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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you to the lovely Sanityfair.
Previously:

"Be careful not to damage it," Walsh said.

Buffy didn't know if the it the professor was referring to was her or Spike. She had very little time to consider things before inexorable darkness took her under.

~*~*~*~

Riley stopped dead when he saw her. Hostile Nineteen was unconscious, face down and shackled to a gurney in the sick bay. Buffy's eyes were taped shut and her hair had been cut to within an inch of her head. On her bare back was drawn a grid in black ink and in each square was a puncture wound pooling with blood. Buffy was naked save for a paper sheet draped over her bottom half. The worst part of seeing the girl like that was the enthusiastic way Professor Walsh was measuring the holes and photographing them. He forced down his revulsion and stepped into the room.

"What took you so long, Agent Finn?" Professor Walsh asked from behind her camera. There was a bright flash that was amplified by the silvery white room. Dark spots drifted before Riley's eyes from the after image.

"It took longer to contain the hostile than we'd initially anticipated because it had engaged with a civilian outside the Bronze."

Professor Walsh probed one of the wounds with a slim glass rod and Buffy whimpered. Riley's eye twitched, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Were you seen?" Professor Walsh asked, snapping another picture of the bloodied dowel.

"Um, no. The girl's, the civilian's boyfriend repelled the vampire before contamination could occur. The hostile is scheduled to be chipped this morning," Riley said. He noticed Buffy was hooked up to a catheter bag and an I.V. Drip, both half full. He wondered how long she'd been subjected to the professor's scrutiny.

"Good work. Are you finished grading those papers, soldier?" Professor Walsh asked with a smile, as she set down the camera and picked up a scalpel.

"Yes, ma'am. Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"What are you working on?"

Professor Walsh's eyes lit up and she beckoned him over with her index finger. Riley overcame his reluctance and joined her.

"You remember the disaster which occurred when we tried to retrieve the hostile? Doctor Oliver had assumed her injuries would make her easy to contain. However, his mistake led me to an interesting discovery. She has advanced healing capabilities. I'm measuring her recovery speed," Professor Walsh said.

"Um, what's the purpose?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"To know."

"Where's the hostile who was captured with her?" Riley asked, staring as Buffy's flesh healed before his eyes.

The professor rolled her eyes.

"Doctor Oliver is interviewing him, God knows what he hopes to learn, but you know sociologists."

Riley really didn't know, but he smiled politely at his mentor as though he understood and excused himself.

~*~*~*~

There was a clock behind the good doctor's head, so Spike knew they had been sitting in silence for a half hour. They were in another white room, devoid of decoration save two silver chairs and a desk. Dr. Oliver said he could smoke, but Spike's hands were bound. The pack lay on the metal table between them like a stripper behind a peepshow booth. Spike wasn't sure if the offer was meant to insult him or if Lloyd Oliver was a sadist.

"You know I would kill you for a cigarette right now, but I'm not going to roll over and be your bitch for one."

Dr. Oliver had been drawing a very shapely, nude woman sprawled in the margin of his yellow legal pad.

"Just tell me what she is, Spike," Oliver said, not looking up from his obscene doodle. They were the first words the doctor had spoken since he'd mentioned the cigarettes.

"Sod off."

"You're in no position to bargain," Oliver said, giving his pencil drawing a baroque set of tits.

"Not intending to."

"Whereas I have something you want quite desperately," Oliver said, grinding the lead in circles to scratch out the hard, little nipples.

"The only thing I want right now is to feed you your own entrails."

"We both know that's not true," Oliver said. He put down his pencil and reached into the pocket of his lab coat, producing a mechanical gadget. It looked like a tablet with a television screen for paper. Oliver touched the glass surface and it came to life, then he turned the device so Spike could see the show.

What Spike saw made his eyes wet and caused a tiny, anguished cry to escape his throat.

It was Buffy, strapped down and asleep with her back a mass of blood, like someone had stepped on her with football cleats.

"What are you doing to her?" Spike asked, his voice rough.

"Professor Walsh is trying to figure out how quickly the young lady can recover. She has other tests in mind, more invasive and equally pointless. If you can give me some of that information perhaps it could help Buffy."

Spike tilted his head and looked at the Slayer, his lower lip trembling.

"Why did she cut off her hair?" Spike asked, his fingers swirling impotently.

"I believe Maggie said it was getting in her way. I can intervene on Buffy's behalf. I can make this stop and put her in the cell beside yours again if you answer some of my questions."

Spike dragged his eyes from Buffy and looked at Oliver, all the warmth in his gaze ebbing swiftly away.

"I'm going to kill you."

Dr. Oliver smiled.

"We have technology that will make it so you can't pick flowers without feeling debilitating pain. You can't lay a hand on me unless I wanted you to. When you make threats like that it just makes me sad for you, Spike. You and Buffy."

"Thanks mate, I can feel the love. I really think we've made a breakthrough."

The doctor's pencil was grinding against the paper again.

"I've only been on this project for about a month, and it's come to light that some of the soldiers have been using the hostiles for untoward purposes. We have cameras in every room but no one seems to know who's doing it."

"Wouldn't be too hard for you to set something like that up, too, would it? Something untoward?" Spike asked, glancing down at the picture and realizing the naked woman's face resembled Buffy's.

"All I'd need to do is allow it to happen," Oliver said, putting the finishing touches on the Buffy doodle by drawing in waist-length hair.

Doctor Oliver smiled at Spike as though he could actually hear the vampire's resolve snapping.

"What is Buffy?" Dr. Oliver asked.

"You know what she is, you've seen it."

"She's the Slayer."

"And you win the prize."

"What's a Slayer?"

Spike's mouth suddenly went dry recalling when he'd asked that same question himself. Angelus had throttled him for being too much the animal and too eager to fight. If only old Peaches could see him now. Spike would beg for Buffy; he'd scrape, and he'd bow to save the Slayer. He'd roll over and be Lloyd Oliver's bitch.

"A Slayer is powerful, good. Buffy. She fights the demons and saves the world. You, me, everything on this planet owe their existence to that girl several times over and you want to what? Count the midi-chlorians in her blood? Vivisect her? Let your soldiers use her for a whore?"

"I don't want to hurt her, I want to understand. Who chose her for this undertaking, how was she imbued with such strength?"

"Fate. Magic. Even though you lot deal in it every day, I don't see you putting much stock in the mystical. You think you can cut it out of her. Buffy's power is her own, you can't bottle it, and you can't control her. There are people who love that girl, real people, not like me. There's hundreds of them placed globally who belong to an ancient and powerful organization willing to destroy lives to insure she's safe. You think you can just whisk her from the face of the earth without repercussions?" Spike said, hoping Oliver wouldn't see through the finely spun bullshit.

It was mostly true, except the protecting her part. If Oliver knew another Slayer rose when the current one snuffed, everything could be lost. Hell, Spike thought, everything might already be lost. Might as well lie big.

"Right now there is a massive search underway for that girl. It's only a matter of time before they close in and find you. When they do, my threats are going to seem like bed time stories in comparison," Spike said.

~*~*~*~

"Hey, when was the last time you talked to Buffy?" Dav asked as she folded back the down comforter and got into bed.

It was Sunday night and they'd just gotten back from dropping her parents off at the airport. Sharon and Mike Devis were handsome older people who dressed well and hugged freely. They even complimented Xander on his choice to go into carpentry. They were the polar opposite of his parents. The four of them had managed to play an entire game of Jenga without anyone accusing the other of being a failure or getting drunk. It was sort of amazing.

Xander put his arms around Dav and she snuggled in, looking expectantly at him with her large, brown eyes.

"Um, Friday afternoon we had lunch together and yeah, I don't know," Xander said.

"I thought she was going to call you about dinner tonight, it's not like her to just flake like that," Dav said.

"You're right, but she's been under a lot of stress with classes. Honestly, I was so into meeting Sharon and Mike I didn't think," Xander said.

"They love you, by the way. Mom said you're nothing like Reggie," Dav said.

Reggie was Dav's ex-fiancée, the lawyer who'd given her a flawless, one carat diamond solitaire that still sat in a black velvet box at the bottom of her underwear drawer, because Reggie refused to take it back after their engagement ended.

"What, like wildly successful and rich?"

"Um, no, like a huge douche-bag. The fact that you didn't mention Ayn Rand, business regulation or my weight all weekend went over huge with mom. She said you didn't even need to be sweet and funny on top of that," Dav said.

"Have I told you how much I like your mom?" Xander asked with a goofy grin.

"Yes you have. So did you want to call her?"

"Sharon? She's probably still in the air—"

"No, my brain's still a few clicks back in the conversation. I meant Buffy. I'm a little worried about her."

"Well, it's late, plus I was kinda, sorta hoping I could get some touch. It's been so long, what with your parents here."

"Wow, two whole days. What did you do before you met me?"

"I wore out my copy of, 'Sex and Zen,'" Xander said, before planting a kiss on her smiling lips.

~*~*~*~

Monday morning, Willow stopped by the dorm to change clothes and shower before class. The weekend with Oz had been kind of intense. He always needed her so much more during a full moon, not just to watch over him while he was all wolfy, but during the day, too. This time he didn't want to leave the bed for anything but meals and potty breaks. He'd spent most of the time just holding her. Willow felt a bit overwhelmed. She really wanted to talk to her best friend about the whole thing but when she got to their room there was no Buffy. In fact, it looked exactly as Willow had left it on Friday, right down to Buffy's book bag resting on her own, neatly made bed.

Willow felt a chilly panic sweep through her whole body. Buffy had reassured Willow she would be fine on her own over the weekend and if she needed any help, she'd call. But what if Buffy couldn't call? There were ditches all over the city that her best friend could be lying in at that moment, and it wasn't just irrational panic like when Willow couldn’t find one of her fish right away but they were just hidden in that fake castle at the bottom of the tank. Buffy fought monsters, one of them may have fought back.

Willow picked up the phone and started calling.

Joyce hadn't heard from Buffy; no one answered at Spike's place, and Xander hadn't spoken to Buffy since Friday. Talking to Xander did not with the feeling better make. His voice got really low, like it always did when he was very upset.

"I should have called when she didn't get back to us about dinner," Xander said.

"It's O.K. I mean, we're talking about Buffy, right?"

"Right," Xander said.

Neither of them sounded convinced.

Willow reflexively dialed Giles' number before she remembered he was still in England. She sat on the floor between their double beds, her shower caddy beside her, and the phone in her hand. Willow was cursing herself for being so selfish. There was only one person nearby left to call, Angel, and Willow was dreading that conversation. She decided to go to psych class. Maybe Buffy was there, and this had all been a big misunderstanding. Maybe she'd met Mr. Right and spent the weekend having torrid smoochies, although that probably wasn't what happened given everything with Spike. Unless the torrid smoochiness was with Spike, in which case giving into temptation was way, way better than her best friend being dead.

Willow grabbed her bag and left without changing her clothes. She got across campus in record time and waited by the red, brick archway at the entrance of the auditorium where they were having class. The ginormous T. A., gave Willow a look like he was picking up her mom for a first date and had accidentally smooshed the family dog with his car. It was making her uncomfortable and she wondered what his issue could be. The teaching assistant walked over to Willow, and she struggled to remember his name.

"Hey, have you seen my friend Buffy? She was the petite blonde who Brainy Smurfed you the first day of classes," Willow said.

"Smurfed? Um, I—"

While he was searching for his words, the forbidding Ms. Walsh came up to them.

"Please proposition the undergrads on your own time, Riley," Professor Walsh said, as she wrapped her hand around his considerable upper arm.

"I'm sorry," Riley said and then left with the teacher. Professor Walsh and Riley went over to her desk, speaking quietly over some of the homework that would be handed back to the students.

Riley being smitten with her explained the furtive glances and the somewhat guilty air. He might know she already had a boyfriend. Willow couldn't help feeling proud that a hulking, footballish guy like that would find her attractive, but he was so not her type.

Willow glanced around the room. Most of the seats were filled and still no Buffy. Buffy's friend, Eddie, was approaching with his arm around a shorter boy who had messy, blond hair. Their coziness made her smile. Willow grabbed Eddie's sleeve as he was passing.

"Hey, Willow, what's up?" Eddie asked.

"Eddie is my boyfriend!" the boy beside Eddie said, with a giddy grin. He was practically vibrating and the kid's excitement would have been contagious if Willow hadn't been so worried.

"This is Andrew," Eddie said.

"Hi, have either of you seen Buffy?"

"Um, yeah, on Friday," Eddie said.

"But not since then?" Willow asked.

"No, why?"

"She's been M.I.A., all weekend," Willow said.

Andrew's ebullient expression sank into a pensive frown.

"Maybe we should talk after class. I can meet you guys at the cafeteria," Andrew said.

Eddie looked down at his boyfriend.

"What is it?"

"Matters of the occult and the arcane," Andrew said, with a touch of embarrassment. Andrew gave Eddie a peck on the lips and then left them with a wave.

"Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" Willow asked.

Eddie watched Andrew go and then turned to Willow.

"I think I do," Eddie said.

They entered the lecture hall and took their seats by the front. Oz was the last to straggle in before Riley shut the doors. He sat beside Willow, and Doctor Walsh began the lesson. It was hard for Willow to pay attention, though, but she still managed to take four pages of notes. All through class Riley kept staring at her through his floppy hair, until it passed flattering and became downright creepy.

When Professor Walsh had finished delivering her last pearl of wisdom, Willow took Oz's hand and practically ran out into the hallway, explaining things as they went. Eddie caught up with them when they were partway to the cafeteria. They finished up the walk and Eddie told them how he'd met Andrew through Buffy's friend Spike. They reached the lunchroom and spotted Andrew sitting in the corner, sipping on a juice box. They walked over.

"So Andrew, what do you know about Buffy?" Willow asked as she sat beside him. She was glad Oz was next to her. Eddie turned his chair backwards and plopped down with his legs far apart.

"Well, I actually was a year behind you guys. My brother was Tucker, the guy who had all those demon dogs trained to ruin your prom, so I know Buffy's the Slayer and stuff."

"How is Tucker, by the way?" Oz asked.

"He's good. He's Mormon now so he's, like, better. That's not important right now though," Andrew said, casting the idea of his brother away with his hands as though he were dispersing smoke, "I translated a spell for that vampire, Spike. It could be used to resurrect another vampire from the dead. Or like the undead. I'm not really sure how they roll with that, anyway, he swore me to super-secrecy, but now that Buffy's missing I'm thinking it could be the reason. He didn't want her to know what he was doing and maybe she figured it out."

Willow covered her mouth.

"Oh my God! If Spike's going to resurrect Drusilla, Angel's in danger. I have to call him and Giles, too," Willow said.

Oz gave her a sympathetic squeeze.

"Wow, Drusilla, like Caligula's sister? Is Angel her sire or something?" Andrew asked.

"Yes, to the sire thing and probably not to the first question you asked seeing as Angel's only about two hundred and fifty," Willow said.

Throughout the conversation, Eddie had the same expression. His head was inclined and his mouth was open, his chin pointing from one conversant to the next like the tip of a planchette moving around a Ouija board. At the disclosure of Angel's age, Eddie interrupted.

"Hey, which one of you dosed me and how long will I be tripping?"

"What?" Willow, Andrew, and Oz asked simultaneously.

"This conversation about hell hounds and vampires and an incestuous Roman emperor cannot really be happening leading me to believe I've been slipped some L.S.D." Eddie said.

Andrew smiled and put his hand over Eddie's.

"I have much to teach you my young Padawan," Andrew said.

~*~*~*~

Spike told the doctor everything he knew about Slayers. Spike supposed he'd done a good job because when he'd finished spilling his guts, Oliver stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it for him.

It tasted like ashes.

Oliver stuffed the pack into Spike's front pocket but didn't include a lighter.

"You'll certainly be able to figure something out, Spike. I've got limitless faith in your ingenuity," Dr. Oliver said.

Then the good doctor handed him over to one of the soldiers so Spike could be returned to his cell. He was still strapped in the chair, which had wheels on the bottom and some sort of mechanism that could release the restraints via remote control. It wasn't the magnetized boot thing like in that movie, "Face/Off," but the chair was still kind of cool, or it would be if Spike weren't imprisoned by it. Just as Oliver promised, Spike's prison was the one adjoining Buffy's. The door separating them was closed and her cell was empty, but it was something.

Once they were inside, Spike expected the guard to leave, but he didn't. Instead the young man squatted beside him and grinned.

"Hey, don't think you remember me. Do you? I'm Forrest. You shot me yesterday, thought it was funny to make me piss myself."

Spike was still pinching the burning cigarette in between his lips when he turned to his captor.

"Yeah, that WAS funny."

Spike spat the butt at Forrest and it landed on the soldier's cheek, glowing like a firefly. The scent of singed flesh filled the room.

"Shit!" Forrest hissed, swatting the stub away. The fag end left a raw welt in its stead. Forest touched the spot and then punched Spike in the jaw, bloodying the vampire's
teeth. Spike laughed, sounding like a playing card stuck in the spoke of a bicycle wheel.

"You think that's funny? This should have you rolling on the floor then," Forrest said as he plunged a stake into Spike's heart. Just like the first time he died, there was no life flashing before his eyes, just pain. Spike coughed and gasped, straining against his bonds in a futile attempt to clutch at his chest. A few seconds later, Spike regained his ability to speak.

"Why am I still here?" Spike asked.

"Fuck if I know. Didn't really pay attention in philosophy class. But you're not a pile of dust because that stake was made of plastic. I knew a girl who stretched her earlobe with one of those spacers. When she took it out her ears looked like they melted. You think your chest will look like that if I just leave that stake in there? Let's find out," Forrest said. Then he walked out of the cage, closing the glass behind him.

Spike wasn't sure how long he was sitting there in agony before Riley Finn happened by on rounds, dressed in black like a cat burglar. The soldier saw Spike and the bright, red blood pooling on the white floor. Finn's head jerked and he stopped dead, then used his key card to make the wall recede. The tall man went to Spike and wrenched the stake out of his chest, making the vampire grunt and his whole body curve in on itself. Riley looked ashamed, avoiding Spike's eyes.

"Can't believe someone would leave a weapon in here with you. Who did it?"

"That bloody wanker Forrest."

"I'll have to remind him of protocol," Riley said, tightening and loosened his grip on the stake so that it bounced in his hand, casting off droplets of Spike's blood. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Spike's pride wouldn't allow him to thank the soldier. Besides, he wasn't certain if the magnanimous display wasn't another trick.

Riley cleared his throat and glanced at Spike.

"Is she safe?" Spike asked, cursing himself for laying himself bare before one of the pricks imprisoning him. The soldier looked surprised and then nodded once.

Yes.

Riley departed, sealing Spike inside. A few seconds later, the shackles opened, leaving Spike slightly freer. He took the cigarettes out of his pocket before his blood could soak through the cellophane wrapper on the pack. Spike stared at them a moment.

It was time to train his limitless ingenuity on the puzzle of making a fire.





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