Chapter Two
Spike emerged slowly, his hearing first and then his sense of smell. When his eyes opened the darkness was still complete and added nothing to what his others senses were telling him . He tried to move and couldn’t do more than blink. But it was all horribly familiar. The sounds. The smell. The paralysis. He groaned quietly, his paralysed body not allowing him to pull in enough air to make more noise.
Footsteps.
A warm hand on his forehead.
A voice that made him wish he was dust.
“Hello, Seventeen. Welcome back.” Maggie Walsh smiled down at her reacquisition. “You didn’t think that she’d want you forever did you? She’s human – it was inevitable that she’d want a relationship with a real man again one day.
“No,” breathed Spike.
“Oh, yes. The contract we drew up when she bought you clearly stated that whenever she didn’t need you anymore that you would be brought back here.”
“She wouldn’t”
Maggie laughed. “Oh, yes she would!”
More footsteps approached and Maggie stroked her hand through his unruly, wavy hair. “It’s all yours. Let me know when it is all healed and ready for testing.”
“Yes, ma’am. Should be a week or so,” replied a technician.
A week! What the fuck are they going to do with me?
Whatever they did – he was mercifully unaware of it, as they kept him anaesthetised for the duration.
*~*~*~*
Spike came to on a soft bed, which in itself was enough to scare him half to dust. Comfort? In the Initiative? He could move his limbs a little but they were well strapped down. So he did the only thing that he could do – he waited.
Eventually, they came. Lots of them. No one spoke but he could smell Maggie Walsh. The top half of his bed slowly rose until he was sitting upright.
“We upgraded you, Seventeen. I think you’ll be happy with what we’ve done.”
He didn’t trust himself to reply.
“The bandages, Michael, if you please?”
Her assistant moved closer, and Spike’s nose screwed up as the aroma of stale sweat wafted to his nostrils. Spike kept his eyes closed when the bandages fell free.
“Open them,” barked Walsh.
Reluctantly, Spike did as he was bidden and slowly opened his lids. He could see, but the images were confusing and blurry.
“Describe it.”
“Colours. Blurred. Won’t focus properly.”
“Turn one off,” Maggie said.
Spike’s left eye went dark and suddenly the vision in his right was very clear. He raised his face to meet Maggie’s gaze.
“What’s changed?”
“Can see perfectly,” said Spike. “I forgot what a fucking ugly bitch you are!”
She punched him, not on his face – no his head contained expensive hardware – in the balls. Spike grunted and fell forwards as far as his shackles would allow.
“Mind your manners, Seventeen.”
He raised his head and stared at her.
“Is there any vibration?”
Spike suddenly realised that there wasn’t, so he shook his head.
“Fourth generation from the one we removed from you,” explained Maggie, helpfully. Her next words were directed to Michael. “Turn the right off and left on.”
For a moment, Spike was back in the dark and then the strange colours were back. He blinked as he tried to make sense of it all, and then understood. His left eye picked up heat signatures. The people who had been staring at him curiously were now a series of blobs with bright red centres.
“Your sight can do more, but it will take a little getting used to. Your training will commence tomorrow.”
As one, the blobs moved towards where the doorway was.
“Please,” said Spike, quietly. “Let me see properly.”
The shape at the back stopped and moved towards him. “Why not?”
Instantly his right eye had vision. But she didn’t turn the other one off and the images all merged together in a confusing soup.
Apart from someone who gave him a couple of pints of top quality blood to drink, Spike was left alone for a further twenty-four hours. By the time that Maggie and her crew returned, his brain had somehow worked out how to cope with the messages it was receiving and his vision was something akin to watching two monitors. He could focus on one eye and bring its images to the fore and vice versa. It was weird, but he could see and that was a hell of a lot better than the darkness.
*~*~*~*
They came back, as he knew they would. His limbs were unshackled and the blanket covering his lower body pulled back.
“What?” he hissed as he stared at the knee of his right leg and then up at the smiling face of Maggie Walsh.
“Technology has moved on since you’ve been away,” she said. “We need you to be fully mobile.”
“But—”
“Just get off the damn bed and on your feet,” Maggie snapped.
Unable to take his eyes off the joint, Spike slowly swung his feet over the side of the bed and gingerly stood up. As was his habit, he kept most of the weight on his left leg.
“Stand squarely on both,” ordered Maggie. “It will more than hold your weight. In fact if they weren’t so expensive I would have upgraded your good knee too.”
Spike shifted his weight and found that she was right. It felt as good as new. He smiled. He could see and now he had two good legs again. That meant he could escape – or dust trying.
A sharp stab of pain in his head brought him back down to earth, and he turned towards Maggie. In her hands was the remote controller for the chips in his head and she waved it meaningfully at him. He dipped his head and shuddered. With that in her hands, she could have him writhing on the floor in agony in seconds.
He walked slowly along to his cell. With each step of his right leg, he couldn’t help but stare at the knee. Now apparently completely artificial, its highly polished metal glittered in the florescent light. He no longer had a terrible limp but if regaining full mobility, not to mention his sight, was at a cost of being away from Buffy and the boys then the price was way too high.
Once placed in his new home, a twelve-foot square room that boasted only a narrow bed in one corner, Spike decided on a plan. His life was over and he was damned if he was going to be forced into being one of their operatives again. Whatever they wanted him to do – he’d refuse until the only course of action remaining would be to kill him or – fuck it – retire him. But no way would he help them. The vampire who had crippled him had got it right. He had been a traitor to his own kind and nothing they could do would make him change his mind.
*~*~*~*
Craig had returned home from college when Cameron had called him the night that Spike had killed himself. The professors had all been understanding when he told them of his step-father’s death. There’d been no reason to let them know that he’d been a vamp, and it meant that they gave him permission to take a month off as long as he made up the work when he got back. The baseball coach less so since they were in the middle of the season and he didn’t want to lose a key player.
From what Cam had told him, their mom had acted a little weird to the discovery of Spike’s ashes. After having been home a week, he knew exactly what his little brother meant. She never mentioned Spike and put on a cheerful face, tidying up the house to within an inch of its life. But at night, he heard her crying as if her heart would break in two.
He had no idea how to make it better. By the time their real dad had skipped town with his secretary, the marriage had been just about over and although his mom’s pride was hurt, it certainly hadn’t broken her heart, but now… She didn’t even have patrolling to fall back on.
Cam had withdrawn into himself and for some reason wouldn’t drink Dr. Pepper anymore, and he went crazy one day when he’d seen Craig wear a pair of Converse sneakers. His school work was suffering and Craig coached him with it as best he could, but Cam was the brains of the family. Craig’s own education was shored up by the fact he could throw a mean curve ball from the pitcher’s mound, and his dreams were of playing major-league – not performing life saving surgery.
A couple of weeks later, unable to bear the atmosphere in the house a moment longer, Craig went out for a walk, going wherever his feet took him. There was a noise behind him and he paused, listening intently but he didn’t hear it again. He resisted the urge to look back and stepped up his pace, cursing under his breath when he realised where in town he was. His mom had many times warned him about the demon activity here and also about leaving the house un-armed and yet here he was…
Another noise.
Shit!
He was being followed. And not by just one person, creature or whatever. Craig thought of another thing his mom frequently told him: ‘If in doubt – run!’
So he did. At nineteen, he was in the peak of physical condition and quick on his feet but it still wasn’t enough. A sharp blow hit the back of his head and he was unconscious before he hit the ground.
*~*~*~*
The second week after Spike’s arrival back in the Initiative was spent with endless hours of tests regarding his sight. When the cameras in his eyes were switched on so that they transmitted back to computers in the main office, his vision became even more like that of a science-fiction movie. Everything he saw was overlaid with a series of grids indicating the distance to whatever he was focussed on; sometimes it included the size, shape and breed of the demon in view. Put simply, his eyes were that of a computer – capable of analysing the data they saw. From Spike’s point of view, it gave him a headache worthy of a chip firing to begin with, and then he learned how to filter it so that he was almost unaware of all of it.
The ‘normal’ vision of his right eye could be switched to the eerie glow of night-vision, which he found very disorientating when coupled with the body heat images from the left. But he adapted – like vampires always do.
In his third week of captivity, Spike put his decision not to become a tool of the Initiative to the test. When they wanted him to participate in a hunt, he refused. Point blank. When pressed, he managed to get in one good punch before the chip put him on the floor.
He woke up strapped to a chair with his head fastened so securely he couldn’t move it at all.
Maggie Walsh leaned in close. “You will do what we want, Seventeen.”
“Fuck off! I’m through working for you!”
Spike gritted his teeth against a blow to his bollocks, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Show him,” she said to someone that Spike couldn’t see.
He yelled out as pain ran through his head and localised in his eyes. Images began to flicker across his vision. He froze. Buffy’s house.
“Recognise anyone?” asked Maggie. She knew what clip of film he was being fed.
As she spoke, Buffy and her sons walked out of the front door and down the pathway. Spike’s fingers stretched out as if he was trying to touch her.
“Buffy,” he whispered.
His lover looked gaunt. She’d lost weight and he was sure there was more grey speckling her blonde hair. Beside her, Cameron walked along, scuffing his toes on the ground, hands plunged into the pockets of his jeans. Of them all, only Craig looked as he remembered him, walking tall next to his mother.
“Where’s her new lover?” croaked Spike. “Why does she look so bad?”
He’d consoled himself that at least being sent back to the Initiative meant that she was happy with a human who could be a proper father to her sons.
“There is no lover. They think that you’re dead,” taunted Maggie. “The young one found your dust.”
Spike closed his eyes but it made no difference to the images he could see – they were being fed directly into the cameras. Cam. His favourite. Brainy, funny and painfully shy around girls. Spike had seen a lot of the William he once was in the boy.
“But…”
“They think that you didn’t love them enough to cope with being blind. The question is, Seventeen, do you love them enough to keep them safe?”
The image stopped abruptly and Spike gasped at the loss of the ones he loved. Opening his eyes all he could see was Maggie’s smirk.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You will do as we ask and do it well otherwise they will get hurt.”
Shaking his head, Spike said, “No – they’re human. You don’t hurt humans.”
“Don’t we?” sneered Maggie. “Dare you risk it?”
Spike thrashed against the straps holding him in the chair and growled at her, trying and failing to be able to vamp out.
“Take him back to the training room and see if he’s mended his ways.”
As soon as the straps were loosened, Spike leapt at Walsh but wasn’t even half-way there when his body jerked and he fell screaming on to the tiled floor, his head exploding with pain.
For the next week, Spike was systematically tortured whenever he refused to comply with their orders. Which was every time they gave him one.
Then one day he woke up strapped into that same chair.
“We warned you,” said Maggie, as the video feed was connected to his vision.
Spike tensed as the image of Craig racing down a street appeared. The creatures that were chasing him weren’t demons; they were some of the security guards that the Initiative had. He cried out as the blow of a baton knocked the boy to the pavement.
“Just so you know. This is live, Seventeen. This is happening right now.”
Whoever held the camera got in close and Spike moaned at the sight of blood streaming from a wound on the back of Craig’s head. The boy was turned over so that he was flat on his back, and it was clear that the fall to the ground had broken his nose.
“Leave him alone. It’s nothing to do with him,” said Spike.
One of the men took hold of Craig’s right arm and then grinned at the camera. Spike yelled and thrashed uselessly.
“Don’t hurt him! He’s only a kid!”
“I hear he’s quite the upcoming baseball star,” said Maggie conversationally.
“I’ll do what you want,” said Spike desperately. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything.”
“Oh, you will,” replied Maggie.
The man holding Craig’s arm nodded as if hearing an order and then savagely twisted the arm, dislocating the shoulder and snapping the elbow.
“No!”
Spike sagged in defeat. It was all his fault.
“Now, what was that you said about cooperating?” asked Maggie as the images shut down and Spike once more could see her face.
“I said I’d do anything. You didn’t have to hurt him,” said Spike, trying not to let the bitch see his tears.
“We did, Spike, because sooner or later you would have resisted again. But now you know that we mean it. The young one is a good academic isn’t he? Head trauma can have quite serious consequences, can’t they? Or maybe we should let him know first hand just what you felt when you couldn’t see? What would happen to Buffy if she were raped and left for dead?”
“Stop!” sobbed Spike. “I mean it. I’ll do anything.”
Maggie chuckled. “Take him back to his cell. Give him a good feed and we’ll make a new start on the training tomorrow.”
*~*~*~*
Buffy glanced anxiously at the clock. Craig had been gone for a couple of hours, but while she couldn’t blame him for needing a bit of time away from the atmosphere at home, she couldn’t help but worry.
A rap on the door had her on her feet in an instant. She rushed to it, saying as she flung it open, “Forgot your key ag—” Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth as she saw that it wasn’t her son but two police officers.
“Ms. Summers?” asked the taller of the two men.
She nodded mutely.
“Are you the mother of Craig Evans?”
Another nod.
“I’m afraid he’s been hurt. He’s at the hospital; he’s in a fair but stable condition.”
“W-what happened?” Buffy finally managed to speak.
“We’re not too sure. Looks like he was mugged.”
Buffy glanced vaguely around, “Um…I need to see him…I…”
Cameron jogged down the stairs coming to a halt when he saw the officers.
“Craig!” he yelled. “Mom, what’s happened?”
Buffy turned to him. “He’s in the hospital. He was…he was attacked.” She picked up her car keys with a trembling hand.
The second officer said, “I don’t think you should be driving right now, ma’am. You’ve had a nasty shock. How about if we take you there?”
Buffy nodded gratefully and putting her arm around Cam, followed the officers to their patrol car.
The officers helped her past the reception and led her to where Craig was waiting before being taken to the OR.
Cameron’s hand found Buffy’s as they walked through the gap in the curtains surrounding the bed.
They both gasped when they saw Craig. His face was bloodstained and beneath the bruising, deathly pale. He tried and failed to smile when he saw them, his face was just too sore. Both eyes were swollen and already purple and black. His nose crooked where once it had been straight, but what made both Buffy and Cam stop with shock was his arm. Although it had been strapped up in the ER, it was clear that it was very badly damaged indeed. Craig was sitting hunched over to keep the dislocated shoulder from pressing on the bed, and the rest of the arm was swaddled in bandages.
“Oh, baby,” said Buffy taking his hand in her free one.
It was too much for her. Losing Spike and now seeing her son so badly injured. She let go of Craig's hand and covering her face with it, sobbed loudly.
“Shh, Mom,” said Craig, floating on a sea of opiate drugs. “Don’t cry. I’ll be okay.”
His brave words only made her cry harder and Cameron had to support his mother when the orderlies came to take Craig up to be operated on.
*~*~*~*
The hours that Craig was in surgery stretched to what felt like an eternity. Cameron had finally managed to fall asleep on one of the couches in the waiting room, but Buffy had barely been able to sit down for more than a minute at a time.
A woman clad in green scrubs, a white surgical mask hanging around her neck, walked into the room.
“Ms. Summers?” she enquired, extending a hand when Buffy nodded. “I’m Dr. Jamison. I operated on your son.”
“How is he?”
“Shall we sit?” Dr. Jamison waited until they were seated before she continued. “The dislocation of his shoulder was relatively easy to reduce and should cause him no long term problems. However, the elbow was extensively damaged. I have repaired it using a bone plate and screws, but he will face a prolonged course of physical therapy to get movement back.”
Buffy began to tremble. “But it will be okay, won’t it? I mean, it’ll just take time, right?”
The look in the doctor’s eye gave her the answer she didn’t want to here, even before the woman spoke.
“I’m afraid the chances of him regaining full use of it are slim, Ms. Summers. But it will recover sufficiently not to hamper his life too badly.”
“He wants to pitch in the Major League,” blurted Cameron, startling both women.
Dr. Jamison shook her head softly. “I’m afraid that will be out of the question. The joint was so damaged that it was almost irreparable, but he’s young and so I’m confident that he will be able to drive a car, things like that, but sports? I’m afraid not.”
She stood and looked down at the devastated family.
“He’ll need your support when he comes around. He’s lucky to be alive. Concentrate on that. A nurse will come to find you when you can see him.”
Dr. Jamison nodded to them and then walked away.
“It’ll kill him, Mom,” muttered Cameron.
Buffy’s heart tightened. “Like the doctor said. We’ve got to be strong, okay? He’s going to be upset and we’ve got to help him.”
They hugged and then sat watching the clock slowly tick away the minutes until they would be allowed to see him.
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Betad by dawnofme
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