Spike was feeling deprived.  

It’d been ages since Angelus had come down to bother him, and while the younger vampire didn’t exactly relish being tortured with all manner of objects, at least then he knew he had Angelus’ attention. Now, he had nothing. The occasional visit from Dru, a moderately interesting barb or two with the equally trapped Scoobs, but that was it. 

He wasn’t appreciated. Wasn’t loved. It was downright depressing. The worst part was that he was ignored.  

Hell, even that annoying Harris had more attention than he did. And now he sounded like a spoiled two year old. Spike sighed again. This was depressing and annoying, and he really wanted to kill someone. 

At least Harris was gone…gone with his own Ripe Wicked Plum, gone with Spike’s Mate, gone with his adored Drusilla. Was she torturing him? Like they used to do, teasing him with pricks of fang, scratches of nail; was his lovey arousing him even now? In the past, it’d be Spike who watched, Spike who took Drusilla in front of someone as they watched the vampires Mate.  

Or was Angelus screwing her? As he had been for weeks prior to the hell change? Was he taking Buffy and Drusilla together, teaching the slayer the finer arts of vampire mating, letting Drusilla use her own special brand of loving on her? The thought of Drusilla and Buffy together, hands stroking, mouths tasting, limbs tangled as they brought each other to climax made him hard, and he shifted on his cot at the image. 

Okay, this line of thought wasn’t helping.  

Well, that and he doubted Angelus let the slayer in any other’s bed. And he didn’t sense anyone but the poof on the slayer, so that was another point against his fantasy. Shame. He’d have liked to see his princess and the slayer together.  

“So, watcher,” he said, hoping to get something out of the old man. This existence was downright boring here. And he had this niggling fear – not that he’d admit it – that if he continued on this line of thought, Angelus would somehow know and beat the shit out of him again for thinking about Buffy. Then again, it’d be attention… “What’s it like up there?” 

“I was in the library,” Giles answered, much to Spike’s surprise. Not that he was in the library, but that he said anything at all. “I didn’t see much else.” 

“Right, all them books and all,” Spike stood, stretching his muscles a bit as he wandered his enclosure, restless. “But how is it up there?” 

“Yeah, Giles,” Willow chimed in, and Spike suppressed a smirk.  

She was so easily led sometimes… Beside her, her wolf growled, once again the beast that raged within him. Spike didn’t think there was enough time between moons for him to change as often as he did, but figured it had something to do with the change to the planet. His own demon roared with the confinement, needing to break free and breathe. 

“How was Buffy?” Willow asked, her eyes still dark with power she didn’t understand and had little control over. Was that, too, the planet? Or was it something else, something within her? “What was it like up there, what’d you do?”

Cracking knuckles that seemed, to Spike, stiff once more, Giles paused a beat. In anticipation, Spike waited. He wanted to know what was wrong with the slayer, why she’d been absent so often when he’d have bet his prized leather coat she’d be here every damn day until Angelus dragged her kicking and screaming out of the dungeons.

“I did some research,” Giles said, repeating what he already had.  

(If you say a word of this to anyone, Rupert…) 

“What,” Willow asked as she – or was it Harris? – had when Giles had returned, “did Angelus need you to research that he didn’t already know?  

Shrugging, Giles leaned back against the bars and didn’t say anything. Spike narrowed his eyes, wondering. And then, as if he’d already known and something in the man’s body language told him, he started to laugh. It had to do with Buffy, and, most likely, something Angelus didn’t want getting out; though Spike wasn’t about to ruin his own chances of getting the hell out of this cage by saying so. 

Willow glared at him, but continued to interrogate Giles. “Was it about this new world?” she asked. “Was it about his power?” 

“Red,” Spike chuckled, “I’d stop the questions, if I were you.”

“Why?” she demanded, and the vampire was reminded of how powerful she was now. The Darkness streamed off her in waves of power and magicks. Young and uncontrollable, wild intuition that wasn’t tempered by anything save her confinement. Not physical, but the mental ones she inadvertently placed on herself because she thought she should. And, Spike figured, it was just as well she did that…  

“Because you don’t want to know? Because Angelus doesn’t want us to know? Why shouldn’t I ask?” 

“Because you want to know too much,” he said seriously, walking to the bars that separated them. “Because you think that by knowing everything you’ll be better than everyone else.” 

“Yes,” she admitted, “I want to know things. I want to know what’s happening out there, I want to know what Buffy’s doing, I want to know why she isn’t fighting, why she’s here, staying with that mon…with Angelus instead of leading the fight out there,” her eyes drifted up to the single barred window of their little cell. 

Growling, Spike shifted to his vampire face. “Watch it, Red. Your little pal Harris is already getting a taste of what can happen when he crosses the line. You don’t stop now, you’ll be next – and I don’t think the goddess,” he deliberately said, “Will bother to save you. You think that Harris being taken like that wasn’t part of a bigger
plan?” 

“Angelus didn’t take him,” Cordelia argued, and Spike glanced at her, wondering when she became such an advocate of Angelus. “Buffy came down and told us that.” 

“Yeah, but then who did? Who wanted Harris badly enough that they made it seem as if Angelus wanted him up there?” 

Spike’s questions silenced the room, except for Oz’s growls. The wolf rubbed the bars between his cage and Red’s, and her hand automatically went out to pet the wolf’s head. Spike had to wonder just how much of Oz was present in the beast’s mind, and what he/it knew. In the…time…between their capture and now, Oz had changed. He talked less than even the destiny demon did, but he seemed the most effected by their surroundings. 

Or maybe it was the memory of Angelus’ words.  

Spike remembered something the god had said on one of his and Buffy’s first trips to the dungeon, directed only at the wolf. “It’s the darkness within that gets you.” 

That was true, Spike acknowledged as he watched the group of mostly humans he was trapped with. It was very true; you were only as corruptible as the darkness within you allowed. Pure souls resisted. Dark souls begged for it. 

“Maybe it was a ruse,” Giles argued, much to Spike’s surprise. 

“Get a grip,” this was from Hank, and Spike wondered if maybe he could like the slayer’s father. He’d been gone a while, and when he’d returned after the visit, when Buffy informed them all that Harris was alive – she hadn’t gone into details, but Spike swore he heard a catch in her voice and wondered just what truths she’d learned about the boy – he’d been silent, looking at the group with something in his expression that said he knew things they never would. 

Or maybe wouldn’t ever admit to. 

“Do you really think Angelus would go to all that trouble for a boy he doesn’t care one damn bit for? No,” Hank shook his head, “He wouldn’t. You said it yourself; Angelus doesn’t care at all for Xander Harris.” 

“So it was someone else?” Willow didn’t sound convinced, yet she always seemed to back up Buffy whenever she came to visit.  

“Traitor,” Spike mumbled at her, “Two-faced little bitch.” Then louder, “Knowledge isn’t always power, Red,” his captivating blue eyes locked not with Willow’s but with Giles. “You know too much, and you can never unlearn it. Think of the Garden of Eden parallel.” 

“Actually,” Joyce chimed in, “Adam and Eve were kicked out of paradise not for knowing, but for disobeying God.” 

Spike needed a cigarette and a drink; this conversation was getting deeper than he’d intended. At least it was something; he was about to beg for release…maybe that was Angelus’ true goal. To have Spike grovel for his liberation – it’d be something the damn man’d do. Well, it was nearly working, damn Angelus to the hell he created and back. 

“True, Joyce,” he toasted her with an imaginary glass. “But the point I’m trying to make is that Red here thinks knowing everything will somehow make her shithole of an existence better. It won’t.” 

“It’ll make me stronger,” Willow told him, and Spike was suddenly afraid. Not for his life, but for Willow – of Willow and what she could do. She was dangerous. Worse, she was a dangerous addict who had been in withdrawal, in denial, too long to realize that she was even an addict. Whatever magicks she’d used pre-Acathla opening, had done something to her. 

“No, Willow,” Spike quietly disagreed. “It’ll make you dead sooner.” 

“Are you threatening her?” Cordelia demanded, “Or are you just trying to relieve your own boredom?” 

Once more surprised with her insight, Spike laughed. “Both,” he admitted. “What else have we to do here but philosophize?” 

“Plan our escape.” 

Stunned, the group, en masse, turned to look at Whistler. He rarely said anything, rarely did anything but sit on his cot in silence, eating when food was presented, bathing when it was his turn, but not much else.

“You think we’re getting out of here?” Hank demanded, truly amused. “Trust me, buddy. We’re not going anywhere. Think about it, you idiot. Angelus has us here for a reason. What’s that reason? To keep Buffy here. Why? Because he wants her here of her own accord. Why? If you can’t figure that out, you’re stupider than I first thought you were.” 

“Angelus’ affections are transient,” Whistler insisted with a negligent wave, dismissing Angelus’ feelings. “He’ll soon grow tired of the slayer and move onto another. And then what’ll happen to you? You think he’ll keep you here because of a promise he made to a woman he no longer wants?” 

Spike snorted in derision, once more catching everyone’s attention. “Angelus is a lot of things, mate,” he sat once more on his cot. Settling comfortably, he wished for a pillow to lean against the bars. They gave him an awful headache. 

“Transient in his affections, yes. Impulsive, yes. A planner, oh, definitely. Look around you at his grandest and most ambitious plan.” He waved a hand around the room, the world, but didn’t take his eyes off Whistler. “But his word is gold. He’s never broken it, not once in all the time I’ve known him. Once he makes a promise, he keeps it.” 

“And how often is that?” Cordelia wondered, though why she wanted to know Spike couldn’t begin to guess.  

“Once in a very great while, pet.” 

“So we’re safe?” Joyce demanded.  

“Until and unless something changes where he actually gives you a choice, yes.” 

“Please,” this was from Whistler. “A vampire’s word in nothing. Ask a watcher,” he looked at Giles. “Angelus is a sadistic creature who killed his way across Europe and Asia and half of Sunnydale.” 

“And one,” Hank reminded the demon, “who keeps us here where we can’t be eaten by things that’ll find us all too tasty.” 

“He does it to keep the slayer in line,” Whistler said and Spike wondered if the demon knew that he’d just given up a strategic card in his hand. By the sly look in his eye, Spike had to say yes. But why? 

“What do you mean?” This was again from Willow. 

“Just how blind,” Spike wondered, “are you? What kind of friend are you? How can you be so supposedly smart, and yet so utterly stupid?” 

Glaring at him, she snapped. “Shut up. You tried to kill her, you don’t care anything about Buffy, so don’t pretend now.” 

“I do care about her,” he insisted, smiling. “She’s our goddess now, and if anything happens to her, we’re all dead.” 

Whistler snorted, chuckling at them. “You’re all stupid fools,” he insisted. “Angelus cares about no one but himself. He doesn’t care about the slayer, he doesn’t care about you all, and he certainly doesn’t care about this world. All he cares for is his next kill, his next woman, his next rush.” 

Spike laughed, full and loud and very humorous. He laughed so hard that tears leaked from his eyes. “Oh, that’s good, that’s really…” he shook his head. “You know nothing, and for a supposed destiny demon, I’m surprised at that. But then nothing the Powers do surprises me anymore. Answer me this,” he walked again to the bars, slinging his arms through them in a relaxed pose he once saw in an old western.  

“Angel’s soul…how could the Powers, the supposed higher beings who guide good on this earth, not know about it?” Whistler didn’t answer. “So you knew about the clause, the so-called ‘Happiness Clause’, and let it be. You could have had your champion all clause-free and fighting, but you did nothing about it. Why?” 

All eyes were on Whistler now, and still he said nothing. Then, just as Spike was about to ask more of the questions he already had answers to, the demon admitted, “Angel wasn’t supposed to be happy. He was supposed to fight – forever. Earning his redemption a little at a time, slowly earning his way back into the good graces of the Powers so they might forgive him.” 

“And how,” Spike asked, just as the door opened, “can a soul who wasn’t there for the sins committed in the first place, be forgiven?” 

“My Spike,” Drusilla sighed as she glided into the room. “It’s not polite to ask questions of the mean demon.” 

“Drusilla,” he drawled, watching as she stopped before him, looking beautiful and depraved. The image of she and Buffy returned, but he quickly forced it away – just in case. He so needed to get out of this cage.  

“My Spike,” she said again, nails raking down his cheek. “You’ve been naughty. Speaking of things daddy wouldn’t like.” 

Shrugging, he wondered if she meant the soul or she and Buffy, and offered, “Then get me out, and I won’t have to.” 

She laughed, floating away from his cell. “My star’s daddy,” she giggled at Hank.  

“Drusilla,” he nodded, ignoring the looks of the others in the dungeon. He never said what he did when he’d met with Buffy for their picnic, the scene he’d watched from the balcony as Richard Wilkins was forced to become the demon he’d always wanted to be as a lesson to those wanting to defy Angelus. They’d asked, demanded in that guilt-inducing way they had, but he’d remained silent. 

“How is she?” 

“She’s happy, my dear.” Cocking her head to the side, the vampiress waited a moment. “The stars, they fret,” she whispered, just as the earth shook with a rolling force. “She’s happy, though she doesn’t understand what the future holds. But the nightmares, they’ve stopped; and the dreams,” she sighed, “they’ve become reality.” 

“What’s that mean?” Joyce demanded, fear in her voice for her only child. 

“They’ve stopped?” Giles asked at the same time. “The nightmares, they’ve stopped?” 

“She’s having nightmares?” Joyce demanded. 

“Nightmares about what?” Willow wanted to know. 

But neither Hank nor Giles said anything, and Drusilla moved back to Spike’s cage. “Daddy’s not happy with you, still,” she told him, as Willow and Joyce continued their questioning. ‘What nightmares? ‘Hank, why didn’t you tell me she wasn’t well?’ “But there’s something you can do to change his mind.” 

Perking up, Spike demanded, “And this’ll get me the hell out of here?” 

“You’ll know when the time comes.” She promised, her hand caressing the marks she’d made that were now healing. Leaning through the bars, she pressed her lips to his. “But you have to swear, my pet,” she said with serious eyes. “You have to swear to both daddy and mummy.” Whirling, she eyed Cordelia as the questions started again – daddy was all well and good, it was Angelus, but when Drusilla called Buffy ‘mummy’, it tossed things about, mixing them all up in a whirlwind. 

“The Prince,” she told the human, “he still asks after you.” 

“Tell him,” she said slowly, carefully picking her words, “that I’d love another visit.” 

Drusilla laughed and left, blowing a kiss at Spike as she waited for the door to open. “Soon, my pet,” she promised. 

“Giles,” Willow was insistent. Nosey. “What nightmares?” 

“Look, you stupid, nosey, inconsiderate chit,” Spike barked, new hope he was getting out of this annoying hellhole sparking his temper at the humans who didn’t realize that while their lives sucked, they were still alive and should be damned grateful for that.  

“If you don’t stop asking questions about the goddess,” another sharp look at Whistler who’d fallen silent again, “then Angelus is going to find out, and he’s going to make an example of you. Now obviously, she didn’t want you to know, or she’d have told you herself. As she hasn’t, she doesn’t want you to know, so SHUT THE HELL UP!” 

Oz growled at Spike, baring teeth and snarling at the being who yelled at his Mate. (Mate, he/it thought, rubbing against the bars separating his cell from Willow’s. She was his Mate, her darkness within called to his, her power, her passion. Even her fear. It called to him, demanding he take, tear and rend and remake. Love and fuck.) 

But Spike just smiled. He was getting out. And yeah, maybe he’d have to grovel a bit to Angelus, but hey, his Black Princess would make it up to him. Plus, he was certain that he’d have a place of power in the new court. And that’d be worth it. Okay, and maybe he’d have to play nice with the slayer – the goddesss

She’d changed, even in the time they’d been in this new world. Besides, no longer was it his goal in life to kill slayers – he didn’t have to any more, now that they owned the world.
~~~~~~~~~~
Xander watched as Drusilla dressed for her latest party. She hid behind a curtain, something he’d seen once in a movie Willow and Buffy – may the traitorous bitch rot in the hell her demon lover created – made him watch in one of their chick-flick modes. 

He was chained to the wall, a gag across his mouth to, Drusilla had snapped when she’d first brought him to her lavish rooms, keep him quiet until he could put his mouth to good use. Xander didn’t want to know what that meant.

She was humming, even as the room shifted again. Earthquake was all Xander’s terrified mind could think. They were having an earthquake, and he was going to die in this room, and…wait. No, that didn’t make sense. Why would they still have earthquakes? He highly doubted Angelus would let that happen.  

So then what the hell – no pun intended – going on here? 

“She’s scared,” Drusilla said as she came out from behind the curtain, perfectly decked out and looking – though Xander didn’t want to admit it – beautiful. In a deadly going to snack on him kind of way. 

“But it’ll be okay,” she caressed his cheek, and Xander wanted to move away, but found he couldn’t. “The future will work out; I have it,” she giggled, “on The Highest authority.” 

Completely lost as to what she meant Xander did nothing. Merely watched as she patted his head and left the room.
~~~~~~~~~~
            ‘Hank’s back in the dungeon? Why?’

‘Because,’ he said slowly, stretching cramped muscles. This storytelling business took a lot out of one, but he was enjoying it too much to stop. Plus, his audience of one was captivated, and he loved it. ‘Angelus wasn’t ready to let them out, yet. He hadn’t yet achieved his goal with the goddess, and allowing one of her family free reign, even limited access to the palace, was something he wasn’t going to concede just yet.’’

‘But will he?’

Laughing, he finished his drink. ‘Patience, young Jedi,’ he grinned, enjoying the look on his nephew’s face. It’d taken a while, but limited television was set up – and the first thing he’d shown the boy was the Star Wars trilogy.

‘Come on,’ the boy sighed. ‘Let’s get some food and you can finish the story.’

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