Cause and Effect

Please take note of the WARNINGS. DARK fic. Subject matter may be offensive or discomforting to some.

Summary: Three weeks following Buffy's death, Spike is set upon by human thugs. Out numbered, out maneuvered, and unable to effectively fight back, Spike suffers their attack, and is taken prisoner. His attackers are led by someone out for vengeance, and Spike finds himself in a world of hurt. After months of barely surviving his captor's 'hospitality', and nearly dead, Spike is dumped -- left to be a pointed messanger. Xander stumbles across him, and saves Spike's life by giving the vampire some of his own Immortal blood, not only unknowingly setting in motion a series of life altering events -- for both of them -- but also interfering with the plans of Spike's abductor.

Author's Note: This story takes place after the end of Season 5 (Buffy is dead), and before the beginning of Season 6. (Buffy has not been brought back.) It will go AU from there most likely. I do not know at this point whether Buffy will be brought back or not. It entirely depends on where the muses take me. If she is, it won't happen until sometime in 'Picking up the Pieces'.

Warnings: Here be slash. For those of you who don't know what that is; it's a romatic/sexual relationship between two characters of the same sex. In this case two males -- specifically Xander and Spike. This story contains rape, though it is not overly graphically described. (and it is integral to the plot) There is implied torture through some of the first 5 chapters, but it isn't until the 7th that any of it is described in detail.

Disclaimers: I don't own any of these characters. I don't own this particular concept of vampirism nor Immortality. This world of Buffy and Vampires belongs to Joss Whedon et al, and the concept of Immortals and the Game belongs to Panzer, Davis, and Rysher entertainment et al. I will make no money from this now or ever without the express written permission from the respective legal owners. (Like that is likely to happen. lol) This story is purely for entertainment value.

Beta Warning: This has not been betad, so all mistakes are mine. I *have* edited the story, and spell checked it. (of course we all know how reliable spellcheck is for homonyms). Hopefully, I haven't missed anything major. If I've missed one of your particular pet peeves in grammer or spelling, be sure to let me know -- just please be polite. : ) All feedback -- except flames -- gratefully accepted, craved even. Flames will find their way to my fireplace -- they burn nicely.


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Chapter One
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Spike strode down the dark Sunnydale street, one arm holding the grocery bag that contained his smokes, bl and and a variety of junk food he enjoyed along side -- or mixed into -- his blood. Wheatabix he liked especially. He had taken a liking to that cereal crumbled into his mug of blood during his enforced stay with the watcher when he'd first been chipped. He started doing it simply to annoy the watcher, but had been very surprised to discover that human food helped improve the taste of pig pig's blood -- not that it was a difficult thing to do. It still wasn't as good as human -- or vampire -- but it was a far sight better than drinking the swill straight.

He paused suddenly, the shortcut he used to take quite regularly off to his right. He'd avoided it, almost religiously some might say, since the night he'd been tazered in the park, since the night that had irrevocably changed his unlife. When he'd only had a chip in his head, it had been easy to tell himself that it wouldn't work forever, or that one day it was coming out. It had been easy to ignore the changes he saw in himself but denied.

But he couldn't deny that had it not been for the chip, he wouldn't, now, have a soul. While he shuddered to truly consider a return to what he'd been before the chip, some small part of him longed for the ability to live a single day without inhibitions again, without remorse -- and, oh please, without fear.

Fear was now something he lived with on a daily -- or nightly rather -- basis. It wasn't something he was used to. It curled in his belly, making it difficult to eat, or sometimes do much of anything. Sometimes it was over-powering, curling in and around the guilt that still plagued him at times.

He didn't fear the things most people did. He didn't fear vampires, demons, or anything of the other things that were supposed to be nothing more than myth and fairy tale. He feared humans -- which wasn't right.

He couldn't hold his own against eve even as well as the niblet -- and she fought like a girl . . . a little girl. Of course, she'd gotten better in the last couple of months. She'd had to, what with--

Suddenly wanting to yank back *some* control into his life, Spike ignored the growing unease he felt -- that he'd allowed to deter him up until now -- and stepped confidently onto the path that led through the forested edge of the park. Grinning, his step grew lighter. He'd been an idiot, he told himself, to avoid taking this route, for allowing one bad experience to control him like that.

Half-way through the park, he ruthlessly shoved down the growing unease that surged inside him -- he refused to call it fear again -- just as he reached the clearing where he'd been tazered by the commandos such a short time ago. **Nothing's going to happen to you, Git! Just because it happened once, doesn't mean twaddle!** He frowned, pausing in mid-step as the realization struck him that he was carrying almost the exact same bag of supplies he had been that night. A shiver wavered it's way down his spine.

Rolling his eyes as he forced himself to cross 'the spot', and cursing himself for being such a superstitious fool, he still couldn't quite prevent himself from quickening his step -- just to get through the so-called danger zone that much sooner. Breathing a sigh of relief as he passed out of the park and into the cemetery, he again berated himself. It hadn't fully registered -- until just now -- exactly why he'd been avoiding using the path. He should have known better. He was over a hundred years old. It could have been a crippling, life-threatening abhoration if he'd had to run from a demon he couldn't defeat.

//Or from humans,// a snide voice sounded in his head. He ignored it.

Now glad, however, that he'd at least managed toget hold of at least one rampant emotion, he continued on through the cemetery wishing it could be as easy to banish the hollow feeling left by Buffy's death. Looking around the very familiar sight, Spike sighed. Nothing had been the same since Glory's defeat. Oh, he was glad she'd been defeated. There was no question about that -- from either his soul *or* his demon. If she'd survived, the world would literally have become a living hell. Even had he not had his soul, he'd have had no desire to see hell any time soon. He had always liked this world -- well usually -- with its wide variety of entertainments.

What he did regret, with every fiber of his being, was the cost of Glory's defeat. The cost had simply been too high, had devastated too many lives. Tears he still wasn't used to shedding streamed down his face, and he shook his head, trying to clear it of the now familiar grief. In 120 years as a vampire he'd only felt this kind of all consuming despair twice. It didn't sit easily or naturally in a vampire -- but then he'd always known he'd had a bit more humanity than most -- not that he'd have admitted it to anyone, even under threat of extreme torture.

The first time had been when his consort of over 100 years, Drusilla -- his dark princess, had left him. That time, he'd tried to drink himself into temporary oblivion. It hadn't worked. All that had done was turn him into a sobbing nancy boy who cried at the drop of a hat, and whined to whoever would listen. He would have done -- and pretty much did -- anything she'd asked to get her back, but nothing he'd done had been enough. Nothing would change her mind. He simply hadn't been 'demon enough' for her.

At the time it had ripped him in half, leaving him feeling bereft and completely at a loss as to how to continue. He'd gone so far as to kidnap young Willow -- and Xander – to convince her to do a love spell. It would have worked too, he knew, had he actually followed through with that plan, having had a taste of the strength of her power several years later when she'd accidently made him and the slayer fall in love.

Now *that* had been a shock, coming out from beneath the power of the cancelled spell with Buffy spread across on top of him, the two of them tasting each other's tonsils. A small smirk appeared at the memory. They'd both been utterly appalled. Springing apart and off the floor of the crypt, they had both tried to rid themselves of the other's taste. As he recalled, at least in his case, it hadn't worked very well.

He hadn't been teasing Willow about 'still having the taste of slayer spit in his mouth'. Even eating one of her chocolate chip cookies hadn't rid him of it. Buffy's scent and taste had lingered for days. He'd been glad when it had finally faded.

Now, however, he would trade just about anything to have it back -- even if it was just for a little while. Buffy's death had hit him hard. She'd sacrificed her life to save them all, purposely diving off the tower into the newly opening portal that led to Glory's home dimension. The portal had closed the moment her body struck the ground and her heart stopped beating -- some ten stories down from where she'd leapt.

He'd leave this place if he could, and never set foot in Sunnydale again. He couldn't though. Dawn wouldn't leave, and he'd made a promise to Buffy the night she'd died. She'd asked him to protect Dawn -- to not let anything hurt her. According to prophecy, only the letting of Dawn's blood at the right time and place was what would open the portal that Glory had needed. Prophecy had been right. Prophecy also said that once opened, it was only when Dawn's blood ceased flowing that the portal would close.

He'd promised Buffy he would protect the child. He'd promised to do so until the end of the world -- even if it had ended that night. He'd known exactly what he was promising her, even as he'd done it. He'd promised to keep Glory's minions from cutting Dawn. Well, he'd failed in that. Dawn *had* been hurt that night. But that wasn't all he'd promised. With those simple words, he'd promised to let the world merge with Glory's hellish dimension -- destroying everything as they knew it -- rather than let anyone kill Dawn to prevent it. He'd promised to kill her friends -- humans -- to keep Dawn alive.

Vampires weren't well known for keeping their promises, but this was one promise Spike intended to keep for as long as he was able. As long as he was alive -- well not dead anyway -- Dawn would live, no matter the cost. Which meant, in the short term, as long a Lil' Bit refused to leave Sunnydale, Sunnydale was where he would be.

The girl, he was somewhat abashed to admit, meant almost as much to him as Buffy had. It wasn't the least bit sexual, which astonished him no end. Put a few more years on the girl and she be quite the looker, no doubt about it. Instead, this mere slip of a , ba, barely into her teens had captured him heart and demon, by simply accepting him -- everything about him.

She didn't fear him in the slightest, which he supposed -- on reflection -- should really piss him off. He was the 'Big Bad' created to be feared -- or at least he had been. But it didn't. Of course, he *did* have competition in the fear department. He had to admit, it was probably difficult for her to fear a 'mere' vampire, even a master one -- especially one that had rescued and protected her several times -- when she'd been the main focus of an Earth-bound Hell God's obsession for most of her short life.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Spike's head jerked up, the sound of the jeering voice snapping him out of his reverie. "Bloody hell!" he muttered. **Knew I shouldn't have taken that short cut. It's jinxed!** Three humans stood in a rough arc in front of him, all of them wearing nearly identical smirks. Before the chip had been implanted he wouldn't have given any of them the time of day -- well, except maybe to take a quick drink, leaving them very dry and very dead.

That thought sent a rumble of revulsion through him, even as he couldn't deny its truth. Big, rough, and thinking they were something hot, Spike assessed; they were typical street thugs. Now, however, he couldn't even fight back. The soul would let him do that much -- the chip wouldn't. And no, back when he'd had only the chip he'd never once thought he might prefer a soul as leash rather than the chip.

"Don't you know it isn't safe to be out alone this late at night," a second tough sneered. "Especially for a pretty boy, like yourself."

**Pretty boy?** That didn't sound good. He swallowed, a convulsive reaction he couldn't have controlled if he'd wanted to. If he wasn't in such an untenable position though, he might have smirked. He'd be willing to bet none of them had even seen a vampire, and if they did, they'd be begging like babies to be allowed to live. If he was able to back up the threat, he'd be tempted to let his demon out -- show his true face. Unfortunately, it was an idle threat at best, something to make them even angrier at worst. As it was, he hated the fear and revulsion equally mixed he now felt in place of the gleeful anticipation of violence he used to feel.

It didn't take Spike long to decided that, once again, the path of least resistance was best. He was outnumbered and unable to protect himself. Throwing the full paper bag at the apparent leader, he took off in the opposite direction, leaping over a headstone directly in his path.

"Fuck!" he muttered, there were two more wanna be assholes directly in front of him. Skidding to a near stop and taking off in a new direction, Spike tried to evade them. He was certain he wouldn't enjoy whatever this group had planned -- especially with the additional evidence of the two who'd been sneaking up behind him. If they were after money, he didn't have any, and that was sure to piss them off. So like anyone out of options, he ran. It grated along the last nerve he had, running from humans like a . . . well, he didn't have an appropriate comparison at the moment, but he was sure he'd think of one -- when he no longer needed it.

Unfortunately, he was pretty sure it wasn't money they were after -- at least, he was sure it wasn't *only* money -- not if the lurid, rude calls following him were anything to judge by, and he sure as hell, wasn't going to stand still for that. *Him* on the receiving end of *that* by *humans*? He so did not think so.

Hearing the men still behind him, as well as to his right, now, Spike veered again, heading directly for the stone wall he knew was behind the grove of trees to his left. They were slower than he was -- for which he was eternally grateful -- but they out-numbered him, and could conceivably out maneuver him, *if* he wasn't careful. Well, the wall was no great impediment to him. He could jump and lever himself up and over it with relative ease. It would, however, slow them down considerably. Dodging around trees and bushes lining the east side of the cemetery, Spike grinned as the wall came into view, taking the last three strides at a dead run.

Launching himself upward, he grabbed the edge of the stone barrier and swung himself up and over -- just like he'd planned -- clearing the top without anything more than his hands touching it. Spike hit the ground on the other side safely, straightening from his crouched landing wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

"Oh, buggering, bloody hell!" he swore, anger and frustration bringing out his true face. The three new men facing him stepped back automatically, and Spike felt the wonderful -- and slightly nauseating -- wave of sudden fear rolling off of them. It felt good.

//Too good,// a voice taunted.

Well, well, looky here boys; we've found ourselves a vampire . . . and he's out all by himself."

**I am *so* fucked!** It was just his luck, he'd found a gang that not only knew about vampires, but wasn't afraid of them, either. Edging sideways, he backed up against the wall, rolling his eyes in additional frustration when two of the men he'd been fleeing, landed on either side of him. The wall, apparently, hadn't slowed them down as much as he'd hoped it would.

Spike snorted, sneering at the men around him. "Like I need protection," he said, masking his growing concern with disdain, "unlike you fellows. Like to hunt in packs, do you? What's the matter? Can't handle being out in the dark on your own?"

Spike knew he was pissing them off, but all he needed was one -- just one -- of them to really feel the fear, then it would ripple through the others.

"He's right, guys," said a timid voice from behind the others. "I've seen what vampires can do."

**Yes!** Spike crowed inwardly, careful to keep his disdainful expression firmly in place. Bluff was all he had, and by hell he was gonna bluff with everything he was.

"Stow it, Peterson. The vamp's out-numbered and cornered. He doesn't stand a chance and he knows it. Why do you think he hasn't attacked yet? He's just trying to scare you off."

**That's the leader,** spike realized, his eyes narrowing. He was going to really have to think his way out of this now. "You think so, do?" ?" Spike sneered, taking a threatening step forward. By all that was evil he wanted to crush the man's throat beneath his bare fingers. As his hand clenched in a subconscious gesture emulating what he really wanted to do Spike winced against a sudden, short spike of pain that flashed through his head. **Bugger it! I didn't *do* anything! Even my bleedin' soul didn't object.**

Raising a hand and casually inspecting his fingernails, Spike continued, wishing he actually *felt* the way he was acting. " *I* think I just like the anticipation. You know what I'm talking about," he suggested, glancing back up to meet the leader's eyes squarely, "don't you?"

The leader grinned at him, nodding.

"Dragging things out, making my victim wait, it makes the final victory all the much sweeter," Spike drawled, wanting to let his gaze take in all who surrounded him. Unfortunately, he didn't dare take his eyes off the leader. "Yes, my little happy meals on legs, I'm looking forward to this."

Spike heard a gasp from somewhere to his right, but kept his eyes trained on Mr. Leader. He almost frowned when the leader's smile grew.

"You're good," Leader said. "I'll give you that. I might even be tempted to believe you," he continued, "except for one small detail."

"Oh, *this* ought to be good," Spike snorted. **Uh, oh!** "And just what small detail is that?"

"The word's out, see. We," Leader indicated the rest of his group with a casual wave, "ran across a little demon fellow, oh, about a week ago. He gave up some very interesting information 'cuz he thought it'd keep him from getting roughed up. It didn't, of course," Leader laughed.

Spike nodded knowingly, all the while he was near to actually praying inside. **Please don't let it be information about the chip. I can work around the soul angle.** He leaned forward, as if to impart some great secret, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. "They've even been known to lie."

Leader laughed loudly, the sound trailing off to a snicker. "You should know," he said, "but aren't you curious to know what he said?"

**YES!**

Spike shrugged, making a noncommittal sound -- as if he didn't care one way or the other.

"Oh, you'll want to know this," Leader continued with a leer. "He said there was a vamp around here who'd gotten caught by some government types."

**Bugger it!**

"He said this bleached blond couldn't fight back -- couldn't bite. Said he was . . . helpless."

Spike's insides froze at those condemning words -- anger rising at the last one. He wasn't bloody *helpless*, just a little . . . hindered. Again he shrugged, forcing one side of his mouth up into an unafraid smirk. "And if this . . . *informative* demon was lying? What then?"

If anything, Leader's smile grew even bigger. "We're prepared for *that*, too," he said smoothly, then turned his head just a touch, calling out over his shoulder, "boys!"

All of them, nearly as one, pulled out stakes with one hand and withdrew heavy crosses from beneath their shirts with the other.

**Okay!** Spike thought, involuntarily flinching backward at the appearance of so many crosses, an incredible sinking feeling in the pit of his belly, **I was wrong before. *Now* I'm really fucked.** They were going to kill him. He wasn't so sure, now, that he wouldn't have preferred the *other* fate, after all. At least he'd have survived that. He had before -- well without the human angle.

Nodding, in seeming approval, Spike didn't allow his smile to falter. If he could get only Leader to attack, he might be able to escape through the hole he created. "Alright then," he said, waving the man forward, "come and find out whether or not your little 'friend' was telling the truth . . . or not." If he died tonight, he wasn't going down without a fight -- chip or no chip.

He didn't have long to wait. Leader threw a solid punch. Spike danced to the side, neatly avoiding the blow, careful to keep half his attention on his potential escape route. He just had to get Leader to step forward a couple feet more. "Is that all you've got," he taunted, circling to the side just a bit. Leader threw a second punch, and Spike dodged that one as well. He was all set to leap for the open spot in the line of men when Leader caught him with a blow from his off-hand, snapping Spike's head to the side.


**Fuck! That hurt!** Pushing it aside -- he'd been hurt by the best and this human couldn't hold a candle -- he lunged for the opening, only to go down following a double kick to his gut, one from each side. Two others closed the opening just as he tried for it, he realized to his dismay. **Where are the bloody slayerettes when a bloke really needs 'em?** he thought.

Holding his gut with one hand he jumped to his feet and made a second break for freedom. Yet another man stepped directly in front of him, and instinct driving him, steeling himself for the pain, Spike grabbed the man's arm, swinging him around and into the two men who'd kicked him.

Three human shouts of pain were echoed by a fourth as Spike clutched his head, nearly collapsed -- his legs trying to fold under him -- and kept trying to stumble forward. Sharp, sereing pain ripped through his ribs, forcing him to his knees. One hand supporting him on the ground as he looked down, he was shocked to see a wooden stake piercing, horrifyingly, through the left side of his chest. As darkness descended, pain finally getting the best of him, he realized he was still among the land of living due only to a miss of less than an inch. The bastard had almost staked his heart.