[Reviews - 638]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 4112 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you soo much for the reviews!
Thank you once more to Spikeskat for the beta'ing!! *squishes*

chapter 12


Seated in the Council's own private aircraft, Giles found himself unable to appreciate the amenities of the plush jet. Anxiety and concern continued to dig in their savage claws, manifesting themselves and reducing him to near physical illness. Knowing it would only exacerbate the problem, yet craving the potential oblivion, Giles took advantage of the impressive bar that was onboard.

It didn't help. Merely served to be the depressant it really was, while adding another layer of fire to his already flaming stomach lining.

Giles was terrified that they would be too late. That Buffy would be lost to him. To all of them. It was an agonizing feeling, nearly crushing him under its cruel reality. As with Angel, it had taken Buffy's absence to allow his true feelings to come to light, where those emotions had been hidden behind layers of crusty British reserve. He loved her with a father's intensity, regardless that she wasn't truly his own flesh and blood.

And his biggest regret was that he had never told her that.

Since they had taken off from Council headquarters, Travers had continued to be closed-mouthed regarding his plan for rescue, merely assuring the watcher that he had the situation well under control.

Unused to being kept out of the loop, Giles could no longer rein in his acute desire to be involved in every intimate detail of Buffy's rescue.

"I must insist on being briefed on the details of what will occur when we land." Giles let a hint of his more formidable alter-ego bleed into his voice to alert Travers that he wouldn't allow himself to be trifled with, yet again.

Travers glanced up from the newspaper he had been perusing, accurately interpreting the dangerous tone of the watcher's voice and sighed heavily. Folding his paper carefully, he set it beside him on the empty seat. "Very well. If you must know, I have scheduled a meeting with those in charge of this particular base."

Giles could do nothing but stare in response, certain that he must have heard wrong. "Are you completely daft? They are aware of our impending arrival?"

"They are." Travers' face gave nothing away.

Giles' head slowly shook his head back and forth in utter disbelief. "I seriously have to question your judgment in this matter. What could you have possibly been thinking? To actually schedule a meeting with these bastards?"


Travers voice hardened that one of his “underlings” would dare question how he saw fit to handle things. "I was thinking that in order to penetrate this base, it would require significant manpower. While that in itself is not a problem, the breech would most assuredly result in fatalities, potentially even the one we are attempting to rescue. From our surveillance measures, we have been able to ascertain that there are typically no more than a hundred men assigned to this particular detail, and at the moment, there appear to be considerably less."

Giles was silent for a moment. "Are these enlisted men you are referring to?"

Travers shook his head ruefully. "I am afraid I do not possess the answer to that particular question, and therein lies the problem. It is quite possible that the scientists involved with this particular project are merely civilians. To storm the compound using excessive force, and from a foreign intelligence no less, might very well incite an international incident that the Council cannot afford to be a part of."

Giles sighed heavily, not wanting to find favor with the Head Councilman’s reasoning, but could not find fault with his logic. The reality of Travers' concerns had the potential for backlash that would endanger the entire future of the Watcher's Council. "Your plan is to meet with the military heads, is that correct?"

Travers nodded.

"Do you really think that is wise? Throwing yourself at the mercy of the enemy?" Giles felt compelled to point out.

"The Council has undue influence. I strongly believe this is our best recourse," Travers replied, a touch of his typical arrogance coloring his voice.

"And I feel that perhaps you are overestimating the Council's influence," Giles replied. "I do not believe either of us has any idea precisely what we are dealing with here." Government cover-ups and conspiracy theories besieged the watcher's mind, and he now knew the paranoia associated with them.

Travers retrieved the newspaper from the empty seat beside him and opened it back up to the article he had been reading. "That is a risk I feel we are going to have to take, unfortunately."

"So, your plan consists of us walking in and merely telling them that you, as the head of the Watcher's Council, demand that they release your slayer?"

"Precisely."

Giles' sense of foreboding deepened. "Surely a better plan could be set in motion?"

"As I said, the Council has considerable influence, Mr. Giles. I feel quite certain that they will not possibly dare attempt anything sinister, also eager to avoid public scrutiny."

"I rather feel as if we are serving ourselves up on the proverbial platter," Giles muttered almost to himself, the acid eating at his stomach now moving up toward his throat. "There is no way they will simply allow us to just walk out of there."

Travers shrugged indifferently. "I would rather resolve this without the use of necessary force, as I said. That would only draw undue attention to all parties involved. However, since you think I am being truly naive in this matter, I feel it necessary to point out that I do have a back-up plan."

"Which is?"

"My men are under orders to storm the location if I am not in contact within twenty-four hours. And if it comes to that, we will be positioned on the inside."

Giles felt a small measure of relief with that revelation, but didn't hesitate to mention that in twenty-four hours, they could both very well be dead.

However, Giles knew that Travers was well aware of the possibility of the rescue turning into a suicide mission and appeared resigned to his decision, and couldn't help the stab of admiration.

It didn't mean he had to be a sitting duck, however. Giles excused himself to the loo and pulled out his cellular phone, not expecting to find that he had a signal.

He was pleasantly surprised however, and made the most of this good fortune, not daring to leave anything up to chance.
*****

Buffy couldn't remember a time when her body had ever felt this weak. In recent weeks, her pregnancy had been in an unending state of physical discomfort and ungainliness, but she had always been able to count on her slayer power to back her up.

Such was no longer the case.

The blood that Spike had taken from her would have sapped her on a good day, but adding that to the iron-sucking pregnancy, and her situation had moved well beyond the realm of so not even funny. Since she had forced Spike to drink until her hemoglobin was practically weeping, she could only hope her slayer healing was still part of the package, despite the missing power aspect.

It infuriated Buffy to know that her baby was being exposed to an unknown drug, and she just prayed that it hadn't harmed her in any way.
 
Time was something that she had quickly lost possession of, a clock not being provided in the not so comfy accommodations. It could have been mere hours since they’d been recaptured, or days - she had not a clue. She resisted struggling against her restraints, knowing it was futile and would only waste precious energy. Helpless rage churned through her at the ache in her lower back, and she cursed the bastards for not even allowing her the luxury of turning onto her side. Laying flat on her back was killing her, and she knew firsthand from all the books she’d managed to read that it wasn't the position of choice during late-stage pregnancy either.

Bastards.

She was comforted, however, by the reassuring movements from inside her womb. As long as the baby was still inside of her, they would be all right.

She hoped.

Buffy turned her head to witness Spike's sleeping form beside her, even in sleep adopting a protective position. Buffy was not under the delusion that Spike was allowed to interact with her because of any significant change of heart on the military's behalf. It was merely another experiment; Spike apparently proved too interesting a subject to pass up. She added being watched and studied like a freak to the long list of grievances she held against her captors. However, she'd moved it to the bottom of said laundry list because not having to be alone in this nightmare because Spike was at her side won her jailers the slightest smidgeon of favor.

As if sensing her probing gaze, Spike's eyelids slid open and his gaze immediately found her eyes on him, worry creasing his healing features at her pointed look.
.

"You ok?"

Buffy nodded. "You?"

She watched as Spike stretched and tested the status of his muscles. The subtle smirk on his face alerted her that the willing sacrifice of her blood had not been in vain.

He had his strength back.

They had a chance.

"I can break ya outta those," Spike told her quietly, looking at the manacles around her wrists, a fierce burst of rage quickly gutting him at the thought of her being restrained like this. These fuckers were going to pay.

Buffy's eyes widened with panic and she shook her head vehemently. "No! It's... ok," she lied.

Spike nodded, knowing she was right. Giving their position away so early in the game would be foolish.

The barest hint of sound scraped along the outside cell door, and they both instinctively tensed as it slid open with an ominous silence. Spike immediately growled in warning, shifting on the bed to make sure his lethal form was between whatever came through that door and Buffy's pregnant bulk. In order to curtail his demon's inherent nature to attack first, ask questions later, Spike kept his hands fisted tightly against his sides. Their only edge was the element of surprise, and Spike was damned if he was going to give it away before major damage could be inflicted.

These military bastards had no soddin' clue the beautiful carnage a pissed off vamp could inflict, and he hoped to bloody fuck that they got the chance to find out.

Only proper, for well-rounded research and all, he thought.

If this group of meddling scientists wanted Buffy, they would have to go through him first. Rage on Buffy's behalf tainted his forced calm, and his fangs itched to get a hold of the fuckers who had done this to her. During his own capture, his tormenters had all worn the drab fatigues that had identified them as military, and more importantly - the muscle. The masked goons in white had not bothered with him beyond a degrading cursory exam, and of course, his reluctantly produced deposits. Apparently his semen was the only thing they found worthy of their attention.

But Spike knew what had been done to Buffy... For that, they would pay. Their deliberate faceless embodiment never allowing Buffy the satisfaction of giving her tormentors an identity, further exacerbating the helpless panic she had suffered at their hands.

Oh yeah, he'd see to them, all right. The fuckers in white would be first, immediately followed by the soldiers who had taken satisfaction in inflicting their sadistic torture on a helpless vamp.

His fangs were itching for action, and he took comfort in Buffy's calming hand on his arm.

His bloodthirsty mood became pensive, however, when he took a gander at what passed timidly through the door. Rather than the burly soldiers or the scientists who didn't dare show their faces, the one who entered their prison had fear stamped plainly on a tiny, pixie face. She was garbed in the usual standard issue camouflage which only served to accentuate the petite form, looking nothing like a soldier whatsoever. Her dread was palpable in the wide, expressive brown eyes and Spike knew without a doubt exactly what she was. And more importantly, what her purpose was.

She was the proverbial sacrificial lamb. Completely expendable.

In her unsteady hands, was a tray bearing food and Spike noted it with relief, knowing Buffy needed somethin' in her.

Spike could smell the overwhelming scent of fear flooding the air and he sat up carefully, keeping with the guise of being terminally weak. A pair of doe eyes across the room followed his every motion, and when he sat himself carefully on the edge of the bed, the girl balked and spun to the door.

Only to find it had closed shut behind her.

Spike watched as the girl's narrow shoulders suddenly slumped, her entire posture screaming a resigned acceptance of her fate.

Bound by duty, yet betrayed by country.

She was to become a casualty of an undefined war.

Spike exchanged looks with Buffy, confirming that she too had read the situation accurately, and another layer of hatred was added to the ever-increasing pile.

With resignation pouring from every cell of her body, Christine turned to face her executioner. She wasn't stupid. She knew why she had been locked in here. She wasn't deaf either - contrary to what her superiors assumed - as she worked among them, the nameless soldier on janitorial duty.

Christine had been keeping her ears open and had heard the grunts and murmurs of surprise at the atypical behavior this vampire had displayed around the pregnant human. There had been a whirlwind of shock when it had been ascertained that the vampire and this human girl had been apparently co-habiting together, the rather unusual circumstance had been the cause for much debate. There had been talk of vampiric thrall and various other supposed myths.


She hadn't thought it had anything to do with her, but the moment she had been ordered to report to the holding cells, Christine knew what they were doing, what they wanted to accomplish. Shake up the mix, get the vampire to react. And that is what she had been reduced to, Christine thought bitterly.

Bait.

God, she hoped it didn't hurt.

"Bring the food over 'ere," Spike demanded gruffly, his hand reaching behind him to rest protectively against the swell of Buffy's stomach.

Christine's eyes flew up to meet the piercing blue of the battered demon who sat warily on the edge of the bed. Confused, she looked behind him to meet the gaze of the girl shackled to the bed, pity finding its way through her escalating terror. Christine had sympathized before; had identified with the teenager, for some reason. Not that she could do anything about it, of course, so she had been forced to observe from afar. But she was probably the only one on base who had been happy to learn of her escape.


She visibly started when the vampire spoke to her again.

"Bring it 'ere."

Christine took a hesitant step forward and Spike growled with irritation. "Don't have all bloody day, ya know."

Actually, he did, but Christine wasn't about to argue. This was not what she had enlisted for. Where was the world travel? The college bonus? This was supposed to be the one thing she had in life that offered her a sense of security, and now look at her. She was nothing but a big, fat worm on a hook, just waiting for something to come along and take a bite.

With a sigh of resignation, Christine crossed the room and tried not to flinch when the tray was ripped out of her hands. "'Bout bloody time," the vampire grumbled, glaring at her. "Don't know what you're so soddin' uptight about. At least you volunteered for this gig."

"I didn't volunteer for you to kill me," Christine shot back, wondering where that little bit of nerve had been hiding.

He smirked at her as he popped a straw in the carton of orange juice she had delivered on the tray.

"Spike, leave her alone," Buffy told him quietly before making eye contact with the newcomer. "Don't suppose you have the key for these things?" she asked, holding up one shackled arm.

Both Spike and Buffy could see the genuine regret in the girl's eyes as she sadly shook her head. Spike snarled in a show of his increasing irritation before asking, "You got a name?"

"Christine."

"Do you know why I'm being kept chained up?" Buffy asked her, finding that the shackles were pissing her off more and more. Spike having to hold the juice while she sipped it was just a bit too invalid and helpless for her liking.

"Uh... I think... maybe they are afraid you are going to do something to the baby," Christine replied, flinching when the vampire went through a chorus of 'bloody hells' and 'soddin' wankers.'

Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike's predictability, then called out to address the people behind the glass. "Military people! Hey! I'd really appreciate being unchained from the bed. Because this having to lie flat on my back? So not good for the baby."

Of course the slayer didn't get the courtesy of a reply, and Christine decided it was time to see if she would get some type of response from her superiors.

Figuring she was somewhat safe in turning her back on the vampire called 'Spike,' Christine crossed the cell to position herself in front of the door, where she stood with an expectant look on her face.

"Permission to leave requested."

Any lingering hope to which she might still had cling to began spiraling down to nothing as the door refused to open and allow her passage. Again, she voiced her request and waited expectantly.

The voice was impersonal as it rang through the small cell.

'Request denied.'

tbc

A/N- can i come out of hiding yet? *looks around*





You must login (register) to review.