"Crixus. You are summoned." It was always fantasy for him to imagine it would be Octavia who would be the one doing so. Often times, it was the thought of her that got him through the passionate moments he shared with Lucretia. Others, it was trying desperately to not think about her being but a few walls away. She haunted him, a ghost within the walls of the villa, ever present, only ever catching a glimpse of her, flitting between rooms, just above the ludus, just out of sight.

Naevia escorted him without a word, hands clasped in front of her, head bowed as she walked swiftly, Crixus felt his own feet drag as he followed after her; the villa was quiet, as it usually was when she called for him.

"Naevia," her voice was a bell, "I would have words with Crixus." His name was like honey on her tongue.

Naevia visibly winced, "Apologies, domina, but-"

"I do not ask, Naevia, I command," Octavia interrupted, halting Naevia's tongue. "Crixus will find his way, absent your guide. He has been there before, has he not?" Naevia almost hesitated before bowing to Octavia and slipping away quickly.

Crixus searched desperately for his tongue, to find any words to share with her, but could only stare, taking in as much of her as he could, having been deprived too quickly of her upon the sands, choosing to follow her will over his own desire. The seconds grew between them, each more blessed than the last, until she finally spoke, "You handled Spartacus well," she finally said, her gaze shifting to his and holding it.

"My sword, your will, domina," he said simply. "As it has always been."

A smile tugged at her lips, "Swift action had to be taken, to see it delivered by your hand made it all the sweeter." He could feel his chest swell slightly at her praise, her eyes sparkling as she looked him over.

"The Thracian will meet his end in the arena, domina," he assured her.

"Or upon the sands should he fail to learn his place," she sneered before sighing. "A topic I already tire of. We can but pray it comes swiftly. If the gods were just it would be your sword he met in final test, but he has not earned such a glorious death, has he?"

"No, domina," Crixus agreed. "I'd sooner cast him from the cliffs and see his head split open upon the rocks below."

Spartacus would not have been the first to meet such an end, nor would he likely be the last. The cliffs served well to erase unwanted presence permanently, as if they'd been tossed to the gates of Tartarus, never to return again to the world of the living. "You and I are of a similar mind," she murmured, the tips of her fingers grazing against the soreness of her throat. It had been several days since his assault upon her in the bath, but it still ached.

"As we've often been," agreed Crixus, his eyes following her fingers to her throat. He had wondered what had transpired between the girl and the Thracian but he could scarcely believe it had been that. Spartacus would have been castrated and hung upon a cross to bleed out had he laid a hand upon the girl … unless she hadn't told Batiatus. Crixus found that his hands wanted to follow his eyes, the tips of his fingers hovering closer and closer to her throat.

"By the gods, where is that fucking m-" Lucretia's tongue halted in her throat upon witnessing the pair in front of her, Crixus's hand still hanging in the air between them.

"Apologies, mother," said Octavia, her eyes trailing up and down the silk robe her mother was barely dressed in before meeting Lucretia's gaze. "I had not meant to delay him."

Even as she left, Crixus had eyes only for her. Lucretia caught him by the chin, turning his gaze to her. "You are mine, Crixus," she told him, her voice absent its usual seductive tone. Instead each word was met with hard edge. "You will always be mine."

"Yes, domina," he could only agree.

The drought had brought Capua to its knees. Upon a time, it had been lush trees and flowers she would look upon out her window. It was little more than dirt now, and a far cry from the view she'd had when in Rome, but view had been pale pleasure in comparison with company. It had been two years since she had heard Gaia's voice, or felt her warm and protective embrace. She could not blame the woman for finding little interest in returning to Capua in its current state, but she felt an ever increasing desire to return to her in Rome. She wrote now to tell her so, hoping that the sentiment would be well received.

As she drew out her words, the hair on the back of her neck stood tall. Something felt off in the room, something felt wrong. One glance to her open door revealed what haunted her; Spartacus outside her chambers, watching her for a long moment before being shoved forward and away. "Why," she demanded so loudly the guards outside paused as she stormed out to meet them with the rest of her question, "does this animal roam the halls of this villa?"

"Your father summons him, domina," one of the men answered. There were three guards who traveled with him, but Octavia feared it not enough. She had felt his hands around her throat, the strength they possessed. Three men would not be enough to deter him.

"I would sooner see him to the mines," she murmured, mostly to herself, before turning from them, hoping to return to the sanctuary that was her room.

"A disappointment, domina," Spartacus called after her. "To not be summoned by you again."

The mere sound of his voice was enough to cause her throat to ache. Her fingers longed to reach for it, to provide comfort with cool touch, but she forced them to remain at her sides. "The gods will not favor you with my presence again, Thracian," she assured him.

"Do not blame the gods for your fear," said Spartacus.

She turned to face him again, her eyes falling upon the guards who yet surrounded him, before finally leveling her gaze to his. "I am not afraid of you," she lied. "It is neither fear nor the gods that keep me from you. I would sooner fuck an eel than have the brutish hands of a slave upon me."

"Unless commanded otherwise by doting father," he answered without missing a beat.

The disgust slipped from her face as she stared at him, vaguely aware of the guards exchanging looks around them. Her face grew hot. "You do jump to wild conclusions, Spartacus," she said, forcing a smile she hoped looked mocking instead of pained.

"And land on solid footing." He watched her evenly, paying little mind to the guards that she could not seem to forget. She prayed they would not speak of this to any others in the ludus, but knew they would. "I should not have feared becoming Roman plaything when you so clearly stand plaything to slaves."

Octavia could feel the fire raging in her stomach as Spartacus stared down, far too much satisfaction in his eyes. She had an unbearable urge to slap the smirk off his chapped lips, but the very thought of touching the man made her physically ill, "You would stand idly by and have this beast speak to your domina in such a manner?" she quickly demanded of the guards, which only seemed to humor Spartacus more.

"You attempt to play vicious snake, domina, but I have only witnessed meek mouse," he commented, having no shame but finally receiving a sharp shove from one of the guards. "Allow me to relieve you of my presence and spare you further ridicule," another guard shoved their elbow into Spartacus's stomach, causing him to double over towards her, almost in a bow, yet she couldn't stop herself from flinching away from him.

"You," she tried. "You are a fool of a man. If you believe your mockery of the daughter of Batiatus will be rewarded with living wife-"

"I pay the debt of my wife with sword in battle," he said, only straightening himself enough to meet her eye level. "Not with pretty words to you," he finished, grinning and wincing when the third guard took his turn to shove the hilt of his spear into Spartacus's side.

"Remove him from my sight," she snapped at that guards as they wasted no time in taking firm hold of Spartacus, who she knew was merely allowing them to do so. "Set sights for new path to my father should he summon the fucking Thracian animal again," she added before watching them drag the momentarily obedient man further into the villa.

She turned on her heel, entering her room again, a large lump in the throat she grasped freely now that her assailant was no longer watching. Relief washed over her as cool fingers pressed against tender bruises. Clearly the lesson she had sought to teach the Thracian had not stuck. He was nothing more than burden to the Batiatus household, he would be nothing more than an incompetent dog, never to learn his place and yet her father still entertained the man with promises of a wife. She hadn't been afforded the opportunity of meeting Gaius Claudius Glaber, but surely his good graces weren't worth her ever thinning sanity.

Octavia tried to continue her letter to Gaia, longing to still be in the city, now more than ever but she could only see red on the parchment now. Among the overflowing fountains and baths, where water was abundant and the slaves knew their place ... 'A plaything', his words repeated in her mind, and it only drove her to fury that there might have been some truth to them.

"Perhaps I spoke out of turn," Spartacus admitted. Victories won in the arena were more honorable than bowing to a child that called herself domina, but victory in one of the earliest matches of the Vulcanalia would earn him no more than half a coin. The last man to have held that girl's affections had won his freedom.

"Perhaps," Varro agreed. "Although perhaps it still merits attempt if words spoken to the girl sees your position elevated in the games."

"You think her to be moved?" asked Spartacus, sounding surprised.

"No," said Varro, a smile playing upon his lips. "But to witness such spectacular failure would lift the heart."

Spartacus shook his head, giving the man beside him a playful shove. "Perhaps I should have given her what she wanted," he said. "I could have eased the strain in her brow."

Varro stood sharply, stepping away from his friend. "Do not say such things while sitting beside me," he commanded. "I have been dragged down by the mighty Spartacus once before," he added, recalling a time not so long ago when he had been standing in shit and piss up to his waist.

Spartacus laughed, "I would not take company of meek child to replace a wife who has given me pleasure enough to last this life and the next," he commented. "The only thing that would ease her brow would be to see me with sword buried in chest." Varro chuckled, making to sit back down before his laughter ceased abruptly and he took a step back.

"You continue to forget your place, Thracian mutt," Crixus's voice growled from behind him. Spartacus felt his jaw clench. "And tempt me to deliver yet another lesson on where it is." Spartacus rolled his neck slightly, attempting to loosen the tightness between his shoulders before setting his bowl down.

"Apologies, Crixus," he started, standing slowly and turning to face the man. "I had forgotten her lap dog was so near," he said, suppressing his smirk. "Tell me, Gaul, do you wait for command of keeper or have you still a will of your own?"

"Spartacus," Varro tried to warn, but took a step back all the same.

"I require no order to relieve you of your life," Crixus said through his teeth.

"But have received command not to take it," he pointed out. "From your fair domina? She may yet favor me next should I share sweet words she longs to hear … or gentle touch-" He'd expected Crixus to react poorly, but mockery of the girl made him only slightly less predictable. He'd seen the Gaul taunted into a fight with far less provocation, his surprise merely came at how long he had held back. The white spots danced in front of his eyes as Crixus's fist met his temple, but he managed to remain standing, barely ducking enough to miss the next blow before swiftly delivering his own.

The rest of the men were shouting, yelling, cheering. Spartacus barely caught a glimpse of Varro's disappointed gaze before Crixus was charging for him, crushing him against the wall so hard he thought the back of his head nearly cracked against it. Crixus drove his fists into Spartacus's side several times before Spartacus was raising his arms and digging his elbows as sharply into the man's shoulder as he possibly could. Crixus stumbled back with a slight grunt, and glared at Spartacus with a wild fury in his eyes. Spartacus rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly at what may have been a bruised rib before readying himself to the next attack.

Instead, they both flinched at the crack of a whip and Oenomaus standing just outside. Only then did Spartacus relax his shoulders, slightly, still ready should Crixus not heed the Doctore's warning, "If there is will to fight, there is will enough to train. Discard your meals and find yourselves back upon the sands, all of you," he barked. Varro was quick to find Spartacus's side again, dragging him away from Crixus, who had a mutinous look in his eye that would certainly be keeping Varro awake that night.