Bitch

Prologue

Spike was bored. He’d been chained in the Watcher’s sodding tub for days and was getting restless. There wasn’t anything good on the telly, and no slayer to annoy. He couldn’t wait ‘till Springer came on – it was about as close as he came to violence, nowadays.

“Oi, watcher! Feelin’ a bit peckish in here!” He bellowed, hoping that if he was annoying enough, one of the namby-pamby Scoobies would come in so he could wind them up. Yeah, he was still bad. Hearing a noise in the hall, he perked up, glancing expectantly towards the door. Instead of the watcher, however, Spike was shocked to see Captain Cardboard, himself. A very green Captain Cardboard. A very olive green Captain Cardboard and four of his olive green friends.

Well, bollocks.
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Chapter 1

Someone was poking him in the ribs. “Yes, Dru, I know the weasels are hungry. We’ll find them summat to eat later – go back to sleep,” he muttered, with a yawn.

“I think it’s time for you to get up, Bitch!”

A voice shook him out of his restful reverie, only to see a steel-toed army boot zooming towards his face. He grunted with the impact, rolling away from the feet with the booming voice.

“Hey, Bitch! I’m tal to to you!”

Blinking, he looked up into the face of a scowling Riley Finn.

“Captain America! To what do I owe this favor?” he smirked. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed white walls and blinding florescent lights. Oh shit.

“Shut up, Bitch, and don’t speak unless I give you specific orders to do so,” Finn growled out.

What crawled up his arse and died? “Right, and what are you gonna do if I don’t?”

Riley smirked. “This.” With that, he kicked Spike in the ribs, cracking one.

“Ow! Bloody hell! Watch it, you Wanker!”

“I said, shut up, Bitch!” The blows were coming so hard now that Spike’s whole body shook with the force. Apparently satisfied, Riley came to a halt. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

Spike didn’t speak, but glared daggers.

“That’s right, Bitch, I didn’t think so. Now, I came in here to bring you breakfast,” Spike jerked back as a bag plopped on the cold tile floor at his nose. “And to say, ‘Welcome back. Enjoy your stay.’” With that, Finn turned on his heel and strode out, turning to activate the shield.

Spike sat up, wincing at his ribs shifted, and poked at the bag.

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Angel sat, staring at the blinds like only a vampire could: with both terror and longing. His mind drifted to Doyle, and the sacrifice his friend had made to save him. Doyle truly had given his life for Angel’s – had Doyle not punched Angel when he did, the demons on the boat still would have been saved, but Angel would have perished. Doyle had saved him.

Unbidden, his mind wandered to a time, long ago, when someone had done the same for him.

~Flashback~
Angelus stood, unable to move or speak; transfixed by the hatred in his blonde sire’s eyes.

“You’re not Angelus. And I won’t have you around to remind me that he’s gone.” She stated coldly, as she raised a crossbow to his unmoving chest. He didn’t move, not comprehending the inevitability of his own dusty ending.

Time slowed down, everything distinct in Angelus’ mind, a slideshow of events he was merely an observer to: the click, triggering the release of the arrow designated for his heart; a scream, “Angelus, No!”; a curly blonde head flashing before him; the thud as he collided with the ground; and the yelp of the blonde as the arrow embedded in his back.
~End Flash~

Yelling voices shook Angel from his memory. He rose and stalked out of the office; he needed to go check on Cordelia and Wesley before they killed each other.

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Groaning, Rupert Giles plopped on the sofa, brandy in hand. Buffy had definitely pulled all the stops in their training session earlier; soon he wouldn’t be able to spar with the rapidly advancing slayer.

He toed off his shoes, wincing when he felt bones creak back into place. What he needed was a nice long soak in the tub and a good night’s sleep. His head lolled back into the couch with a thump. He grd; td; there would be no soak for him tonight – there was a very chipped, very annoying vampire chained in his bath. He stood, arching his back – that groaned and creaked much as his feet had earlier – and shuffled into the kitchen. He knew if he were to get any semblance of sleep he’d have to feed the blonde nuisance, so he pottered about, emptying a bag into his now-defaced “Kiss the Librarian” mug and placing it in the microwave. At the beep, he removed the mug and trudged up the stairs into the bathroom, where he stopped, blinking.

Save for the manacles hanging from the tap, the tub was empty. A grin spread across his face. It looked like he’d get a bath tonight, after all.