The house was quiet in the dead of night, the only sound Giles' soft snoring from the bedroom. Spike lay on the man's sofa, watching the night pass through the front windows. He had gotten past the humiliation of being a prisoner in this particular gilded cage, once he had managed to convince himself that it was to his own advantage. Not only was he safe here, as he would be nowhere else on earth in his current condition, but he was slowly gaining the - well, not trust, certainly, but at least the tolerance of the Slayer and her cohorts. They had actually begun turning their backs on him from time to time, feeling assured of safety, thanks to his inability to attack them and his enforced need of the safe haven they provided. Why the soft-hearted, soft-headed fools hadn't killed him, he couldn't imagine. But they hadn't, and that meant they wouldn't, not now, not as long as he remained, in their eyes, helpless. Spike smiled and stretched out, basking like a strange sort of snake in the glow of the moonlight. Let them be reassured, he thought. Let them treat him as if he were no longer any threat. He would drink cold animal blood and make nice with them, for now. But eventually, he would find out how this abominable thing had been done to him, and he would find the people who did it, and he would get it fixed. He didn't know exactly how, but the particulars didn't matter yet. The Slayer's little band of merry men would even help him do it; they wanted to know all about these mad scientist types too. He would, eventually, somehow, take care of the problem, because the alternative was simply - unthinkable. And when he did... let them turn their backs one more time, and they would all be his.
Spike drifted off to a dreamless sleep, with a smile of anticipation on his lips.
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