his ‘terms’ were, she’d meet them. 

“Later,” Angelus murmured, once more capturing her hand and leading her back towards their rooms. The spark of life, of anger he’d seen in her ignited his lust and he wanted her now. “I’ve waited long enough, baby,” his hand softly caressed her cheek as he said that. 

“What are your terms, Angelus,” Buffy asked, repressed anger evident in her every word. She tugged her hand again, knowing it was fruitless and not caring. “You specifically said you had them, so spill.” 

They’d reached their rooms again, and Buffy hated that he could get her so worked up that she – again – didn’t pay attention to their direction. The door opened by itself, and Angelus led her inside, his grip never lessening. Once the door was closed, he released her hand, and Buffy quickly moved backwards, away from him and what he stirred within her. 

“Remember rule number two, lover?” He murmured as he stalked her. “I want you, I always want you,” he admitted in a soft voice as he backed her closer to their bed. “I don’t say things I don’t mean or have no intention of not enforcing.” 

“You can’t mean that!” Buffy shouted, still backing up and hating that fact. “You were the one who mocked my whole experience, said I wasn’t good enough. Why would you want me now?” 

Lunging forward, Angelus grabbed her by her upper arms, noting with displeasure how thin she’d become, and kissed her. Buffy struggled for a moment, but his grip only tightened. The kiss was demanding, punishing, bruising, and arousing. At the first touch of his tongue on hers, still so deliciously cool despite the heat of hell, Buffy capitulated. He tasted like Angel, felt like Angel, and Buffy was too overwhelmed to fight. 

He molded her body to his, her softness and smoothness fitting perfectly with his hard and aching body. When she gasped into his mouth, when her tongue met his, Angelus knew he’d won this round. Easing back, he looked into her stormy eyes, passion and confusion were there, and smiled. 

“I realize your watcher was less than forthcoming in giving you information about me, but you’re a smart girl. You’ve met me point for point, love, and yet now, when we have everything we need, you resist. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“What out?” Buffy demanded, wishing her voice was stronger. “That you’re crazy? That you like to tease?” 

Shaking her once, Angelus snarled. “Don’t be stubborn, Buffy. I know you realize what’s been happening between us these last months. The jewels, the drawings. The flowers. Don’t tell me that you thought they were just for laughs?” His own laugh was harsh. “You think I’d give you all I have, remake the world just for you, let your pathetic friends live if I hadn’t plans for them?” He backed her up a step; slow enough so she barely realized they were moving. 

“They live, Buffy, so long as you freely stay with me. In my bed, in my arms, as my willing Goddess, my eternal Queen. As long as you are with me, they can continue they’re pathetic and useless existence. As long as you’re with me, love, no one has to die; none of your friends get to experience my wrath.” 

“Ah yeah, about this staying with you deal; kind of strange considering you just couldn’t wait to get out of our bed and the apartment, not more than five months ago.” She couldn’t believe how much his words still hurt, but Buffy ignored that and mocked, “Are you telling me that Angelus The Great has to kidnap someone’s friends and family to get a girl?” Her voice was scornful, both to hide the quiver of desire at what the revelation did to her, and the vulnerability she had towards him.   

“Never refuse me, my love, for they’ll be the ones to suffer. And you won’t like the consequences so much yourself. But then you don’t want me in anyone else’s arms do you, my little slayer? Not really.”  

Buffy remained stubbornly silent but her rage sparked in her all too expressive eyes. He jerked her to him, his own eyes piercing her very soul as her body molded to his. She gasped at the feel, and for a scant second, relaxed into him. But that was over before her body could really accept anything, and she held herself stiff in his arms.  

“No you don’t like that at all, do you baby,” his voice was soft and inviting, eyes dark with power and lust. “No more than I tolerated those half witted boys sniffing around what’s mine.”  

Angelus gently stroked the pulse in her neck with his thumb, as a slow smirk grew across his face. Buffy shuddered at the feeling – desire and fear. She had a suspicion that whatever evil was brewing in his mind now, it didn’t bode well for her.  

“And if I don’t?” Buffy asked, “If I don’t do all this willingly?” But her eyes betrayed her. She already knew that answer.   

“As I said, never refuse me, my love. You won’t like the consequences.”

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