Versailles Undone :: Chapter One.

[fenderlove]

Title: Versailles Undone
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/OCs
Rating: R for non-con, language, abuse, not worksafe.
Summary: What would have become of Spike if he had never escaped from the Initiative? In the wake of fierce overcrowding of its demonic captives, the Initiative finds a solution that both provides ample funding for their research and makes room for new subjects for their experiments.
Note: Thanks to hello_spikey's plot bunny list for inspiring this fic. Let's see where it goes.



Versailles Undone
Chapter One: the Initiative.

Sleep didn't come easy in a place like this, not for the inmates at any rate. Spike had taken to resting in the left corner of his cell furthest from the entrance, his knees pulled up to his chest, his jacket tightly wrapped around himself. He watched exhaustedly as a squidly-looking demon in a cell across the corridor smashed itself between the stark white walls. Spike had given up on that type of behavior long ago or, perhaps, not that long ago. There was no way to judge the passing of time correctly while locked up. The vampire had tried to study the guards' faces to see if he could gage some schedule, but they apparently did not stick to any discernible routine, which he found odd for, what seemed to be, a paramilitary organization.

The only times Spike could learn of the date was when he was taken from his cell for whatever tests the labcoat-types wanted to run on him, and they would note the day and time as part of their dictation. Some of the experiments weren't terribly bad, all things considered. Given the mind-numbing boredom of his days locked in an empty, sterile cell, Spike actually looked forward to some of the physical tests. They measured his endurance by having him run on treadmills for hours, and he punched and kicked at padded sensors to calculate his strength. It was a good way to work off his pent-up aggression. However, Spike found the mental tests, like putting together puzzles and picking out the correct order of a sequence of pictographs, to be insulting.

No matter how he felt about those, Spike would have preferred to spend the rest of his days matching little square blocks into little square holes before having to undergo some of the other, less pleasant experiments. Spike's arm had been popped out of its socket during a strength test early in his captivity. Forced onto his knees with his hands above his head, the doctors ordered the soldiers to stack large circular weights flat into each of Spike's palms. When his arms began to buckle and he had to spread his legs wider for balance, Spike knew that he should have just dropped the weights, but his stubbornness caused him to hang on much longer than he should have. He had mentally noted, as he forced himself hard against the wall of his cell to force his arm back into place, that he had nothing to prove to anyone, but he'd be damned all over if he showed them any weakness.

Around the sixth week of confinement, the medical experiments began. The doctors forced him to drink caustic-tasting liquids and ran his body through machines and scanners, poking and prodding every inch of him. They attached wires all over his body and rolled him into a large MRI machine. While inside, Spike was bombarded with violent imagery interspersed with supposedly calming photos of meadows and beaches. A repeat of this test was done sometime later only with pornography mixed together with photos of fully-clothed adults and children doing normal, everyday activities. Spike had curiously wondered what his results said about him. He was fairly certain he became aroused after viewing a picture of a well-endowed soccer mom holding up an ice cream cone. He missed ice cream and football... and tits. He was so starved for intimate contact that even Squid Guy Across the Hall would have sparked an interest.

There were also experiments Spike could not remember. He would wake up and feel hazy, find parts of his body sore with no recollection of how they got that way. On one such occurrence, he found that the center of his throat had a long vertical cut that had been stitched closed. A doctor noting how well the wound had healed to a technician off-handedly revealed that a surgery had been performed to examine his vocal cords since vampires could make growls and animalistic noises a regular human could not perform. Spike had panicked upon hearing that, fearing that they had severed his voice-box, and tried to speak, to reassure himself that he could still talk. He could, but was tasered for his trouble.

Anticipation gnawed at Spike's gut as he watched Mr. Squid bounce off the walls of his cell like a tentacled metronome. Nothing had happened to him in days. He slept, drank the tiny blood packets that dropped from the ceiling, and waited. It was making Spike quite nervous. He'd seen demons leave their cells and not come back, and he didn't want to go out like this, trapped and frightened. If they tried to kill him, Spike promised himself he would fight, even if it made his head explode in pain.

A guard passing by Spike's cell stopped and punched a code into the keypad to open the electrified plexiglass partition. There were several more camo-wearing steroid-abusers standing behind him, some smirking. Spike instantly began to sit up on his haunches, pushing his back into the corner as if ready to launch himself at them if attacked.

The guard ordered, "Hostile Seventeen, stand up and strip."

Spike was used to taking off his clothing on command for some of the experiments, but it was always the doctors and technicians who had done it, never the soldiers and never in his cell.

When the vampire made no move to comply, the guard repeated, "Strip."

"What the hell are you waiting for, Jackson? It needs an incentive," one of the soldiers reached over and typed in another code into the keypad.

The floor beneath Spike's feet instantly became electrified, and he jumped from one foot to the other in quick succession, which gave all the commandoes a good chuckle. They didn't turn off the juice until Spike began removing his coat and shirt. When he was completely undressed, they ushered him out of his cell and cuffed his hands behind his back. Spike didn't mind being naked. He didn't have anything to be ashamed of, and the action of trying to hide his nudity would only provoke them further if he had his hands free.

The soldier that had set off the shocks in the floor of Spike's cell gave the vampire a hard slap on the ass as they marched him down the hall.

"Daniels, stop trying to provoke it," the guard admonished as he reached over to give Spike a playful smack to the left side of his face. "It's behaving just fine now."

When they left the holding area, the soldiers escorted Spike to a part of the complex he'd never been to before. It was all concrete and reeked of ammonia. Two persons wearing plastic protective suits and biohazard face-masks and goggles were standing at the entrance of a cinderblock archway, beckoning them inside. Spike's body stiffened up when he saw them.

This is it, he thought as his feet began to drag, They're going to do me in, and the clean-up team's already here to flush my ashes.

One of the commandoes gave him a punch in the side to keep him moving as he was led into a large tiled room. Spike looked around quickly as he was half-carried to a large metal bench in the center of the room. As he struggled to get his arms loose from the thick metal cuffs around his wrists, Spike was bent over the bench, his legs spread open and manacled to restraints bolted into the floor, and heavy leather straps were fastened over his waist and shoulder-blades.

"I think you're going to need to tranq it," the plastic-suited female said nervously.

"Just hurry up and do your job," Daniels replied as he cinched the strap across Spike's back a final time for emphasis.

Spike thought that most of the soldier-boys would leave as they normally did during any experiments, but he could still sense them hovering nearby. It made Spike's stomach drop thinking about what they were hoping to see. Suddenly, something slick was being rubbed on his back, and whatever it was was running down his neck and pooling on the metallic bench beneath him. By the smell, it was soap.

"Bring the hose over here. Let's just get this done fast," the female said.

Hearing a strange sputtering followed by a hissing sound, Spike tried to look over his shoulder, but the female's gloved hand pushed his head back down. Before he could stop himself, Spike yelped as ice cold water sprayed on his back. His whole body tried to buck off the bench. He could hear the commandoes laughing out in the corridor.

The water pressure was intense, like tiny icy needles incessantly stinging his skin. Spike bit his lip to keep from making any more noise; he wasn't going give the bastards the satisfaction. The only relief he got was when the overhead retractable shower hose was moved temporary by the male tech while the female applied another layer of soap. Spike felt as though he was being coated in the stuff. She rubbed the thick bar in his hair, up his legs, between his ass, leaving no crevice unturned. Spike shut his eyes as the astringent-scented lather ran down his face.

The second round of the water was even worse as a new element was added. While the male continued to hose him down, the female was scrubbing down Spike's body with a hard-bristled brush. Spike felt certain they were trying to take his skin off in the most painful way possible. He willed himself to keep quiet and still, even as his ass was spread open and scrubbed.

"Kristin, give us a show!" one of the commandoes hooted.

She responded, "You guys are really gross."

"They're not going to shut up until you do," the male tech replied as he brought the shower nozzle over Spike's head, using his free hand to make sure his hair was free of lather.

Though Spike couldn't see it, Kristin turned the scrub brush around to its flat side and smacked it lightly against his backside. The tap didn't hurt, but Spike felt his ego bruise. He was on display for the whole world to see, being spanked by a girl he could have killed in an instant two months prior... Or was it three months?

Spike recognized Daniels's voice bark out, "That wasn't hard enough!"

"Well, I'm not doing it again," Kristin snapped, returning to running the brush over Spike's legs a bit more firmly than she had before.

Daniels approached and held out his hand, "Then I'll do it."

"You're such a creeper," Kristin frowned, giving him the brush. "I should report you for this."

"I'm just showing these animals who's boss. It's the only way to make sure they learn," Daniels took a few steps back, warmed up his arm by swinging the brush a few times, and then took a running start as he landed a hefty whollop to Spike's vulnerable posterior.

Spike struggled to keep his body relaxed. He reminded himself that Angelus had always hit much, much harder.

Daniels ran his thumb over the red rectangular mark blooming across the vampire's ass, apparently admiring his handiwork. Kristin pulled his hand away.

"Stop touching it," her voice was a little unsteady, "You've had your fun, so now let me finish here."

"Don't be such a bleeding heart. It's not like it or any of them wouldn't kill you given the chance," Daniels gave Spike another taste of the brush, not as hard as the first.

"That doesn't mean that you should go around molesting the Hostiles," she said.

"Women," Daniels snorted, lazily tapping the brush against Spike's flank. "It's not a cat or a dog, Kristin. When are you going to get it?"

Kristin didn't reply that time, but she reached out to take the brush from her colleague. He held it away from her, tauntingly.

"Maybe I should show you?" he asked, and Spike could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"Don't-"

Daniels raised the brush as high as he could and brought it bristle-side-down between Spike's open legs, catching the vampire right in the balls. Spike's game-face descended in a crunch of bone and fang as he let out a strangled noise that sounded like a combined scream and growl. He wanted to twist his body, instinctively trying to bring his legs together in self-protection, but the restraints clanked in protest.

"Somebody get me some tranqs!" Kristin ordered as the male tech backed away.

One of the other soldiers was opening the kit on his belt to hand her the drugs, but Daniels stopped him.

"No need," Daniels laughed, "I can get him to shut up."

Picking up the bar of soap from the bench and tossing it in his hand, Daniels gripped Spike's hair and lifted up his head. The smarmy soldier then proceeded to shove the bar into Spike's mouth, holding it in place so that he couldn't spit it out. The vampire tossed his head, trying to get the acidic-tasting thing out of his mouth. He started trying to scream every curse word that he knew, which were all muffled and unintelligible.

Another soldier laughing approached, "You know, when my girlfriend sounds like that, there's only one thing that can make her pipe down."

Spike panicked and shook his head futilely as he felt the soldier's leather-gloved hands on his ass. Something cold and metal was pressed up against his asshole, and the vampire had just enough time to realize what it was before a million pressurized ice daggers shot up inside his bowels. The pain actually shocked Spike near numb from the waist down. His jaw clamped tight on the bar of soap, breaking it in two. When Daniels pulled his hand away from the crumbling pieces, Spike spat a huge gob of spit and suds into his face. The vampire was surprised that he felt no pain from the implant in his head. All those years of gobbing at punk shows finally paid off.

"Son of a bitch!" Daniels yanked Spike's head up and was about to punch him when he was interrupted.

"Is there a problem in here?" came a shout from the doorway.

Daniels looked up, wiping some of the soap off his face, and then back down at Spike, "No, sir."

"I shouldn't have to remind any of you that only two agents are needed to guard HSTs for transport to the Temporary Containment Unit. By my count, four of you need to get gone," the commanding voice said.

Daniels let go of Spike's hair, and the other soldier none-too-gently yanked the nozzle from Spike's battered hole. Through the adrenaline and the stink of the soap, Spike could smell his own blood.

Anally violated by bathroom fixtures, a new low, the vampire thought to himself.

"Rutherford, Napier, tranq the Hostile," the voice said as the rest of the men dispersed.

"Agent Finn, I'm sorry about this," Kristen began.

"It's all right," Finn replied quietly as he took her aside. "You shouldn't let them push you around, especially Daniels. He's on his way to a direct reprimand."

Spike felt his game-face slip away as the two soldiers approached him. One turned his head while the other inserted a hypodermic filled with tranquilizers into his neck. It was a welcome reprieve from the pain this time. He was always curious as to how the drugs could circulate his system without a beating heart to pump the blood around, but all coherency vanished as his skin began to tingle warmly when the tranquilizers took effect.

"I hope this is one of those things I wake up not remembering," Spike muttered quietly before losing consciousness.

Kristen and the male tech returned to cleaning the vampire. She made a sound like someone would make watching a puppy trip over its own ears as she noticed the blood running down Spike's legs.

"Thompson really hurt him- it," Kristen corrected herself. "Do you think that being injured will prevent it from being picked?"

"We'll give Hostile Seventeen a little extra plasma and the injuries should heal well enough," Finn reassured her.

Rutherford and Napier removed Spike's restraints and held him up, one at each arm so that his front side could be rinsed of any soap. The techs rubbed the unconscious vampire down with a few towels before he was taken away to the TCU.

Finn put his hand on Kristen's shoulder, "Daniels was right about one thing- Hostile Seventeen would kill you if it was out running free."

"I know that," she frowned, "I just don't think it's right to provoke them like Daniels does. Do you think that makes me bad at my job?"

"No," Finn smiled softly, "that just makes you a decent human being and not a Neanderthal like Daniels and Thompson."

"Thanks, Riley."

*****

During fitful unconsciousness, Spike recalled an earlier rough encounter. He had been taken to a little room and sat in a folding chair while a group of doctors with their clipboards asked him questions. They wanted to know the name of the human the body he was in once belonged to, what did he remember of that life, what skills did he have, and other personal matters. Spike refused to answer out of principle. They gave him a shot of sodium pentathol to try to force the truth out of him, but it failed to get the vampire to open his mouth. Finally, one of the doctors had an idea to compel Spike to talk. After opening up the flies on his jeans, the doctor had held a scalpel at the root of Spike's penis and threatened to castrate him.

"Your bedside manner is terrible," Spike had laughed to mask his own fear, but once the blade cut into his flesh, all of his bravado disappeared, and he rapidly told them everything they wanted to know, too exhausted to lie.

Waking up from his stupor, Spike woozily pushed himself up from the floor to a sitting position though his backside was still tender from his treatment in the shower room. Though his vision was blurry, he could tell that he was in a different cell. It was quieter, and there was no Squid going spastic across the hall. Instead of sterile white, everything was a soft peach colour.

Still naked, Spike crawled to the farthest left corner and sat, bringing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. What was going to become of him? He felt ashamed and pathetic. He thought that he had been so badass, showing no weakness to his captors without realizing that he already had. Opening his legs a little, Spike stared down at his lower abdomen to see if he could discern a scar or cut from the interrogation incident, but saw none, though his balls were somewhat swollen from meeting the rough end of the scrub brush. Maybe the castrating doctor was just a tranq-fueled nightmare, or maybe he could at least pretend it was one, which was the least humiliating option.

Resting his forehead on his knees, Spike felt his eyes begin to sting. He hadn't allowed himself to cry in this place, but a wave of hopeless swept over him that he hadn't experienced before. All his defenses had been slowly chiseled away, leaving a one hundred and forty pounds of overly-emotional William. Turning his head towards the wall so no one could witness his tears, Spike began to sob soundlessly.

However, a little voice in the back of his head was having none of it, You can't be broken. For twenty years, Angelus and Darla beat you, tied you up, burned you, nearly flayed the skin off your ass, and fucked you six ways to Sunday, and, yeah, there were days they made you break and beg for mercy. The important thing is that they never broke you. Never entirely. You break, you regroup, you rebound, you have a cup of tea and carry on.

Spike found himself nodding to the little voice's words, which was somewhat ridiculous since he was basically agreeing with himself. He took a deep breath, wiping his face with his hands, and leaned his head back with renewed stoicism. He silently promised himself that he would find a way to escape and added that he would find Daniels and Thompson afterwards and make them fuck one another with the hardest scrub-brushes in all Creation.

*****

There were no one experiments, none yet at any rate, in this area of the facility. The hallway of the Temporary Containment Unit was shorter with less cells. All the inmates were vampires, and they were all kept naked. The guards still made their rounds, but every once and a while, a person or couple in civilian clothing would pass by with a commando. He had seen a couple in business attire, a preppy young man in khaki shorts with a sweater tied over the shoulders of his polo, and a velour-tracksuited lady with skin the colour of an Oompa Loompa and hair more bleached than his own walk around the unit. The plain-clothes'ers would stop at each cell and look in for a moment or two before moving on. Spike was beginning to feel like he was in a zoo.

One day, a young couple decked from head to toe in designer labels stopped at the cell across from Spike's. They pointed to the female vampire inside and spoke quietly to the guard. Sometime after that, the female vamp was tranquilized and removed from the cell. A new vampire was moved in later. It began to dawn on Spike what was happening. He had heard stories of rich yahoos wanting to keep vampires as pets or concubines, but thought they were just the vampire equivalent of a cautionary tale.

After a time, Spike actually became a little jealous of the vampires who got chosen for "adoption," as he had come to think of it. Going back into the outside world would give any vampire a chance to escape, especially if whatever idiot wanted a captive vampire didn't have military level security. However, there was also a wheedling wonder of why no one had picked him yet. He decided to make himself as affable and obedient as possible if someone wanted to get a closer look, not leaving anything to chance.

"How much is that vampire in the window? The one with the pert, shapely arse," Spike sang softly to himself as he daydreamed about his escape once someone picked him.

Not too much longer after Spike had developed a well-thought-out plan of escape and all the things he was going to enjoy doing once he was free, someone did ask for his cell to be opened.

A woman with a heart-shaped face with equally heart-shaped lips nodded to the guard as she stopped at Spike's cell. She was short and plump, primly dressed in pink afternoon dress and matching heels. She had white silk gloves on her hands, and a fanciful cocktail hat that looked more pastry than millinery pinned to her hair. The woman truly had an appearance like she had stepped off a Butterick pattern from the 1950s. Spike had to keep his glee to himself; this was going to be too easy.

"And he has the implant like the others?" she asked the guard, her voice was soft, melodic, with the hint of a French accent.

"Yes, Hosti... Number Seventeen has the neurological implant that prevents it from hurting living things," the guard replied. "We'll also outfit it with a shock collar that will make it follow your commands."

"Oh, do you think that will be necessary?" she mused. "He looks so cute."

Definitely too easy, Spike thought to himself as he tried to appear innocent.

"It's procedure, miss," the guard responded, "We really don't recommend that you ever let the vampire go without it."

The woman huffed for a moment, "Well, then, I'll have to design the collar myself. I won't have him walking about wearing something that looks ghastly and medieval."

"Whatever you would like can be arranged," the guard nodded, "at extra expense, of course."

"Of course, of course," the woman waved her hand as if any amount of money would be a trifle. "I would like him to stand up and come closer. Can he do that?"

Spike stood up without the guard needing to bark the orders and tentatively stepped forward, his head bowed a little, wanting to seem timid and shy, even going so far as to slightly cover his genitals with his hand.

When he got to the entrance of the cell, the woman reached out and tilted his face up, though the guard tried to warn her about getting too close to his mouth.

"He is lovely. Look at those eyes, so perfectly blue," she spoke mostly to herself as she admired his features, but then directly to Spike, she asked, "Can you speak to me, Bashful?"

Spike nodded and then stammered out a little hello in a very soft voice.

"Move your hand, please," she indicated Spike's hand that was obscuring her view of his privates.

Slowly, he put his hand at his side, pretending to be embarrassed, as she grasped his member in her gloved hand and lifted it as she inspected him.

Smiling, she had one more request, "Turn around, please."

Spike obeyed.

"He's a virgin, you said," the woman inquired of the guard as she ran a silken finger down Spike's back, stopping at the delta of his ass.

Actual embarrassment knotted in Spike's gut at that.

"That's what his scent indicates to other Subterrestrials ," the guard answered.

The problem with being a vampire is that if you die a virgin, the later deflowering never quite sticks. Will never forgive Drusilla for that... and I'll never forgive her for leaving me and making me come back here to wind up in this pit, gettin' felt up by the locals, ran the thoughts in Spike's head, though he kept his outward appearance collected.

The woman pressed on Spike's shoulder to make him turn around again. She seemed to be studying his face. Finally, she asked the guard for the sticker price of the model.

"Five hundred for Seventeen, fifty for transport, and one hundred for the collar restraint system, plus whatever extras you want," the guard replied.

Spike almost protested that he was worth more than six hundred and fifty dollars until he realized that the guard meant 650,000.

Spike mentally remarked, She's still gettin' a bloody bargain.

The woman readily agreed to the price and then turned to Spike, "You're coming home with me soon, Bashful, but I have leave you here for now. Can you say bye-bye?"

Though her baby-talk sickened him slightly, Spike managed a good-bye with a small smile, hoping that it would be the equivalent of a puppy wagging its tail for a new owner. Whether it was or wasn't, the woman seemed to be quite pleased as the guard secured the plexiglass to Spike's cell then showed her down the hall to sign paperwork.

Once she was out of sight, Spike settled back into his corner with a smirk, sighing contentedly as he put his hands behind his head and relaxed. This was going to be a cakewalk. As long as he played the "Bashful" role, he would have her eating out of his hand, and then he would eat her.



Find all chapters for this story thus far here.

x-posted on nekid_spike and darker_spike.