Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ Fear Becomes You ❯ TV TIme ( Chapter 2 )

I still don't own anything.

 

Chapter # 2: TV Time

Staring at a white wall for hours upon end was not much in the way of entertainment, and Spike was going mad from boredom. He wasn't the most patient bloke at the best of times and this was just plain torturous.

He would have been loudly cursing the humans, telling them in gruesome detail of all the tortures he would be putting them through when this was over, but they had gone to sleep shortly after the Slayer had left and weren't listening. He had tried to make enough noise to wake them up, but no such luck.

So he had taken to amusing himself by trying to silently imagine new and more creative tortures and how each of the Slayer's little group would react to each. Trying to out-do each one.

But that game had gotten boring.

It had also gotten depressing.

In order to follow through with those little daydreams, Spike would have to escape.

He would also have to be able.

So, not having anything else to do, Spike was being forced to actually think of things other than murder and mayhem.

He thought about possible escape plans, and couldn't think of any.

He wondered about Dru and if she had noticed his absence yet. If the stars had told her what had happened to him. If she was okay.

He thought about his . . .situation.

No matter what others had said, Spike was not an idiot. You didn't exist as long as he had, through all the experiences he'd been through, with Drusilla as mad as she was, by being an idiot.

He knew himself. He knew his strengths and weaknesses. And, more importantly, he knew when to admit when something had gone seriously wrong.

This was one of those times.

Lying in the Watcher's tub, arms up and tied to the knobs at an annoying angle, coarse rope chafing his wrists and pulled a little too tight around his thighs, Spike admitted to himself that the white-hats might have been telling the truth.

He could be human.

Possibly.

He had been thinking, forcing himself to think, that he hadn't looked at the eye, or that, even if he had, the eye didn't work the same on demons as it did on humans. That, if he was cursed at all, it had only made weaker. And maybe dulled his senses and put him under a compulsion to breathe.

But these long hours of imprisoned solitude were forcing him to acknowledge other undeniable facts.

After all, even if Spike were to ignore the new experiences of a heart beat and a blood deep sense of alive, there were other changes he couldn't make excuses for.

For one, he couldn't shift into his true face, no matter how hard he tried.

His stomach had also been twisting and making odd noises—that disgustingly loud sign of human hunger.

Plus, in the white and shiny surface of the tub he thought he could make out something like a reflection. He couldn't see anything clearly but something was there.

And then, of course, was the kicker.

He had to use the bloody loo.

 

The night at Giles' had gone by without anything too weird happening.

Well, besides the whole sleeping at Giles' thing, that is. Even if Xander had only slept on the couch.

And, of course, there was the experience of a Giles breakfast, which was healthy, at a table with another person, and, most importantly, not a cold Pop-Tart.

And then the not having to rush out to school.

And the ultimate weirdness of discovering that Giles actually had a TV. With cable

But other then all those things, everything had been normal.

Xander had been watching cartoons for a couple hours now, still in the clothes he had worn last night. Giles had offered some of his clothes, which were surprisingly not all tweed, but Xander was in no hurry to get himself naked. Or to touch himself, in any way, anywhere below his shoulders and above his knees.

And there was no way in hell he would be going anywhere near a mirror.

Which was why he hadn't touched any liquids other than that small glass of orange juice from breakfast. And that had been only because Giles had been watching.

He knew he was going to have to face his . . . temporary change sooner then he'd like due to necessary bodily functions that he really wished he didn't have, but that didn't mean he couldn't hold out against it for as long as he could. And he was definitely not facing it in the same bathroom as the evil not-so-dead. Giles really hadn't thought through the whole tie-Spike-up-in-the-only-bathroom-thing.

His cartoon had just ended, the credits beginning to roll, when he heard a louder than normal THUMP coming from the direction of the bathroom. These kinds of noises had been going on for a while, so, not even bothering to move, he just yelled, “Keep it down!”

If you ignored the random bursts of British cursing and threats of death, their prisoner had actually been behaving himself rather well.

“This is cruel an' unusual punishment, it is! Isn' this against th' whole white hat rule book or somethin'?”

“Like you haven't done much worse.” What, he was expecting sympathy?

“Well, `m not dead anymore, now am I? I'm a bloody human being. That's wot you all said, init? So I deserve t' be treated like one, I do.”

Xander rolled his eyes. “Who cares if you're human; you're still evil. So you stay in that tub and not kill me like a good little boy.”

“Yer bloody right I'm evil! The minute I get my fangs back I'll kill you!”

He rolled his eyes. “And that's helping your case so much.”

“Well it's not like `m tryin' t' get yer trust, now, `m I?” And, yes, this was true.

Xander sighed. His first day of guilt-free hooky and unlimited TV, in which he had been hoping to lose himself in a TV induced coma and ignore the suckiness of reality for a few hours, was being ruined. Maybe if he gave the bastard what he wanted he could get back to his TV—well, if whatever Spike wanted wasn't something completely gross and something that Xander could actually get.

“Then what do you want?”

“Well, I'm human now ain't I? With, y' know, all those human needs and such. . .”

He sounded completely disgusted. But it was the faint embarrassment that was really the deciding factor. Xander didn't see Spike as the type to be embarrassed by much, so this was probably a once in a lifetime opportunity. And he would not miss such a prime target of mockage.

Getting up from his spot slouched on the couch, Xander got his feet caught in his too long pants, remembered to lift the material, carefully ignored the reason for that mental memo, and made his way to the bathroom.

Spike was in the same position Buffy had left him in last night, arms twisted above his head so they could be securely tied to the knobs of the tub, legs bound together at the thighs and ankles.

It looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Leaning against the door frame, careful not to look at the mirror, Xander asked again, “What do you want?”

Spike's stomach growled and Xander saw him give it a disgusted look.

“You're hungry? Well, sorry, but I'm afraid Giles doesn't keep any blood in the fridge. I could look, I guess, but I gotta say, I don't think it's gonna be happening.” He shook his head, feigning regret.

“Then don't get me blood, idiot.” Spike snorted, then turned his head to face the wall as he added sullenly, “Doubt it'd do any good anyways.”

“Okay, human food. And how're you gonna eat it? I am so not feeding you.”

“Then untie my hands” Spike looked back at him. Stomach growl

“No”

“Ohh, give a bloke a break, why don'cha? Y' think this position is easy? My hands are turnin' bloody purple!”

“And I care . . .?”

Spike thrashed and growled as well as he could, pulling against the ropes tying him to the tub and kicking his bound legs. It kinda looked like a really stupid dance move.

“Look you bloody bitch, all I want is t' be able to feel my own bloody arms, stop that disgustin' sound comin' from my stomach, and use the soddin' loo!”

“I'm a guy, dammit! And guys can't be bitches, okay? And, well, really, what do you want me to do about all that? I can't untie you, neither of us want me to hand feed you, and, well, you figure out for yourself why I can't help you in the, um, loo area. We just don't go there.”

Spike looked furious, with a small dash of desperate on the side. “You won't leave me like this. You can't.”

And he couldn't really, could he? I mean Spike would just keep complaining and that just was not an environment where much TV zonage could happen.

And, well, even he had an extent to his own little brand of evil. And making proud adult-like people, even psycho evil not-really-people-people, wet their pants . . . well, it wasn't really on his to do list.

“Argh.” Xander complained, running his hands through his short hair. Maybe he could call Giles at the school and ask him what to do. Did Giles have a cell phone? Maybe he should call through the school office?

But what good would calling Giles do? He'd probably just tell him to ignore Spike, make him wait. Probably say that Spike was lying and would kill him as soon as Xander got in range.

But, looking at Spike now, Xander could tell he wasn't lying. He would probably kill him, but he wasn't lying.

So to just leave him like this . . .

It would just be way too degrading. And he so wasn't going down that road.

So, decision made, he looked back up at Spike and said, “Look, I'll make you a deal. I'll untie your arms, get you out of the tub for private bathroom duty, and get you something to eat. All you have to do is not try and kill me. Deal?”

Spike looked surprised for a moment, before slipping into suspicious and shifting his hips.

“Y' gonna tie my arms up again afterwards?”

“Well, yeah, I kinda have to. But I won't tie them up to the tub like they are now if you'll be quiet. How's that?”

“It's crap. It's bloody boring in `ere.” His stomach gave a low grumble and Spike looked even more frustrated.

“Well, when your arms aren't tied up like that, the scenery will be a lot better.”

Spike gave him an are-you-the-stupidest-person-on-this-planet-or-what?-look, then, laying on the sarcasm a little more than Xander thought was really necessary, said, “Of course. I'll getta stare at another wall.”

“Well, hey, you can stare at the ceiling too. And at the sink and . . . and the toilet. You'll be entertained for hours.” Smile. Do not feel sympathy for the evil bloodsucker.

Who's not a bloodsucker right now.

But he'll be one later.

And he's still evil.

Spike glared and squirmed a little, frustrated, disgusted, and obviously getting more and more impatient.

Oh god, was he really going to say this?

“How about I tie you up on the couch? I guess you could watch TV with me.” It's not like it ruined his plans or anything. There would still be TV. He was just going to be sharing a couch with someone who seriously wanted to kill him. “You have to stay on your side of the couch, though. And you can't kill me.” Loud squishy noise from the stomach.

Spike still looked suspicious but nodded just the same. “Alright.”

“And are you going to really not try and kill me. Like really, really?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yes I `really, really' promise not t' try an' kill ya.”

Xander narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You have to promise that you won't successfully kill me too.”

“I won't kill you, alright? Could we jus' get on with this?” Squirm

Taking a deep breath, Xander approached the tub and started on the ropes.

He was so going to die.

 

Spike had honestly not believed the bint would untie him. But there she'd gone and done it, and he'd been shocked.

Was she daft?

She had just untied his hands; and he knew he might not be at his best, and he might not have his feet, but he could still kill people.

Just one blow to her head and . . .

He squirmed and reminded himself to focus on the priorities of the moment. He could kill the twit after he'd gone to the loo and eaten something.

So, plan made, Spike started to push himself up . . .

Only to be pushed right back down.

What?!

Angry, Spike scowled and reached up to grab the bitch.

She dodged the hand easily. “Hey, watch it! We agreed. No attempted or successful killing.”

“We also agreed that I would be gettin' out o' this bloody tub.”

She glared. “And I'm helping you out of it, aren't I?”

“Seems more like yer pushin' me back in.” Stomach grumble

“Noo, I'm helping you. See?” She grabbed him by his armpits and attempted to lift him, supposedly onto the rim of the tub.

He was lifted maybe four inches before he was dropped, hitting his head on the water-spout. Glaring, he pushed her hands away and tried to get up by himself.

He couldn't do it. The rim was too high and his body was at the wrong angle to pull himself up.

Falling back into the tub once more, Spike's glare intensified, only growing more intense when his anger failed to call up his true face.

Distracted by this anger, Spike was unable to stop the girl from grabbing his legs and swinging them over the edge of the tub.

He ended up in an extremely uncomfortable position on his back. His head crammed to an almost painful angle by one tub wall, and his arse against the other, Spike snarled, “This is not helping.” Struggling to get his legs back in the tub, he kicked out at the bint's face.

In response, she pulled Spike's legs out further, so that his arse was on the edge of the tub, back arched awkwardly, and unable to really move.

“Yes it is. Those other ways weren't working, and maybe this one will.” She bent his knees, “Now sit up.” Working his stomach muscles, Spike pulled himself to a sit while the bint held him sturdy, pushing down hard on his legs.

He narrowed his eyes at her cheeky smile, “An' that was th' only other way, was it?”

“Yep!” Grabbing his arms firmly, she moved back and pulled him to a stand. Then, after making sure he was reasonably steady, she let go and moved quickly out of range.

Maybe she did have some sense after all.

“Now, you'll have to jump over to the toilet and sink by yourself. And when you're done in here you just keep on hopping to the living room. Don't bother trying to escape. Unless, of course, you're dying to go hopping around outside, where everyone can see your bunny impersonation, and give me a chance to practice my football tackle. You wouldn't be movin' that fast, so I should be able to catch up.”

Bitch

“I'll be in the kitchen hunting us both up some food; it's time for a snack anyway. Have fun!” And then she was gone, door closing behind her.

He'd been wrong.

She obviously didn't have a lick of sense, what with trusting him alone like that.

This room was full of potential weapons and she made a prime victim after putting him through that embarrassing scene in the tub then mocking him.

Though, he looked down at his feet, killing would be a little difficult like this, wouldn't it? The Slayer had tied his thighs and ankles much too good, knots where he couldn't reach without falling on his face and tied too tight for him to loosen easily.

She'd move a foot and he'd fall over.

Pathetic

Giving a disgusted sigh, he made a little test hop.

Then, secure in the knowledge that he wasn't going to fall arse over tit, he set to business.

 

A little while later Spike sat slouched on the couch, remote in hand, flipping furiously through the channels.

That had been disgusting.

He had forgotten how gross those natural human processes were, and he was not looking forward to experiencing any more.

And then having to hop from there to the couch like a bloody idiot . . .

The remote gave a protesting crack as he tightened his grip.

He hated this.

There had been a mirror in there too. Which basically just destroyed all his hopes that he was still a vampire.

He'd tried not to look at it. No matter how much he might want to see what he looked like, he didn't think he was ready for that.

“Hey. What are your feelings on turkey sandwiches? Because that's what we're eating.” The bint was back, handing him a plate of food and flopping down on the opposite side of the couch. “It's the only thing I recognize and can actually make. Someone's gonna have to talk to that man about this vegetable and grain obsession he has. Swingin' bachelors are supposed to survive on pizza and Chinese take-out, not wheat-germ spread or whatever that nasty stuff was.” She seemed to consider this for moment. “But then I guess the Giles swing days are long gone, aren't they? Now he'd have to be a leisurely walking bachelor or something, huh?”

He turned to her, ignoring the plate of food in his lap. The hell?

“You're watching the History channel?”

What? He turned to look at the telly.

Oh. There, on the screen, an ugly old bird nattered on about some African tribe dying of AIDS or the tsetse virus or something. Not a drop of good blood or violence in it.

But, eh, it was better than all the other trash on at this time of the day.

He dropped the remote at his side, trapped between his thigh and the arm of the couch where no one could steal it, and looked down at his plate. “There's nothin' good on.”

“And I don't even want to know what you call good TV. Let me try.” She put out a hand as if he would actually hand over the remote.

“No” Lifting the top bread slice, he looked at the uncovered cheese.

He was able to name a good amount of human foods, and actually had a few favorites, but he'd never actually eaten that much. Too much solid food wasn't good for the system.

“What? Excuse me, but who was it who let you come out here?”

He looked at the piece of bread in his hand. Was that mayonnaise? He'd never tried that before. “I'm not watchin' those crap cartoons.”

He looked back at his sandwich. A couple slices of cold white meat and two pickles. Was that turkey? He remembered turkey looking different. More like chicken.

“My cartoons are not crap. They're good. And besides, who cares what you want, anyways. You're our prisoner. And will you stop playing with your food and just eat it already. I thought you were hungry.”

Spike removed the pickles, put the bread back on, and took a large bite.

It wasn't too bad.

“Happy?”

“Overjoyed. Now give me the remote.”

Chewing calmly, Spike gave the girl a bored look, “No.”

Frustrated, she glared at him, hands clenching her plate, but didn't move. After a few seconds, she turned back to her sandwich and took an angry bite. Through a mouthful of food, she mumbled, “Well fine then.”

Spike smirked.

 

God, Spike was such a bastard.

Here Xander was, making Spike lunch, giving him a little freedom, letting him watch TV. And it wasn't like he was expecting Spike to say thanks or anything, but he could at least give him the remote. The jackass wasn't even watching anything.

And he was being all smug about it, too. Like hogging the remote was some great evil.

Well, let him hog the remote. As soon as he finished that sandwich, the ropes were going back on.

Spike probably thought Xander was an idiot, what with the return of his arms. But Xander was fully aware of the danger he had put himself in. While making their lunches Xander had even shoved one of Giles' more dangerous knifes, with a makeshift cover, into the back of his khakis. His pants were tight around his . . . hips on loan, so it was a reasonably sturdy place to store weapons as long as he didn't move much.

And maybe some of Spike's psycho-ness had rubbed off on him when they had touched, but Xander was really looking forward to using that knife.

As it was, it was a little after 3:30 and reruns of the Ninja Turtles came on at 4:00.

That was more than enough time for Spike to finish the sandwich and be forced back into the ropes.

He could deal with African documentaries for a little while.

Just for a little while though. And then ropes. And threatening.

The Xand-man would win in the end.

“Oi, get me a drink.”

If the Xand-man didn't jump the bastard and get himself killed.

Why had he let Spike out of the bathroom again?