by Elektra
The Way We Were 1

Sometimes you can push a man, even an undead one, only so far.

First, he comes to my town and attacks me like some bumbling idiot because he doesn't have the patience or the foresight to stick with his "carefully constructed" plan. Predictable. Then he taunts me with Buffy's obvious indiscretions. Typical. Chains me up, so some moronic child molester can try his best to torture me. Fine. Here's a hint though, I've been to hell, and it's going to take a little more than one idiot who can't get it up for anyone over the age of 10 to get to me. He comes to my town, gets outsmarted and leaves?

Not fine.

I've spent the last two hundred years or so perfecting that move. If there's leaving to be done, I'm the one who does it. I make the move; I call the shots. I am his God. I made him. Without me, he'd be a pile of dust in a pine box. Hell, considering where I found him, he would have been lucky if he'd done that well. What thanks do I get?


So, on a bright, sunny fall day in Sunnydale, I find myself sitting in the darkness, staring down at my wayward childe. He always was foolish enough to trust his minions to protect him while he slept. That's one lesson of mine that he never seemed capable of learning. Never trust anyone. Trust is for suckers, for simpletons. Sure, use people; take them for everything that they have. Suck them dry, but never offer something of yourself in return. Never let down your guard. Take control.


I may live with this soul for the rest of my unnatural life, but that is one lesson I'll take with me. Control is the key. I nearly lost it with Buffy, nearly. I let her lodge herself in my heart and I felt it slipping. The trauma over Faith was a godsend. While Buffy was off chasing her tail, trying to figure out what to do, I regained my control. I looked into the mouth of hell and said no. Then, I left. That is what I do. I control. I dominate. I destroy. I leave. And now, after all that I have been through, he comes along and thinks he can take my control away from me again?

His mistake.

If you start a job, you always see it through to completion. Never leave something dangling because it will always come back to bite you in the ass. The weight of the chains in my hands feels good. The smooth metal links sliding against my skin reminds me of the good old days. The days before Drusilla when Spike and I would play our little games. The days before the distractions and the jealousy. Yes, it's time to teach Spike a new lesson.

Never leave daddy hanging because he'll always bite you in the ass.

Thankfully, Spike still sleeps like the dead. Foolish boy, naively unaware as he drifts in dreamland. The bed groans softly under my weight as I sink into the mattress. Shoddy craftsmanship. He never did have the patience to find the very best. Instead, he takes the first thing that comes along. Sort of like the bitch I dusted on the way in. Vapid. A weak excuse of a replacement for Dru, who of course was a weak excuse of a replacement for me.

As always, it comes back to that, this childe of mine and his obsession for me. It, of course, was the thing that initially drew me to him. A scared little pup, lost and alone in a den of wolves. He'd been by himself for some time before I caught up with him. Lonely. The wretched thing had been abandoned by his family. Just one too many mouths to feed, so he had to go. He never had anything he could call his own until he met me.

I was his deliverance, or so he thought.

I gave him my complete and undivided attention. Unlike Darla, or perhaps because of dear old mom, I knew the importance of that bond. So, I coddled him. I fed him. I bathed him. I made him mine so that he would stay that way until the day I died. With Spike in hand, I'd left the fold and begun to build my own empire. He had gone along willingly, doing everything in his power to please me. Those were the days.

We had been quite happy together, then I met Drusilla, and everything changed. The darkness in me was drawn to the goodness in her. My lust for that goodness was beyond my control, so I decided that it had to go. It was all too easy to pervert that goodness, but it had changed everything.

The manacles clank ever so slightly as they close over his wrists. I find that I cannot prevent the smile that threatens my habitually deadpan expression. Just one more transgression that he will have to pay for.

Since I made Drusilla, my childe has been a constant irritation. He's plotted and planned, joked and cajoled, threatened and punished. He's tried to destroy everything I hold dear. In short, he's done everything in his power to attract my attention. He's done everything he can think of to try to make our relationship as it once was. Now, when all of that has failed, he's turned to the single remaining element of my being that I've managed to hold onto.

My control.

As I sit here in the darkness, I know that I'm playing into his hands. I'm giving him my attention. As I am inclined to do, I am making my life all about him. I'm an addict; I always have been. I obey my impulses, my passions. I have no willpower. That is why I run. If I am to be completely honest, I must admit that my control is tenuous at best.

He knows that.

The chain slides easily into the hook above the bed. It's convenient, that hook. Funny how things have been that way all day. The moronic minions. The vapid girlfriend. The hook above the bed. My naked child. Yes, I'm doing just what he's hoped for and somehow, I find that I don't care.

For once, it doesn't matter.

He's mine and when he wakes, I will show him what it means to have my complete and undivided attention.