What Makes A Monster by SleepingTigress

1. Chapter 1 by SleepingTigress

2. Chapter 2 by SleepingTigress

3. Chapter 3 by SleepingTigress

4. Chapter 4 by SleepingTigress

5. Chapter 5 by SleepingTigress

6. Chapter 6 by SleepingTigress

Chapter 1 by SleepingTigress
The first thing she noticed, before she was even fully conscious, was her Slayer sense going crazy. Demons. So many freaking demons. With the intensity of the tingles running down her spine, it was like standing in the middle of a hornet’s nest. That got her attention enough to pull herself from the groggy stupor. God, she felt like she’d been drugged. Or had a hangover. Or both. It was hard to tell, but her head was splitting and everything else felt like it was weighed down with lead. Except if it was, you know, actual lead, she’d probably be just fine and able to move and possibly throw said lead at whoever had pinned her with it. This was something worse. It was oppressive.

Her eyes opened, just enough for her to tell that her vision was majorly blurry. Not good, if there really were that many demons that close to her, and when had her senses ever been wrong? Aside from Angel? She tried again to move. Sit up. Push yourself up with your arms. Sit. Up. It was like something was there, holding her down, and she had to fight with everything she had just to move her limbs .

She managed, barely. The effort it took left her panting for breath as she slumped against the plain white wall behind her . God, she felt... what? Weak? Like a normal human? It wasn't even this bad when she experienced the cruciamentum. At least then she could move, and think, and act. This wasn’t normal. This was nowhere near the realm of normal, or even her specialised corner of the abnormal.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. Like that would work. Whatever had her in this condition wasn’t going to just be shaken off. It was a spell, or a powerful drug, or something. She took deep breaths, trying to push down the nausea. Nothing was trying to kill her yet. Nothing was getting any closer to her. No big angry demon hoard descending on her. Think, Buffy, think. Last thing you remember.

She tried. Before everything was blurry and... She was on patrol, maybe? She remembered Spike, walking through Restfield. Right? He was… She clenched her eyes shut, trying to recall. He'd had a paper bag in his arms. There was a carton of cigarettes poking out of the top of it. She couldn’t remember if he’d said anything to her, or… anything else after seeing him. Just that he looked… sort of panicked to see her. Terrified.

No, there was pain. Blinding freaking pain, and then everything went black. Ow… yeah, even with the lovely perk of fast healing, the muscles in her back were still incredibly tender. She grimaced as she lifted her shirt, trying to look at the damage. On her ribs, two angry circular bruises stood out against her skin. A quick search with her hand revealed two more marks on her lower back that felt the same; small, circular, painful. Kind of crispy.

Well, at least her vision was clearing up and she was starting to feel like she might be able to get her feet under her. She looked around, trying to orient herself. Her brain was still pretty foggy, not quite processing her soundings. Everything was spinning, making her feel even more nauseous. She’d kill for a glass of water and a dark space to sleep it off.

Everything around her was white, and harsh, and strangely sterile. Made worse by the smell of disinfectant and the constant hum coming from the lights. Like a hospital, but not. Because at a hospital, there wasn't a big glass door that prevented you from leaving. At a hospital, you weren't in so much pain you could barely crawl to said door. At a hospital, the door wasn't electrified so that when you leaned against it for support, you got shocked halfway back across your cell.

And at a hospital, your worst enemy didn't pace in an identical cell across the hall from you.

Spike. Of course it was Spike. Always. Stupid vampire. How had she not noticed him before?. Against that bright white everything, you'd think the big black trench coat would kind of stand out.

She pulled herself back to the door, careful not to actually touch it again, because she was so over the blinding pain at this point. "Spike." God, why was her voice so raspy? "What did you do to me?" Every word came out in a gasp, and she had to take in big lungfuls of air. She felt like she was going to pass out, or be sick, or both.

He stopped pacing, and stared at her. Even with the distance between them, she could practically feel the anger rolling off of him. The death glare and ticking jaw were always dead giveaways. Then he sucked in his cheeks and huffed.

"Said the same thing about you, pet, first time I woke up here."

The first… God, her head wouldn't stop with the pounding. What the hell was he saying?

"Welcome to hell, Slayer."

Not like living on the hellmouth was all that new to her. Wait. The first time… Waking up. Bright lights. Hospital. “Oh, god.” She was in the commando place. Base. Whatever. But… he escaped, right? So she could too. He wasn't great with plans, and if he could wing his way out of there in a blaze of glory, she should have no problem. "What are you doing here?" She asked through gritted teeth. He didn't respond, just bowed his head so she couldn't see his face any more. "Well?"

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, you owe me, Slayer. Okay? Satisfied?" He threw his hands up, like that was the end of the discussion. Buffy tried to think what she could possibly owe him. No, it couldn't be...

“You, what? Infiltrated a top secret government run demon prison that’s doing experiments... Because I owe you fifteen bucks? For, what was it? Mental anguish from living with Xander? Are you kidding me?” She wasn’t sure what was making her head hurt more; Spike, or the unrelenting light.

“Well, yeah. That- and you’ve still got my ring, I’m pretty sure, and I want it back. Made of iron. Bloody handy in a fist fight.”

He’s got to be kidding.

“Don’t lie to me, Spike.” She ignored the thing about the ring. Yes, she did have it. In her pocket, last she knew, and hopefully it was still there. But she didn’t exactly want to give it back. It was kind of cool looking. Didn’t fit her right, but still. She had a thing for mementos.

“What reason would I have to lie, B-- Slayer? What do you want me to say?” He was pacing again, like a tiger in one of those tiny cages at the circus. Ready to lash out at whatever it could reach and sink its teeth into.

“So you didn’t get recaptured and thrown back in here?”

He stopped. “Well, yeah, I did. But not until I was already down here. And then I saw-- Look, they caught me off guard, alright? And I couldn’t fight back, so. Here I am, back in rat prison, waiting to be killed or escape. Happy?”

No. She wasn’t happy. Because it didn’t make any sense. Why would he risk getting caught over so little money and a hunk of metal? Why hadn’t he left town the first chance he got? There was obviously something he wasn’t telling her, and she couldn’t beat it out of him, so the point was moot. She’d just have to let it go, for now.

“Not really. But whatever. You don’t want to tell me, fine. Don’t. I don’t care. Just tell me how we get back out.” She winced as she forced herself to stand up fully. Slayers weren’t supposed to lean on walls for support. Or vampires. Bottom line, she needed to get out of there, and… Well it seemed wrong to leave Spike for some reason. Maybe because he was already harmless. Maybe because she'd probably need him to find a way out. She wasn't going to think about it too much. Thinking led to more brain pounding, and it was doing that enough on its own.

“I came down here to bloody rescue you, alright!? There. There’s your truth. And they handed me my arse, threw me back in here, and now I’m stuck. Because of you. God, I’m such a bloody idiot.”

No disagreeing there. “You. Slayer of Slayers. Came to rescue me? Why?”

He stared her down, breathing heavily. “Because, I owed you one, alright?”

She wanted to argue. She wanted to break his stupid nose on his stupid face and make it less perfect than it was. Wouldn’t stick, of course, so she’d just have to break it again. But no, it was not alright. Nothing was alright. She was in a freaking demon prison lab, and her only hope of escape was enlisting the help of William the Bloody.

And no, she realized, her tinglies really weren’t overreacting. There were dozens of other demons, as far as she could see, which wasn’t much. They paced, and hit the glass, or sat, or growled. But there they were, all just as caged as she and Spike were. Or, she was as caged as they were. Like… Like she was one of them. And that didn’t sit well, at all.


Footsteps echoed down the hall, reverbing off the walls. It was creepy, and ominous, and Buffy strained to see exactly who was wearing heels in the place. She wasn't back to full strength yet, and she doubted she could put up too much of a fight if it came down to it.

She really hoped it wouldn't.

She must have been drugged. Definitely drugged. Some kind of really potent hallucinogenic. Because there was absolutely no way Maggie Walsh and Riley Finn were standing there, clipboards in hand, like Nurse Ratched and her crony looking at her like she was a new pet project.

Oh, ew. Walsh looked horrible under the lighting. Like… Skeletor's angry Aunt Karen. Probably not a great idea to mention that at the moment though. Buffy got the feeling that her survival depended partially on not making the evil bitch queen of death hate her more than she already did.

God, she'd liked Riley, sort of. He was all solid and tall and well mannered. Farm grown Iowa boy. He’d been kind of charming, and polite, and tried to be funny. They’d gone on a date. They’d kissed. Just a normal guy. But then again, maybe not. It was entirely possible that his name wasn't even Riley. Secret identity crap. And all the thinking had her head pounding harder than ever. She squinted, trying her best to get the light out of her eyes without actually closing them.

"Dehydration. That can be a side effect when a powerful sedative is used." Walsh keyed a code into the lock next to the door, and a pack of water dropped to the floor. "Now, I can't saline drip you in there, so that'll have to do for now. There are some painkillers mixed in, for the taser marks. Not that you need them, probably, but we're trying to be civil here."

Civil? This was civil? "What am I doing in here, Walsh? Explain it to me." Despite the confusion and anger, Buffy popped open the pack of water and sucked on it, thankful for the cool liquid. Was that their plan then? Small luxuries? “What are you doing here?”

She tried to posture, to look tough and ready for a fight. They’d seen her in action. Well, Riley had. There was little doubt he’d given Walsh a detailed report. If she really had to, she could probably kick him in the balls and run. Wouldn't be the first time that tactic worked.

“What I’m doing here is vitally important work in the fight against hostile creatures. Demons, vampires. You get the idea, I’m sure. We capture. We study. We test. We learn. And that knowledge is what will help tip the scale in the fight against them. We call ourselves the Initiative.” She paused a moment, giving Buffy time to take in that knowledge.

“Right. So, why exactly am I in here? Why study me? I'm the one-"

“Well, simply put, Miss Summers, I have reason to believe that you aren’t entirely human. We don’t know what you are, yet, but we will.”

Buffy was floored. Not - Not human? “Are you freaking blind? Hello. Normal person here.”

“Not in the slightest, on either account. Monsters can look human, like your friend there.” She turned and gestured to Spike, who was glaring at her like he’d like to rip her bony throat out with his teeth - while they were still blunt. At this point, Buffy might even let him.

“Whoa, hold on. We are not friends. We will never be friends. I don’t know -”

“You are an accomplice, though. You assisted in his eluding of my operatives - causing them great bodily injury in the process. You then removed a tracker we had placed on his person, and destroyed it. Government property, I might add. And I can only assume that, as he hasn’t yet starved to death and looks in fairly good health, that you’ve been providing him blood to recover his strength.” Riley bent to her ear and whispered something, too quiet for Buffy to hear. “And we have intelligence that you two were, quite recently, engaged to be married?”

“Hey! That was a spell!" Of course, they'd remind her of that. Why not? Throw it right in her face.

“And I’d be very interested to know who it was that cast it, if that’s the case. However, Hostile Seventeen eluded recapture for weeks, with your assistance. We were only able to locate him when he came here- directly to you. Despite his behavior modification chip, he did manage to put up quite a fight. Nearly had your cell open at one point. So I have every reason to believe that the two of you have an established relationship that extends beyond any spell that could be cast. Now, as I said before. I don’t know what you are, exactly, but I will. You can count on that.”

Walsh turned on her heel and walked back the way she'd come from, with Riley following after her. He wouldn't even look at Buffy. No apologetic sorry but it's my job face or anything. Just a soldier, blindly following orders. If he’d think for half a second, or try to reason with Walsh, maybe they’d figure out what was right in front of them.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to roundhouse kick her way through the stupid shocky glass and throttle Walsh, then Riley. No way did he not just tell the death bitch about their run in outside the wedding dress store. And why the hell would he do that? Was he jealous? Vindictive? Did he really think she belonged here? Experimented on? Treated like… Like a monster.

A chill ran down her spine at the thought. Spike… he'd been starving just a couple weeks ago. They… hadn't fed him, the whole time they'd had him here. Or if they had, it had been incredibly sparse. They effectively defanged him. Took away his ability to defend himself.

The thought of them doing that to her… Putting her under, poking and prodding and doing whatever medical procedures they wanted… God, she already felt violated. What if they put a chip in her? Found a way to… what if they already had? She didn't want to think about being defenseless. She didn't want to think about being at their mercy. Or what tests they could possibly want to run on her, or how they planned on doing them. She wanted to go home and curl up in her bed. She wanted hot cocoa with her mom. She wanted to listen to Giles talk about random obscure Slayer things. She wanted to study.

Anywhere else, anything else. Just not there.

She sunk to the floor, tears stinging her eyes, and wrapped her arms around her knees. She couldn't panic. Panicking only wasted energy, and she needed to conserve. She needed to plan. She needed to get out. She needed to somehow destroy their operation in the process. But all the logic in the world couldn’t stop the wave of desperation and fear, and the first sob nearly choked her. She felt like a lost child, all alone, with nobody to help her. No way to help herself.

Is this how he’d felt? For the first time in a hundred and twenty odd years. Vulnerable. Weak. Hopeless. Exposed. No longer a killer. No longer able to survive on his own. Begging for help from people he'd just as soon kill. Having nowhere else to turn. And the way they’d treated him… Going from this, to being chained in a bathtub. Mocked. Taunted. God, she’d been so horrible to him. Offering her throat that way. She remembered that look in his eyes. How badly he’d wanted it. How much he was trying to resist, because the alternative was an electric shock to his brain.

At the time, she’d found it funny. The way he begged Giles to make her stop. Having Spike at her mercy. Being able to say whatever she wanted, do whatever she wanted, and he couldn’t do anything about it but glare at her. He’d been starving, and she’d threatened to withhold blood from him. No wonder he hated her so much.

"Spike." She said his name so quietly, she wasn't even sure he'd hear her.

"Look, Slayer. I don't want to hear it right now. Bad enough being stuck in here again. I don't need to hear your high and -"

"I'm sorry."

"-mighty - wait. You're sorry? You?"

"I didn't… I'm just sorry. Okay?"

Could have been the sedative still making it hard to think, or whatever pain medication had been in her water. Maybe it was the stress, or the way Walsh talked to her like she was less than human. What they were doing here wasn't right. You kill the demons that are killing the people. You didn’t use them as lab rats.

"Well that's two words I never thought I'd hear coming out of your mouth. You feeling alright over there?"

"Uh, no. But thanks for asking. I… I just need some time."

She was going to get them out of there. Somehow. She couldn’t leave Spike there. She had to make it up to him somehow. She’d treated him like garbage, and he’d still come in after her. She couldn’t explain it. Why he’d made that decision. Why he even cared. If he even did, really. But for whatever reason, he’d put his life on the line. For her. The least she could do was the same for him.

“Oh yeah, no. Take all the time you need. Not like the clock is ticking down to when they decide to kill us.” Spike scoffed at her. “You know, I figured you’d be raring to bust out of here. Not sittin’ there and moping about being in a bleeding demon prison. It’s us or them, love. Take your bloody pick, before they shove a chip in your brain, too.”

Okay, I know he’s making sense, but why does he have to be such a jerk about it? I can barely move. He thinks I’m gonna start kicking doors down?

“I-I think they gave me some kind of drugs. How long do those take to wear off usually?”

“Depends on how much you take, I’d wager.” She looked at him questioningly. She wasn’t taking anything. “Word of advice, Slayer. Don’t let the people holding you hostage make you a drink.”

She glanced at the empty bag on the floor. Walsh had said there were pain killers in it. That was all. But why the hell… I’m so stupid. “Got it. Die of thirst. That gives us, what, three days?”

He nodded. “More or less. You’ve been out for one already. Drink it slow next time. It’s what I had to do to get out of here. Fooled them into thinking I was out. Won’t work again, but at least you’ll be able to move.”

“I, uh… I think I’ll try to get some rest.”

“Yeah, get some kip. Need your strength, Slayer. I’ll-” he stopped and shook his head. ”Just get some rest.”
Chapter 2 by SleepingTigress
Subject: Unknown HST Species

Initial Findings:

HST49, which uses the name Buffy Anne Summers, appears to be human to the untrained eye. This specific HST is an unknown species, and employs an elaborate cover to keep its true identity secret from civilians. It attends a local college, social functions, and appears to maintain basic interpersonal relationships with civilians. What its motives are for this is currently unknown. Operatives have had previous social contact with the subject, and were unaware of its status as an HST. Its ability to blend in with humans is, so far, unmatched by any other species we’ve encountered. There is no weakness or sensitivity to daylight, as with vampires and some other species. Body temperature scans indicate no abnormalities. The only thing noticeable to our operatives was that the creature did not seem to fit in among most normal humans; That it was ‘peculiar’.

First physical contact with the subject occurred during a recapture mission for HST17. Subject disrupted the mission, physically assaulting and overpowering three operatives, aiding in the escape of HST17. The mission was forced to abort at that time. Following the incident, HST17 was tracked via homing device planted on his person. The creature managed to elude operatives for several days, until it sought refuge with HST49. Subject and allies then located and destroyed the homing device, effectively hiding HST17. It is an assumption that the subject then provided HST17 with blood, which aided in the recovery of health and strength. Though unconfirmed at this time, it is believed that HST17 and HST49 are in a physically intimate relationship. It is unknown if this is a case of cross species breeding, or merely a fluke. Speculation is ill advised at this time.

Subject’s identity remained unknown until a recent incident involving several demons, known as The Gentleman. (Separate report available) During this time, the subject was witnessed engaging other demons physically, though the reason is an item for debate. It may have been a territorial battle, or that the creatures’ presence threatened exposing the subject’s true nature. Regardless, HST49 did succeed in the termination of The Gentleman, as was witnessed by an operative.

Through these encounters with the subject, it was decided that it be brought in for further study. Much remains a mystery at this time. What is known does very little to aid in our understanding of it. HST49 is known to possess enhanced strength, speed, and pain tolerance. It is believed to have advanced healing abilities as well, but that is unconfirmed. Many specifics remain unknown at this time.

HST49 was captured by A Team. Electrical restraints were deployed, but proved less effective than expected. I am recommending increased voltage in the future, if such measures are deemed necessary. Subject is likely to recover from any damage caused. Heavy sedation measures were implemented for transfer. Subject was delivered to Initiative base at 0115, in stable condition. Vitals were taken and recorded at time of arrival. Pulse was slow, likely due to sedation. Subject recovered consciousness in much less time than expected, which will be taken into consideration in the future.

Development of a testing system is currently in progress. The subject will remain in a state of mild sedation until such time that the system is completed, to prevent any incidents. I suggest a low starting dose, administered through a hydration pack every six hours.

End Initial Report.


She sighed and stretched her arms over her head, reading over what she'd typed up for her superiors. While male and female anatomy were acceptable to be noted on a roster, it was best to stay neutral in official reports. These creatures weren't people. They didn't deserve names, or genders. They were no different from lab rats, except for their lethality. Study and report. That was her job, and she was damn good at it. She caught her mistakes and corrected them.

Mentioning the name was for reference only. HST49 had an extensive public record, going back more than four years as a resident of Sunnydale. Highschool transcripts, run-ins with authorities. If the higher up deemed it necessary to dig further, they had all the relevant information they needed to do so. Walsh couldn't help but wonder what the motivation was. Why would a subterrestrial waste time blending in so perfectly in human society? Why it would play at human connection. Why, in fact, it would be taking a college course on that very subject. All questions Walsh intended to answer before the subject expired. She'd have to go about studying it in a different way. No species in the books matched the description. Not even close. If they were dealing with something unique, one of a kind, there wouldn't be one to replace it in the future.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She had other matters to attend to, and sitting at her desk contemplating wasn't accomplishing anything. There were new subjects to catalogue. Dossiers to put together. Cross referencing the books for any specific names. Autopsies to read over. She sent the report up the chain of command, saved a copy for her own records, and locked the file.

No sooner had she stood up to go check on the progress of her experiments, a low rumble caught her attention. Then a sharp jolt knocked her to the ground, and the building began to tremble around her. An earthquake. One of the very few cons to operating underground on the cusp of tectonic plates.

The lights flickered, causing a very rare pit in her stomach. If the power failed, there was that very small chance that the emergency generators would take too long to kick on, or that they’d be too damaged to work at all. She hated those kinds of variables. And as much as she’d tried to prepare for the eventuality, there was always that worry.

As the rumbling grew louder, the laboratory around her dropped into darkness.

She counted the seconds as they passed, waiting. Hoping.

***



Buffy was jarred awake from her half sleep by the sounds of shouting, and a building rumble. She knew exactly what an earthquake on the hellmouth meant. Another apocalypse. It’s not even May yet! Or a Tuesday! I’ve got four more months before I need to worry about saving the world again. How unfair. And how exactly was she supposed to actually DO the word saving when she was locked in a tiny prison cell? God, the government could be so very stupid sometimes. They hadn’t even bothered to ask her who she was, or what she was. They just made the assumption that because she wasn't a normal girl, she was obviously a monster. Ugh.

She forced herself upright and stumbled over to the shocky glass before glancing up and down the hall. A couple of scientists lingered, leaning on the walls for support. Probably praying that the whole building didn’t collapse down on top of them. Which, hey, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She just wasn’t exactly keen on being crushed to death along with them and never found.

The rumbling grew louder, the shaking more violent. Just when she was sure the roof was going to come down, a small miracle - the power grid failed. Sure, she was plunged into the kind of darkness where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, but when she fell forward, the door didn’t shock her. It slid open. Then there were hands grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and pulling her forward, out of the cell.

“If you want to get out, now’s the time. Move!” Spike growled. His voice is… he’s vamped out, isn’t he? Then her hand was in his, which was really weird, and he was dragging her through the darkness.

She’d find herself replaying that moment later. Almost unconsciously. He could have grabbed her arm, her wrist, even just her sleeve, but he’d taken her hand. She knew how Spike’s hands felt, of course she did, but the memory of how his right hand felt when it wrapped around hers and tried to pull her to safety would stay with her for a very long time.

They were only a few paces down the hall when the emergency lights came back on, followed by flashing red and sirens.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

Well, they were already out of their cells. Why stop now?

“Which way do we go?” she asked, and hated the way her voice trembled. Hated the way her knees were weak. Hated that she was turning to him for guidance. Trusting him to help her. To save her.

He turned to look at her, back in his human face. “Whichever way there aren’t people pointing guns at us.”

“Code Red. I repeat, Code Red. Four hostiles in B Wing. Initiate containment protoc-aaaaaah!”

Buffy watched in horror as the scientist making the call was tackled by another escapee, and she had to fight every urge she had to stop and help him. To slay the attacker. Humans equaled good guys, right? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Spike’s grip tightened, and he pulled her forward, past the carnage, trying to get to the door before it slid shut. She had to move faster. She knew that. She should have had no problem keeping up with a vampire, even if he was always slightly faster, but her legs felt like jelly. The good jelly, with fruit chunks in it, but still jelly.

“Buffy, stop!”

She knew that voice. Somewhere in the back of her head, she recognized it. But she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to leave. She didn’t belong here. She wasn't a demon. She was just a normal girl, with normal friends, who happened to have a not-normal calling. And if Spike was going to help her get out, then that’s who she was listening to.

“Gonna have to slide!” Spike let go of her hand and threw himself to the floor, letting the momentum carry him across the threshold. "Come on!"

She dove, barely making it through. There was a very final clunk as Spike pulled her to her feet and looked frantically to either side. Army guys to the left, so he dragged her to the right. Another door closed, another turn, more army guys.Her heart hammered in her chest, and her lungs burned. She tried to run with Spike, to match his movements and reactions, and carry her own weight, but she felt so weak. Everything took too much effort, and she knew she was slowing him down.

She didn’t dare look behind them. They turned another corner, and she fell to her knees, crying out in frustration that her legs wouldn’t do what she told them. Spike dragged her back up by her elbow before clutching her hand in his again.

The only thing she could hear was her heaving breath, their feet pounding against the tile, the swishing of leather as it billowed behind him. And all she could think about was how… How she couldn’t hate him after all this. He’d come after her. He’d taken her with him. He’d probably have been long gone by now, if he weren’t trying to drag her to her salvation.

If she weren’t clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Should be a hatch up here!” Spike panted out.

They rounded another corner, only to find the path blocked by another heavy steel door. The only other option was back the way they came, but... The echoing of footfalls filled Buffy with dread. Going back wasn’t an option. This was it. They’d been herded like cattle, and hadn’t even realized it.

She found herself pressing against his chest. And his arms closing around her. She wasn’t going to think about that. In such a desperate situation, who would blame her? Who would ever even know about it?

It was Walsh that came around the corner first, her arms crossed and a very satisfied look on her face. Flanking her were no less than twenty soldiers, dressed in protective gear and carrying an intimidating amount of weapons. “Hostile Seventeen. Did you really think you could pull that off twice?”

He actually laughed. "Yeah. You caught me twice. Seemed only fair to try." He was ready to fight, even though he knew he couldn’t. Credit for stubbornness, or bravery. Or stupidity. All of the above.

“Gates.” Walsh made a hand gesture, and one of the operatives stepped forward. Forrest, Buffy realized. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon, aimed, and fired.

The pain only lasted a few moments, but it dropped her to her knees in a heartbeat. There was a roar, a sharp pinch as the prongs were violently detached from her skin, then the familiar crunching sound of bones shifting. She looked up to Spike, who had… put himself between her and them. He’d let his demon out, she was sure of that. Her gaze shifted to Walsh, to the wall of operatives at her disposal, and back to Spike. What the hell did he think he was doing?

A hulking figure stepped forward, baton raised, and brought it down. Spike raised his arm to block, and the sound of the impact made Buffy’s skin crawl. The bone was almost certainly broken, but he hadn’t uttered a sound. No screams of pain. Nothing. An instant later, a boot connected hard with his ribs, dropping him down to her level.

“No!”

She didn’t know why she’d yelled out. It was just Spike. Evil, soulless... defenseless. He couldn’t fight back. It wasn’t right. They didn’t need to do this. All they had to do was… just let them leave. She didn’t notice a second figure stepping forward, eyes focused on her, until Spike growled. He moved again, putting himself back in front of her. The blow intended to knock her unconscious connected with Spike’s head, making his silver hair vibrantly red in an instant.

He was flat against the ground in front of her, blood pooling around his head. “Spike..?” She couldn’t help but lay her hand on him, to try to roll him over. “Spike?” her voice wavered. Obviously he wasn’t dead, but…

He shrugged her off. “I’m fine, Slayer.” Liar. “Don’t need your pity.” He barely managed to get his feet under him before the next blow came, snapping his head to the side where Buffy could actually look at the damage. Oh, god…

“Stop! Please, just stop.” She was crying. Why was she crying?

Why weren’t they stopping?

They’d descended on Spike. Three of them, taking turns throwing punches and kicks, landing them wherever there happened to be a good target, while everybody else stood there and watched. And all he could do was take it, until they finally decided they were done.

His human face… It would take him weeks to heal from that. Probably months in here. Most of his skin was black, or blue, or red. There was a nasty gash on his lip, another on his cheek. One eye was swollen shut completely, but the other… Why was he looking at her like that? Vampires weren’t supposed to...

“That’s enough, gentleman. I think we’ve made our point. Finn, if you would.” Walsh turned and walked away, and Buffy was filled with hatred for her. This had all just been for their entertainment. It was pointless. Sadistic. Cruel.

She should have been fighting. God, she wanted to. She really did. She knew she could mop the floor with them, if she could just get up. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. All of her instincts screaming in her head, pointing out all the openings and weaknesses and blows she could land. For the first time in her life, she felt the urge to kill something other than a monster, and the thought sickened her.

Walsh. Riley. She could break them so easily. Make it so they never walked again. Make them pay for what they had done. What they were still doing. And if it weren’t for that damn bag of water full of drugs she’d chugged down, she would have. She had no doubt in her mind.

Spike was harmless thanks to them. And they all knew it, and didn’t care. She couldn’t stop them, the way she was, and it pissed her off even more. It wasn’t a fair fight. It never had been. The soldier boys knew they could never take on anything on their own. So they ganged up, used drugs and electrocution and whatever else they could to get an unfair advantage. They were just a bunch of scared little men, playing at heroes, not even realizing how close to being villains they all were.

They needed to pay. The tranquilizer dart in her thigh barely registered as she took a step toward the closest thing wearing camo. She managed a few more wobbly legged paces before she slumped to the floor, barely conscious, but still aware. Two hands closed firmly on her ankles. She thrashed. She kicked. She twisted and fought as much as she could. The grunts of pain brought a sense of satisfaction, even as she was losing the battle to stay awake. More hands grabbed at her legs, effectively taking away her ability to cause any real damage. She wanted to hurt them. All of them.

She wanted to make sure Spike was going to be okay. He’d… defended her. For whatever weird, obscure reason, he had. Spike.

He was still awake. Close enough to touch, if she could just reach out for him. Something solid and familiar. Something to hold on to. She wanted him to know… His fingers brushed against hers as she passed, just before she fell into unconsciousness. Her name on his lips had been muffled, barely audible, but there.

Buffy.
Chapter 3 by SleepingTigress
Getting thrown back into his cell had all the reverence of being thrown out of a bar- head first, by a Chirago demon, and he didn’t even have booze to make himself feel better about it. Soldier boys weren’t exactly gentle either. Not that it would have mattered much if they had been, what with all the broken... everything.

He’d been over it in his head a dozen times already, and he still couldn’t really rationalize it. Any of it. Going after the Slayer. Trying to comfort her. Watching over her while she slept. Putting himself in harm’s way for her. Even if he could blame it on some remnant of Poncy William, it didn’t explain why he cared. Vampire, Slayer. He should have taken her out long ago, but she was just too much fun to dance with. And maybe that’s what it boiled down to. He’d grown accustomed to having that thorn in his side. He liked that particular thorn. It hurt in all the right ways. She kept him on his toes. All his years, he’d never come across somebody who he’d stalemated with. Not like her. Not that many times. So yeah, maybe he dreamed of killing her every day, but he didn’t actually want her dead.

He really didn’t want somebody else taking that from him, either.

God, he’d been daft to ever think his plan had even the slightest chance of working out the way he’d imagined it. Though what had he expected, really? It was him and plans, of course it had gone all sixes and sevens. The idea had been to get the Scoobies on board, have Red use a spell to immobilize or incapacitate all the government people, slip in, grab the Slayer, and slip back out. Easy as pie. Except the Scoobies were a bunch of bleeding idiots, and they hadn’t even believed him about seeing Buffy get caught. They all looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Bloody Xander, making a mockery of the whole thing.

Oh, let me guess. Commando guys, yay tall, two eyes kind of in the middle? And they just, what? Overpowered Buffy and dragged her away to their lair so they could… experiment on her? Nice fantasy, Spike. Except she’s not like you. She’s not a monster.

Like hell. Military types were always the same. Follow orders, don’t ask questions. Boss said jump, you didn’t bloody well ask how high. You just started jumping. Walsh, she was smart. But not smart enough to see what was right in front of her face. All she’d have had to do was ask the Slayer what she was, and she would have had her answer. All this? Entirely pointless, other than pleasure seeking. If they wanted to know the weaknesses of demons, they could have learned that from the Slayer, too.

And Xander wanted to talk about who was and wasn’t a monster? Take a look in the bloody mirror. Wanker. Demons, they had an excuse to be bad. With the no soul having, everything was pretty much morally grey unless the demon decided it wasn’t. Personal code and whatnot. Some of them weren’t all that bad when it came right down to it. But humans. Now those were the real pieces of work. They knew right from wrong. No real question about that. But some of them really just didn’t give a damn. Some of them just liked to do evil things.

Murderers, rapists, and the like. They all had souls. Assumingly, at any rate. Didn’t stop them from doing what they did. Didn’t make them come over all remorseful about it. Souls weren’t what separated monsters from men. It was actions. And while Spike didn’t particularly have an interest in being seen as less monstrous, or being less bad, the chip was forcing him to. Temporarily, at least. Getting in good with the white hats seemed about the best way to keep them directly off his arse about things while still being able to drive them absolutely bat shit crazy. They’d trust him more when he did eventually get the chip out, and make it much easier to pick them off.

But when he’d seen the wanker boys taking down the Slayer, something had gone all… He didn’t even know how to describe it. Just - seeing somebody else touch her, hurt her, drag her limp body away the way that they did. His first instinct had been to go rip their throats out, untie the bint, and - well. Not let them have their meaty hands all over her when she couldn’t defend herself, that was for sure. But the chip was doing little warning sparks for even thinking about it, which was infuriating as hell. And without her righteous little gang of helpers on board, he figured he’d be getting a hell of a lot bigger headache anyway. Either they’d stake him in her absence or accuse him of doing something to her.

So the plan had to change, to this total crapshoot. Sneak in on his own, try to stay undetected in hallways with nothing to dip behind, find the stupid bint, and somehow get her out. Yeah. And why exactly he’d gone through with it? He hadn’t a clue. He shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have risked his own life for hers, and shouldn’t have expected things to go any different than they had. There’d been that feeling though. His blood, screaming out to have its will done. And for whatever reason, it willed that he go play hero and save the distressing damsel.

And now, he was back in his holding cell, just as powerless as before, except now he had a bunch of wounds that needed mending. He couldn’t decide what was bruised, cracked, or broken. All the pain just blended together. Soldier boys hadn’t been taught to spare the rod, that was for sure. Or maybe they just enjoyed the carnage as much as any monster, and were too soul having to admit it. That one though- he’d been enjoying it more than the others. Spike could smell it on him. The jealousy. Fear. Rage. Intoxicating little mixture, even when you’re getting your ribs kicked to pieces.

He still didn’t really know why he’d done it. Why he’d put himself between them and her. Why he’d got his arse kicked to save hers.

He’d been hoping the Slayer would get her wits about her, stand up, maybe kick the door down. Or rip somebody's arm off and beat the rest of the wankers with it. But no, she’d just cowered there behind him, like some kind of meek, feeble, slip of a girl. He could smell the drugs on her, once they were close. Whatever concoction they’d put in that water pack of hers was potent stuff. He hadn’t realized it until her blood was really pumping. She smelled sickly. She wasn’t in her right state. Honestly, the fact she’d been mostly able to keep up with him for all the running was kind of a miracle. Might’ve been what did them in, actually. Getting that mixture coursing through her whole body all at once instead of letting it just mellow for a few hours until it was out of her system. Nothing different she could have really done, and he was stupid to have hoped for anything else. The white coats were doing their best to keep her as non-lethal as possible, and succeeding. Which really didn’t sit right with him, somewhere deep down. Slayers were supposed to be lethal, that’s what they were for...

And of course, Spike himself was as harmless as a kitten. They’d seen to that. Couldn’t even trip somebody without getting a zap to his gray matter. That beating he took was just a show of force for them. A show of defiance for him. A lesson he refused to learn. He’d played that game before, for a few decades. He wanted them to know exactly who it was they were dealing with. He wasn’t some fledge, fresh out of the grave. He wasn’t running around killing the first person to cross his path. He only wanted one girl. He was a master in his own right, and... He wasn’t going to just sit there and let them use him as a lab rat. And he wasn’t going to let them do it to her either. Not if he could give her a chance. Not if he could stop it.

Why, exactly, he wasn’t sure yet. Something had stopped him from abandoning her there. When the quake hit and the power failed, he should have just left her to rot with the rest of them and got out on his own. He wasn’t doing any good trapped behind glass. He wasn’t doing any good watching her sleep off the drugs. And why the hell was he even worried about doing good all of a sudden? Useful was a more appropriate word. And he didn’t even care to be that most of the time. Especially not to her. The thing with Angel was supposed to be a one time deal. Temporary truce. Wasn’t supposed to become a habit. But he’d felt it back then, too. That urge to run to her side and help her. He hadn’t, because he had Dru in his arms and he was a bit preoccupied with the thought of shagging his ass out of the Hellmouth and never coming back. How well that had turned out.

He was an idiot.

Never should have even come down here. Should have just washed my hands of it and been on my way out of SunnyHell. Gone back to LA, or down to Brazil. Found some black market doctor to take the stupid chip out and tracked Dru down, tied her up, and made her love me again. But no, had to go and be bloody possessive of her. Had to come be the hero for some buggered reason.

I haven’t been making attempts on her life for two bleeding years, just to have her snatched out from under me by a bunch of government white coats. She’s mine. My kill. We’ve been doing the dance too long for it to end any other way. The only time she ought to be this defenseless is when she’s dead. Not because she’s been drugged by some skeletal bitch with a tranq gun. And I’ll be damned if I let that glorified hall monitor be the one who chokes the life out of her.

She’s going to die a glorious, bloody death, at the hands of somebody that can best her in combat. And they’re going to have to earn it. I’ll have to earn it.

So he told himself yet again. But that image of her beneath him, throat bared, exposed… Well, it was a heady bouquet. One still fresh in his memory from Red’s spell that had the slayer wriggling in his lap in all the best ways. Something like that, you didn’t have an easy time shutting out. Since then, his fantasies had shifted from violent death to… well, still her death. But he couldn’t help but be curious. Slayers had stamina, strength. God, she could probably go for hours and never get tired. Little nip on the lip, little Spike would be ready again in a heartbeat. Not like he could kill her right then anyway. Not until he found some way to get the chip out. And the next best thing for taking out a frustrating day… happened to be a different kind of rough and tumble.

He shook the thoughts from his mind. Again. He had other things to be concerned about. Plotting a grand escape. Healing. And the sack of half congealed drugged blood wasn’t all that appealing in any sense, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d just have to do what he did the first time around and drink it slowly enough. If he paced himself, whatever sleeping medication they’d added to it wouldn’t even have that much of an effect. At least he wouldn’t be as bruised. Bones, though. Those took longer. The stuff was human, at least, but diluted with whatever medical crap they kept it fresh with. Kind of sweet, too. He could deal with that. Not nearly as good as fresh from the source, but he highly doubted they’d be very forthcoming with that.

He had no clue how long it had been. Without any windows, all he had to go on was his natural sleep rhythm, and that wasn’t much help considering he didn’t stick to the normal vampire routine. He sipped at the blood slowly, not taking more than a little at a time, and waiting for the dazed feeling to pass before he had more. But he was getting antsy. He’d already started pacing back and forth again, like the caged animal they believed him to be. Hurt like hell, too. He was pretty sure he had at least a few minor fractures that weren’t setting quite right. It would probably take even longer now that he was walking on it, but he couldn’t bear to sit still any more. He needed to move.

They still hadn’t brought the Slayer back from wherever the hell they’d whisked her away to, and it had been enough hours for most of his less severe wounds to completely heal. His lip wasn’t as bad, he could almost open his eye again, sort of. His bruises weren’t as tender to the touch. On the packaged blood he was drinking, that wasn’t a great sign for Buffy. Something wasn’t right about it, and the images his brain was drumming up were doing bugger all to calm his nerves. Either they had her strapped down to a table doing whatever they wanted to her unconscious body, or they’d killed her and were busy with an autopsy.

He bristled just thinking about either scenario. He already knew they were sadistic pricks to demons. Never mind a helpless young woman. The soldiers were bad enough. All they did was bring you in, hand you over. Occasionally kick your everything in if you got out of line. The white coats were worse. They were the ones that put chips into you. The ones that cut you open and played around with your insides. The ones that tinkered with you until they figured out everything they wanted to know. Trying to find the limits of a Slayer? That could take some time. Trying to control one? Even longer. And Buffy -

Spike was drawn from his thoughts by a commotion down at the end of the hall. Demons reacting to something coming through the door. Spike could smell their excitement, even through the glass. Not that he needed to. They were making it plenty well known: White coats were bringing her back in. Finally. He was over to the door in an instant, ignoring the throbbing in his leg and almost forgetting about the barrier being electrified. He craned his neck, looking as far down the corridor as possible. He’d been almost relieved to know she was coming back in one piece, but something wasn’t quite right. He could smell it, the rich scent of Slayer blood. Thick and potent. When they came into view, he almost wished he hadn’t looked.

Two soldiers were dragging her. Limp and bleeding. Definitely unconscious. God, she looked way too pale under the lights. They could have at least used a gurney. This was just disrespectful. Spike watched them intently as they approached, all of his senses focused on her. Her breathing, her heartbeat. Trying to pick them out over the roars of demons. The closer they got, the easier it became. Weak, sluggish. But steady, and that was something, wasn’t it? She wasn’t dead. Yet.

They stopped in front of her cell, swiped a card, and the door slid open soundlessly. When they tossed her in like trash, Spike’s vision went red. They treated her like she was nothing. Like she hadn’t averted how many apocalypses. Like she didn’t lay her life on the line every single night to keep people like them safe. The floor they threw her on wouldn’t even have existed if it wasn’t for the things she did.

No, to them she was just another thing to study and tinker with. A lab rat. Not a person. Not the One Girl in All the World. She was nothing. They had absolutely no idea what she was. And if they did, that just made it worse. This Slayer was a rarity. She’d made it out of her teen years. She’d killed at least two master vampires. She’d killed Batface, for Christ’s sake. She’d killed her own boyfriend, to save the world. She’d taken down who knew how many vampires on a nightly basis. And she somehow managed to have friends. A family. Bleeding social life. She was going to college. Because she was strong enough to think, maybe, someday, she’d be allowed to have a future that didn’t involve slaying.

Spike had to admire her, even if he did want to kill her. It would almost be a shame. Almost.

That’s why you had to drug her to take her down, isn’t it? You lot of pansies could never take her in a fight. She’d mop the floor with you. You ought to have a little more respect. What the hell did you do to her? Strap her down and flog her? Did it make you feel all manly?

The two soldiers turned to look at Spike for a moment, amusement on their faces. “She can tell you when she wakes,” the shorter of the two said. “Well, if she wakes up.” He laughed. Spike watched the vein in his throat, determined that he'd rip it out with his teeth some day. Blunt. No fangs making it quick. They’d all suffer.

It wasn’t until they’d walked away that Spike realized he’d spoken out loud, that he’d shifted into game face, and that his hands were balled so tightly into fists that his nails were digging into his palms. His teeth were cutting into his lip, and he wouldn’t even have noticed if not for the taste of blood.

Calm down. She’s your bleeding enemy. You don’t need to protect her. You don’t need to defend her. You were the idiot who came in here to get her out, and that’s all you need to worry about doing. She’ll be just fine. If you couldn’t kill her, you really think they’ll be able to? She’s still breathing. Look, you can see her breathing. Just look. See? Breathing. Her chest rising and falling...right. Stop looking. Anytime now. Just stop. Stop it, what is wrong with you?! Gotta be this bloody chip. Behavior modification, yeah? All those zaps to my brain can’t be good for me.

Still, as much as he hated to admit it, he felt calmer watching her. Knowing for sure that she definitely was still alive, even if she was weak. So he settled himself in, just a few inches away from the door, thankful her pulse was still within earshot, if he listened intently enough. He wasn’t going to think. Not about why he was feeling so protective. Not about why seeing her hurt bothered him so much. Not why he’d… Not any of it.
Chapter 4 by SleepingTigress
“Here. It’s a smoky quartz, just like you said. I purified it before I came, so we should be all hunky dorey ready to go!” Willow was kind of bouncing on the balls of her feet, obviously excited. Eager. And understandably so. Her best friend was missing, possibly being held captive by a vampire, possibly by the government, and location spells had so far failed. Which was really weird in and of itself. As long as they were done correctly, short of a protection spell, nothing should have interfered. This was the next logical step to finding her.

Not that Tara had a ton of experience with scrying herself, at least when it came to things like this. Normally she did it more as a form of self awareness. But when Willow had come to her, asking for help, with those eyes… Well, how could she say no? It wasn’t in her to ignore somebody who needed help. And she was more experienced than Willow. Scrying took practice. Years of it, and they didn’t have that kind of time.

"Thank you. I have some salt water, to cleanse it." She didn't miss Willow’s disappointed look. "It's just that, I'll be the one using it, you know? So it's important that there's no residual energy. Ideally, we’d do this tomorrow night, so I could attune it. B-but I know… We’re short on time. I can make this work."

"Oh, no! I totally understand. I was just hoping that we could just... have answers." The forced smile fell a bit and she took a seat on the edge of the bed. "I just hate not knowing where she is, you know?"

Tara nodded. "I do. Why don't you, uh, do some mediation? It'll take me awhile to get everything set up and ready."

She tried to take deep, calming breaths while she went about preparing for the ritual. The sage helped, at least. And having Willow around just made her feel… nice. More confident. She didn’t stutter as much when she spoke to her. She was at ease. Which would be really helpful for something like this. She needed to be open to whatever the powers chose to show her. She couldn’t try to get the answer straight out. It had to go naturally. And for that, she needed to be centered, focused on the goal.

The setting up of the ritual was almost a form of mediation in itself, and it helped make great strides in reaching the trance-like state she was aiming for. Meditation cushion, placed in the center of the room. Her wooden bowl, filled with fresh water, set just in front of it on the floor. Two identical white candles, one on either side of the bowl. A cone of jasmine incense, due north of the water. She lowered herself onto the cushion and took in a long breath before letting it out slowly. She set the quartz into the water, and began.

“I call upon Hecate, Goddess of Wisdom and Guide to Enlightenment. Bless this circle.” She lit her incense in offering before continuing. “May that which is in darkness come to light” She lit each candle in turn, ignoring the shakiness of her own hand. Calm. Open. “I need to find the way to Buffy Summers.”

The flickering candle light played over the surface of the water, reflected in her crystal. She focused on that point, letting her breathing become even and her eyes grow heavy. She let herself be free to wander, and very gradually, the shadows cast by the light drew her in.

She found herself in a dark fog, with blackness surrounding her no matter which way she turned. She tried to call out, but there was no sound. No wind. She couldn’t even see the ground under her feet. She wouldn’t panic. The vision would come, if she let it.

She walked through the darkness. It didn’t feel malevolent. She had no reason to fear the unknown. Very slowly, things became clearer and began to take shape. Most notably, a big fluffy dog with a curled tail. A soft glow emanated from it, providing very welcome light. It sat there ahead of her, waiting. Watching. Hello, doggy. Are you here to help me? It whuffed at her and rose to its feet before turning and walking into the haze. Tara followed after, watching as images floated by. The haze remained, however, making it nearly impossible to focus on any details.

Red bricks. Greek letters. Evergreen trees. Gray cable knit?

Metal? I’m falling down. A long way down. A shaft?

The darkness was replaced suddenly with light so harshly bright that Tara had to squint against it to see anything. The dog padded ahead of her, and the room shifted under her feet. She lurched forward and stepped into… A hallway? At least her sight here was mostly clear. She had to be getting close.

There were doors upon doors made of glass as far as she could see, all identical. She walked down the corridor, unsure if she was actually making any progress or if it just went on forever. Ghostly figures paced behind the doors. Details remained shrouded, but they all seemed more or less humanoid in shape. Some bigger, some shorter. One definitely had horns. On it went, until her guide dog stopped and sat in front of one particular door. Inside, the figure was crystal clear.

Black leather coat that hung near the floor. Bleached blond hair. Vibrant blue eyes.

Slayer…

She could hear his voice somehow, through the dead silence. British, she thought. That would be an important detail, probably. But where was Buffy? Why had the guide led her here, to this man? Where was this? Underground, somewhere, where there was enough space for all… this.

Are you okay?

The vision was melting, the walls oozing down in a very disturbing way. Like blood running from the ceiling to the floor, but black. She had to be close. She had to be. Tara spun in circles, trying to see Buffy, but it was too late. The darkness was eating everything, blocking out the vision. The big friendly guide dog was gone. Buffy. I need to find Buffy. She tried to regain her focus, to bring the images back.

Then she was back in her room. The candles had burned down almost to the carpet, and she quickly blew them out. Willow knelt down in front of her, concern written on her features. Tara let out a sigh. She’d failed, hadn’t she? She’d been so close, and at the last moment, she’d let go of her focus. All that time and effort, wasted.

“What did you see? Did you find her?” Her hand. It had come to rest on Tara’s own, and wasn’t that kind of nice in a way?

She shook her head. “No, but… I got really close. There was a-a man there. He was dressed in all black, big leather coat, ble-”

“Bleached hair. I was afraid of that.” She worried her lip between her teeth and paced for a few moments before coming to a sudden stop. “Tara, I know that you’re not like, super social, and everything. And I-I know that Buffy isn’t your friend. And this isn’t your problem, at all. I know that. But could you maybe, possibly, come and meet some people that can help us with this?”

Her eyes were so expectant, pleading. As uncomfortable as Tara was around new people, something was different. She was still nervous. And it was so sudden. But… Willow was such a pure person. Kind, and understanding, and gentle, and full of love. To think she’d surround herself with people that were cruel or heartless… It would be foolish. Whoever it was Willow wanted her to meet, they were probably like her. And it would be a good thing to know them.

“I’m free tomorrow, after classes.” She smiled softly, and Willow’s eyes lit up with joy. However nervous she would be, seeing that… It was worth it.


***

When was the last time she could remember being in pain like this? When she’d fought Faith? Or when she’d stopped Angel from awakening Acathla? Maybe when she’d actually died. That was probably the one that took the cake. Well, being dead wasn’t the part that hurt. It was the dying. And at that moment, Buffy almost wished they’d just do it already. What they were putting her through was nothing short of torture.

Walsh stood over her, a cold smile plastered on her face. “I’d like to introduce you to our head scientist here at the Initiative, Doctor Engleman. He’ll be the one performing your procedure today, so that we can begin to study you properly. Understand, Miss Summers, this is nothing personal. We are all scientists here. This is our job.” The way she said it certainly seemed impersonal, though maybe that was the way she looked at Buffy with no emotion in her eyes. Everything was impersonal, when she didn’t view you as a person.

The doctor stepped closer and eyed Buffy up and down. His eyes were overly large, and the way they took Buffy in made her uncomfortable. More so than the fact that she was strapped to an operating table, and that said a lot.

“This,” he said, gesturing to a tiny chip held between his fingers, “is a vital statistics monitor. One of a few I’ll be implanting today. This one will be going in your chest, right next to your heart. It will monitor your heart rate, your oxygen level. This one,” he held up a smaller, tubular object, “will be monitoring different hormonal levels. Now, I don’t normally allow my subjects to be awake during these procedures. They tend to be quite volatile, you understand. However, you’ve been in a state of sedation for six days now. I don’t think you’ll put up much of a fuss if we just use a local anaesthetic.”

Slayer… Are you okay?

She could feel everything they were doing. The fabric of her shirt falling away as it was cut down the middle. The sharp pinch of the surgical knife as it cut into her chest. The pressure of the chip being inserted into her muscle tissue. The needle going through her skin as they stitched her up. She couldn’t help but wonder how much anaesthetic they’d actually used, if any. It certainly wasn’t making much of a difference. At least her pain tolerance was high.

Slayer?

Engleman held up a dart, filled with liquid. “This is a sedative counteragent. Of course, we can’t give it to you in here without you trying to kill us, so you’ll have to be shot with it, once we get you situated for testing.” The gurney Buffy was strapped to was wheeled out of the procedure room and down a hallway. Lights passed overhead in a strangely hypnotic way, bringing Buffy an odd sense of calm. Maybe it was the drugs talking, but… She really, reading wanted to be shot with that counter sedative crap. She wanted to feel like herself again. No more weak muscles and zoned out helplessness. When they stopped moving, Engleman spoke again. “This is our newest testing facility. We do have a place we call The Pit, where most of our hands-on research takes place. However, Walsh thought that it was… well, unsuited for an HST of your caliber, we’ll say. We retrofitted an unused wing, just for your study. You should be so honored.”

“Buffy!” Spike’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife, making her jump and bringing her back into reality. “You back with me now? Scared me for a minute there.”

She couldn’t say anything. What could she? It didn’t seem right to be scathing to him, which was all she’d ever been. She couldn’t talk to him about what had happened. She couldn’t take comfort in him physically. The panes of glass saw to that. Not that his room temp dead self would offer any comfort anyway, she reminded herself. But he was familiar, at least, and safe for the time being.

She glanced up at him, and wished she hadn’t. Even at a distance, she could see the pity in his eyes. And how pathetic was that? A neutered vampire who couldn’t even punch somebody in self defense, looking down on her with sympathy. His mortal enemy. A person he wanted dead. Guess this is the kind of situation they think about when they say they wouldn’t wish it on their worst enemy, huh?

“You know, Slayer…” Spike spoke quietly, a boyish smile spreading on his lips. “Wouldn’t really have minded ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. At least you can slow dance to it, yeah? Not like Barry Manilow.” He chuckled a bit, which was a weird sound coming from somebody who’d very recently tried to kill her. “If you’d have picked any of his, I’d have called the whole thing off, spell or no spell.”

“Spike, what are you doing?” The whole idea was just… Buffy couldn’t wrap her head around it. Here she was, stuck in a government-run monster prison, sitting across the hall from her most annoying enemy, and he was talking about their one time would be wedding.

“Getting you out of your sodding head. What’s it look like? Made you smile for half a second there, didn’t I?” Had he? “Besides, the better condition I can keep you in, the better chance we have of getting out of here. Gotta keep your wits about you, Slayer.”

She couldn’t help but scoot closer to the glass door. Closer to Spike. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, curling into herself. Nobody would blame me, right? If I took a little comfort in him? He’s the only thing here I know. I thought I knew Riley. I thought I knew Walsh. But neither of them are who they said they were. At least I know Spike. Evil vampire, wants me dead. Not that hard to remember. And I can deal with that. He’s up front about it. So if he wants to talk about weird things to distract me, why not?

“Can you… do that some more?” she asked quietly, unsure if he'd even hear her.

“Do what?”

“Talk. Just distract me. Get me out of here for a while.”

She could hear the sigh from across the hall. The rustle of leather as he sat down in a similar position to her own; back against the wall, one knee up with his elbow resting on it. She could imagine a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling up in a mesmerizing way. How long had he been in there without one? She didn’t have vices like that. She could imagine what a hindrance that could be right about now.

“Yeah, Slayer. I can do that.” He paused for a long moment before huffing out another breath. “You think your mum’ll make me some hot chocolate when I get you out of here? With the little marshmallows in it?”

“She might,” she said simply. “You could ask her politely. I mean, I’m sure she’d be very thankful, but you know, you can’t forget your manners around her.”

“Don’t I know it. Getting hit by her with an ax once was enough for me.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I almost forgot about that. Your face was priceless.”

“Summers women. Not to be trifled with.” he chuckled.

It probably wasn’t the weirdest thing to ever happen to her, although it was definitely up there on the list. Reminiscing with Spike about the first time he tried to kill her. And laughing about it. Stranger things had happened, right?

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something? Should I come back later? You and your vampire boyfriend need some alone time?” Buffy’s eyes shot up, shocked to find Riley standing in front of her door. How the hell she hadn’t noticed his looming self before he spoke was beyond her. “I came down here to see if you needed anything, you know. Some food, maybe. But I can see you’re doing just fine.”

“Riley.” She couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice, and revelled in watching him flinch when he didn’t miss it. “I could use a few things, actually. A new shirt, since your creepy eyed science guy decided to cut this one up. And yeah, food. Water. No drugs in them. Some medical attention. While you’re offering, I mean.”

All that time hanging out with Cordelia had really improved her sarcasm game over the years, and she finally had a living person to use it on. No death quips for him. Just pure, unadulterated sass. It felt so good to be able to think fast enough to say it.

“I was trying to be nice, Buffy.” he snapped before starting to pace back and forth.

His gaze never left her, and she was reminded again of the procedure room, and the destruction of her clothing. How incredibly exposed she was here, with nothing to hide her from prying eyes. It fueled the anger she felt rising within.

“Well, you know. You shot me with a tranquilizer dart and took me hostage. I think the time for niceties is a little expired, don’t you?”

She’d stood up at some point, though she didn’t remember doing it. She still felt wobbly on her feet, but she was sure she could take him in a fight. She’d done it before, in a hallway full of smoke, and it was three on one that time. Good kick to the nuts worked on pretty much all men, right?

“Oy! Soldier boy! Why don’t you quit lookin at her like that?” Riley spun around to face Spike, his hand going to the baton strapped to his waist. “What? You got a thing for vulnerable women? Don’t like em when they can run circles around you? This your big plan? Get her all weak and exposed and then come swooping in with the gifts? Think that’ll make her want you?”

What? Oh, god, ew! It made sense though. For Riley. She hadn’t missed his puppy dog eyed look before all this had happened. But there were no fireworks with him. No spark at all. He was just… Joe Normal, in all the bad ways.

“What do you care if she’s exposed, seventeen? Figured you’d be the first one enjoying that view. Don’t tell me you’ve come down with a conscience.”

“Bloody hell, no. Just got more respect for women than you do, is all. Pretty pathetic, considering you’re the one with a soul.” Spike paused, an amused look on his face. Then she saw it. The glint in his eye. “Besides, you forget that she was my fiance?”

She almost fell over. Was he really taunting Riley with that? He was slipping his duster off his shoulders, and good lord, why did that make her stomach flip? Then his red shirt was following suit, moving fluidly down his arms in slow motion.The way he stood reminded her of the first time they fought, when he was postured and suggestive and lewd. Her eyes trained on the hem of his t-shirt, and she really could not stop herself from getting a good eyefull when it rode up. She was so distracted by the dips and the bulges and the holy hell that she almost missed what he said next.

“Give her this. Better than whatever paper hospital gown crap you were gonna offer her.” He tossed the shirt at the door before bending down to pick his duster back up and slide it back on in a flourish.

“What the hell is this? You expect me to just open your door? And then hers? I didn’t forget your little escape attempt.” Still, Riley took a few steps towards Spike’s door, his fingers tapping the key card at his waist.

“Right. What exactly are you afraid of? Big bad vampire with a chip in his head’s gonna get the best of you?” He laughed out loud. And really, it was pretty funny. Or it would be, if Spike wasn’t in very real danger. Riley didn't seem the type to be merciful here. “You already beat the hell out of me once today.”

“Back corner, now. Sit there. Don’t move.” Spike put his hands up and sank to the floor, his rueful smile still in place. Riley swiped his key card, barely opened the door, and snatched the black fabric out in a flash before closing the door again. “Buffy. Same to you. You don’t have a mod chip yet. I can’t risk you being up when I open this door. I’m trying to help you.”

She snorted. Yet? Yeah, not happening. I’ll be dead before I let that happen. “So you guys are gonna make it so I what, can’t stop a mugging anymore? Can’t tackle humans to save them? You people are so incredibly stupid. What do you not understand here? I’m the good guy.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know what you are. Please. Step back and sit down, if you want this shirt.”

His card was already poised at the lock, ready to be swiped. If she was quick enough, she could roll from the back corner and kick him. She could break his legs so he couldn’t follow them. She could lock him inside so he couldn’t raise the alarm. And considering all those things, a plan started to form in her head. Not one that she could do at that very second, but…

So she complied. She sat like a good little hostage, and waited for him to lock her back up before grabbing the soft black fabric that was Spike’s shirt and pulling it on. It fit kind of nicely, actually. Not quite her cut, but it didn’t drape off of her like she’d expected. And it smelled surprisingly clean. Huh. Vampires did laundry. Well, Spike did, apparently.

“You said something about food? Tell you what, you feed me something that isn’t laced with sedatives, and I’ll tell you what I am. Deal?” She felt more like herself already. Stronger, now that she had something to look forward to. She’d be out in no time at all, if Riley kept coming down to check up on her.

He nodded at her. “Deal.” He keyed in a code, and a packet of something that resembled stew dropped from the ceiling. “I’m listening. What are you?”

“Slayer, The. Look it up.”
Chapter 5 by SleepingTigress
Tara’s stomach had made a home in her throat, giving her that dreaded feeling that she might throw up at any given moment. The Scoobies, as Willow called them, did seem like nice people, actually. Introductions had gone quickly. There was Xander, Willow’s best friend since kindergarten. His girlfriend Anya, who had been a demon until fairly recently (so please excuse anything she says that’s weird or out of line, she’s still adjusting). Giles, who was British and very kind, and obviously used to these large group meetings. Of course he would be, right? They’d been doing this since highschool. The whole team up against the forces of evil and help Buffy thing, that is. He’d called himself Buffy’s watcher, whatever that was. It sounded pretty important.

Except now Buffy was the one who needed saving, and Tara was the only one who had any clue as to where she might be, which had her sitting center stage, all eyes on her, everybody waiting for her to speak. She found strength in Willow’s eyes. Borrowed her confidence. After a few deep breaths, she felt almost capable of explaining what she’d seen.

“I d-don’t actually know w-where Buffy is. But she’s underg-ground, somewhere, a-and that guy- Spike- he’s c-close to her. H-he talked to her. I j-just couldn’t s-s-see her.” She took a few breaths, trying to steady her nerves. Her stutter only made it worse to talk in front of people. It made her more self conscious than she already was. Willow smiled at her, and it was enough to keep going. “There’s a brick building. A f-frat house, maybe? I remember g-greek letters, but n-not which ones. Oh, an-nd gray cable knit. Like a-a s-sweater or a-a blanket. That s-seemed im-mportant.”

They all remained quiet, but looked at her expectantly. They were patient, at least, and that was helpful. It was nice, actually. That they were all so understanding. She could see why Willow would hold them near and dear. Good friends were hard to come by. Tara could only hope that, maybe, she’d be counted among them.

“There’s like, a shaft, or something. I-it goes down a long t-time. Maybe an e-elevator, I think. It s-seems likely. Wherever she is, it’s l-like… it felt like a h-h-h-ospital. But w-with cells. I think there w-were other d-demons there, but I couldn’t s-see them clearly. Except S-Spike.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, glad that her part of talking was mostly over. That was just about everything she could remember from the vision. The minor details didn’t seem super important. She didn’t want to tell them that Buffy was probably locked up the same way Spike had been. They could figure that out for themselves.

“This is incredibly unsettling. I had thought Spike might have been exaggerating about the commandos but… It would seem he was… not.” Giles sank into the armchair and carefully removed his glasses. “That is our most likely scenario, is it not?”

It hadn’t taken him long to figure that out, and he didn’t mince words about it either. Tara was kind of glad for that. It probably wasn’t any easier for him to say it out loud than it would have been for Tara, but… It probably wasn’t his first time with it, she realized.

Willow and Xander both nodded in response. “That makes this way more complicated. How are we supposed to bust her out of a military base? I mean, I could do a spell, Xander has the know how, but we don’t even know where it is.” The worry in Willow’s voice was evident, and made Tara’s chest constrict more than it already had.

“Well, they’re below campus, right?” Anya piped in. “That’s what all your spells kept saying, and Tara pretty much confirmed that. We just don’t know how to get in. That’s the real issue.”

Giles nodded, now polishing his glasses. “It is entirely possible that there are perhaps some people on campus that are involved in this operation. Undercover agents. It would have to be somebody with an incredible amount of pull here. Do we have any suspects at all?”

The ‘gang’ seemed at a loss at the question. You never suspect anybody of anything, until suddenly everybody is suspicious.

“It could be anybody…” Tara said quietly, speaking what everybody else had to have been thinking. She was trying to think of anybody that seemed particularly militaristic, and nobody came to mind. Whoever they were, they have the whole civilian look down to a tee.

“Well, not anybody.” All eyes turned to Anya. “What? Frat house? It’s gotta be one of the ones on campus, right? You wouldn’t hide a secret entrance miles away. Not a main one, anyway. So we can start with that.”

Xander looked incredibly proud of her, and he really should have. She was sharp as a tack, despite knowing very little about being a human. She did make a good point. That narrowed their list of suspicious people down pretty significantly. Yay, frat boys. Military frat boys. An excellent combination.

“But how do we start with that? I mean, we can’t just start like, stalking frat houses and hoping we see something that clicks.” Willow paused a moment, considering her words. “Yes we can. Tara and I can! We’re students here. We have every reason to go to parties. Tara?”

Tara paled. She’d barely managed the courage to go to that wicca meeting. Parties at frat houses? “O-oh, I don’t know, Willow. I’m n-not, I mean… I don’t really…” The idea of going to a loud, crowded party, looking for suspicious people, and trying not to look suspicious herself… It was daunting. She couldn’t mingle at parties on her best days. She wasn't a party girl. She was a stay at home girl.

“I know. I know! I just thought, you know, I don’t want to go alone.” She smiled weakly, and Tara couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to push things, but she didn’t want to pull away either. She felt a connection to Willow. Something powerful. Willow made her feel… So many things. Braver. Stronger. More like her own person. Like she had finally found somebody who really saw her. It was special, and profound, and made it incredibly hard to say no to her. She wanted to help. She really did. Even if it made her go far outside her comfort zone.

“I could try? I- I’m the one who saw what we’re looking for, right? So, I should b-be looking.” It made the most sense. She’d done the scrying, she knew the general size and shape of things. And she could always do it again, she reminded herself. Try to get a clearer bead on what kind of operation they were dealing with, maybe some faces, or an actual entrance. A weak point would be incredibly helpful, and probably too much to hope for.

“Yes, that’s all well and good. We need to consider what we’re going to do if and when we manage to find a way in, and identify suspects as such. Are we intending to- to kidnap military personnel? And if so, how exactly are we doing that?” Giles was nursing a scotch on the rocks. The poor man. It was obvious by the way he looked that he was probably more worried than anybody else in the room.

“Well, I can think of a few things we could do to them. Ex vengeance demon here. Not lacking with the ideas.” Anya said frankly. Tara kind of liked that. She owned what she was, and didn’t make apologies for it. “I mean, evisceration comes to mind.” Oh, ew. That part wasn’t so pleasant to imagine.

“I think perhaps, for now, our focus would be better spent on discovering the identities of our enemies. We can’t just go throwing vengeance spells, or any spells for that matter, around in the dark. We can’t risk… hitting the wrong target, as it were.” He finished the sentence quietly, obviously disturbed.

“Well, there’s a party at Lowell House later this week. Riley invited us to it, before she went missing. Tara and I can start there. And in the meantime, we can start researching spells that would be useful, in the getting back of Buffy. Between us and Anya, I’m sure we can come up with something helpful.”

Tara still felt uneasy about the whole thing. Taking on an entire military operation was… Well, her comfort zone wasn’t all the big to begin with, but this was way out of her depth. Still, Buffy meant a lot to them, and she didn’t deserve to be there. Really, no creature deserved the things that were probably going on there, demon or not. Evil was a matter of perspective. And not all demons were that way… Tara knew that, personally. She was scared, for everybody. But the operation needed to be stopped, somehow, and she wanted to do what she could to make a difference. To get Buffy home safely to her mom. To get Spike out safely, too. He was harmless, from what she understood. He’d been in there before. And now, he was back in there… to help somebody he’d wanted to kill. And if that wasn’t proof enough of the nature of the beast, what was? He didn’t want them doing… whatever it was, to his most hated enemy.

“Very good, Willow. I suppose… It will probably fall to me to notify Joyce, then?” Giles let out a sigh. “I’ll need more scotch for that. I propose we reconvene in two days, to see what progress we’ve made. I suppose I could inquire with the Council, as well. It’s possible they have some knowledge of this operation and what they’re doing here. Maybe they’ll prove useful for once in the entirety of history, but I find that very much in doubt.”


***

Maggie stared at her computer screen, watching the recorded footage in front of her from multiple angles. What she saw was nothing short of amazing. HST49, fresh out of surgery and sedation, was performing far beyond expectations. Far better than any human in peak physical condition. Far better than any of the Initiative soldiers. The Vahrall demon that Finn and his team had captured a few days prior stood very little chance of survival. A shame, but there would be more of its kind eventually.

She- It, Walsh reminded herself- seemed to be an unstoppable force. When put in a life or death situation, it rose to the challenge. There was clearly muscle memory, honed from an unknowable number of battles similar to the one it found itself engaged in. Blocking came as second nature. Counter attacks staggered the opponent. When knocked to the ground, it would either do a leg sweep or a kick to the chest before flipping upright again to deliver what was sure to be a devastating blow.

At first glance, the match seemed almost even, but there were little tells that HST49 was a predator, playing before a kill. The flurries of punches, the high kicks, the flips. It was all an elaborate show, and Walsh's new favorite subject was a natural at it. It showed remarkable resilience. For every hit received, three were returned. What was more, the vital statistics barely registered a spike above normal. The implication that HST49 was holding back, or not using its full strength because it wasn’t necessary for survival…

Well, Walsh had a few more subjects that could provide more of a challenge, when their study was completed. She was rather interested to see exactly what B- Hostile Forty-Nine was truly capable of. Still, recovery time would be a necessity, if its true power was to be known. Perhaps something more menial, in the meantime. Standard strength and stamina testing, perhaps. For the Vahrall, who now lay lifeless on the floor due to a broken neck, a full autopsy.

“Professor Walsh.” Riley’s firm voice came from behind her, full of command. And obedience. The perfect tone for a high ranked soldier addressing a superior. “I have an update on Buf…” he sighed quietly. “...Hostile Forty-nine.”

Walsh spun in her chair, looking up to meet his blue eyes. A hint of unease, but covered with the determination to do his duty. “Is that a fact? Well, by all means, do tell.” She crossed her arms and gave him her full attention. He always preened when she did that.

“Confirmation that there is… or was, an established relationship with Hostile Seventeen. Spell or not, Seventeen confirmed that they were in fact engaged. It’s unclear if they still are at this point.” He paused, waiting for her go-ahead to continue. She nodded it to him, intently interested in everything he’d been able to discover while carrying out his task. “After some… careful negotiation for a new shirt, she did reveal her true nature.” He paused again, his brow furrowing in a way that made Walsh think he didn’t want to say what he was thinking. She gave him a few moments, knowing that he could never keep anything from her for very long. “She said that she was… Well, The Slayer.”

“Is that a fact?” She asked crisply, suddenly very interested in pursuing the information further. “Not a myth then, is it?” If it was true, then the world’s greatest weapon was sitting in a containment cell, ready to be harnessed. A tool to be utilized to its fullest capabilities. Maggie could hardly contain her excitement.

“That remains to be seen, Ma’am. It could be that she’s lying, or trying to buy herself some time. Up until this, we’ve had no real concrete evidence that a Slayer even exists. Like the boogey man for demons. A cautionary tale.” He shuffled on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the discussion.

“And if she’s not? Riley, this is everything we’ve been working toward. If we can get her on our side...” She could only hope that something like that was even possible. It wouldn’t be a pleasant process, for anybody involved. But it was for the greater good.

Walsh’s mind was already racing with the possibilities of having her own personal Slayer in the ranks. Something like that… with the right training, and the right combination of performance enhancers. Forty-Nine could become an unmatched weapon, entirely under her control. Entirely self sufficient, able to infiltrate and blend in, and wreak as much havoc as Walsh ordered. She’d have to talk to Engelman about developing a new behavior modification chip, specifically for her new favorite subject.

“I understand. I’ll do what I can to persuade her, but I think our chances are pretty damaged at this point. Maybe, in this case, kindness would be more pertinent?” Was that… hope in his voice?

“You’ll be pivotal in bringing her to our side, Riley. I’m going to be running some tests on her later today, once she’s had some time to recuperate and regain some of her strength. I want you to participate in these tests as a standard. And if conversations happen that should… lead her to trust you more, that would be an added bonus.”

He looked unsure of himself, but nodded. “I’ll go prepare.” He turned on his heel, not bothering with a salute.

She knew he had a lot on his mind, but she couldn’t be troubled with that. She had research to do, and a lot of it before they got much further into their testing. Riley was a good soldier, but his emotional attachment to the subject could prove troublesome. She could tell his heart wasn’t in this one. And she needed it to be. Disconnecting a human attachment wasn’t something easily done. Not without a catalyst.

He’d need to be shown, somehow, that the thing he knew as Buffy was no better than any other monster they’d encountered. No human would latch on to a soulless creature like that. Riley needed to understand. HSTs didn’t know love, or kindness, or sympathy. It wasn’t in their nature. They only knew violence and destruction. And that was exactly where Forty-nine would lead him, if Walsh didn’t nip his feelings in the bud. How to go about it, though? The relationship with the vampire could be a good starting point for that.

Seventeen was certainly a lively specimen, as far as they went. With the behavior modification chip, and further testing and experimentation, he could prove to be very useful. Her soldiers were strong, but even with their extensive training and cocktail of performance boosters, they weren’t comparable. Vampires possessed night vision, advanced healing capabilities, super strength that far exceeded that of any human. They were agile, vicious killing machines. Their weapons came built in. And, with experience and age, they were more than capable of thinking on their feet. They needed blood to survive, and when that was the prize of a killing blow, it made for a highly effective motivator.

Forty-Nine seemed to possess many of those same attributes. Built to kill. A power house in a small, unlikely package. A weapon waiting to be fired. It was clear in the fight against the Vahrall- Buffy had years of honed skill in fighting demons. Moreso, it showed amazing intelligence- far more than any other specimen in their archives. The problem with that level of awareness was that it significantly raised the volatility of experiments. Even if they did install a behavior modification chip, there was no guarantee that Forty-Nine wouldn’t test the limits of it systematically. Which meant they’d have to go about turning it in a different way. Luckily for Walsh, she did happen to have a degree in human psychology, and it shouldn’t be terribly difficult to figure something out that would work.
Chapter 6 by SleepingTigress
He hadn’t got a lick of sleep. Too busy watching over the Slayer while she got as much rest as she needed, which was a lot apparently. Either they’d given her an extra strong dose of drugs, or she really was just that exhausted. Whatever it was, it didn’t bother Spike to stay up the entire night. Vampire, right?

He’d kept himself entertained. Playing that human-Angel’s reaction over and over again never got old. The way the vein in his forehead bulged out and his face turned all red. Blood close to the surface and easily accessed. Well, hypothetically. And when he got the chip out, Spike intended to find out just how easily the bloke bled. Still, it was a nice fantasy, and a nice visual. He couldn’t help but chuckle a few times, wondering what other things got that idiot worked up.

Obviously, Muscle Boy was interested in Buffy. Enough that the idea of her having a relationship with somebody else- no matter the circumstances of it- got his pulse racing. It was actually kind of funny. That a guy like that really thought he was on the same level as a Slayer. Little boy playing at demon hunter. He had no idea. Even if she ever had given him the time of day, he’d never have been able to keep her.

He’d only get in her way, hold her back. And Spike had a sneaking suspicion that soldier boy’s masculinity was pretty damn fragile. She’d emasculate him (probably without even trying), and he’d have a fit, and he’d leave. He’d never be able to comprehend what she was, and what she did. She breathed death. Lived for it. It was her art, and she made it day in and day out. She didn’t need some wanker to help her or save her from the baddies.

Something Spike probably should have kept in mind, before he’d thrown himself back into this place. But these guys weren’t normal baddies. No sharp stick to end their existence. And God only knew what they intended to do with her. Pick her apart bit by bit? Stick a chip up in her noggin? Make her one of them? Now there was a frightening thought. Bunch of government idiots trying to control a Slayer. Obviously that was working so well for his fellow Englishmen holed up across the pond.

She was starting to wake up. No movement yet, but he was so tuned into her by now, he could pick up the subtle change in her breathing and heartbeat. He tilted his head and watched her. The even rise and fall of her chest, and the way her brow knitted as she started to come more into consciousness. It was weirdly… kind of mesmerizing. He really needed to stop doing that. Not that he could really help himself. What else was there to do? Watch other demons pacing about? Stare at the fluorescents? Twiddle his thumbs? She was the nicest thing he had to look at in that place, enemy or no. And as much as he hated to admit to himself, she did have a certain allure.

She was deadly. Full of life and warmth and fire. She could end him in the blink of an eye if he'd let her. Something about that danger had always given him a rush, but now it was different. The kind he didn't want to have. The kind he didn't used to have. Before it was always 'me or her'. A challenge. The fight. Not knowing if he'd come out of it alive. Well, not dust at any rate. He was really starting to miss that feeling, because the new one that was taking hold… it was terrifying. And he knew how wrong it was, to even think about it.

She was her, and he was him, and the only thing that should ever pass between them was death. Not a burning desire to have his lips on her throat for an entirely different reason. He hated that the notion had even crossed his mind. Moreso, now that it wouldn't leave.

The slayer wasn’t too happy when her eyes cracked open. She let out a groan and rolled over to push herself up. “I was really hoping this was all just a bad dream. God, I need a shower.” He wasn’t going to argue with that. Her normally pristine hair was tangled and beginning to mat in places. She was starting to look almost feral. Not that it was exactly a bad look for her, but… It would take a lot of work to get those golden locks back to the way they were before. And that was if they somehow managed to get out today, which was pretty damn unlikely.

She didn't have any trouble getting to her feet now, which was a good sign that whatever they'd been pumping her with was finally leaving her system. "Hey! Bill Nye!" She called out into the hall. "What's a girl got to do around here to get a freaking bathroom break?" Oh. That's bloody brilliant.

One of the scientists responded as he strolled to the front of her cell. "Push on the right side of the most left panel on the back wall. There's a toilet that rotates out."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really? Well, that's just nifty."

"Yeah, well. Nobody was real keen on excrement detail, and we didn't want to have to deal with the smell in here, you know." He made a mark on his clipboard and wandered back off nonchalantly, checking on other demons as he went.

She caught Spike's gaze as she pressed on the panel, then looked quickly away. The poor girl. How dehumanizing it must have been for her, to have to try to hide herself from prying eyes when there was no shelter to be found. Spike had that feeling welling back up again. Damned possessive, protective calling. Not that he could do much from across the hall, but… he could at least get her some semblance of privacy. Spike looked at the other demons within eyesight, staring each of them down individually, a low growl emanating from his throat. They all got the message. His Slayer, not for them. One by one, they found something more interesting to look at; the floor, the wall, their hands, until they had all averted their eyes.

Spike turned away from her, making a point to stare just to the side of the bright light above him. He was a lot of things, but a peeping tom was not one of them. And for whatever reason, he'd make sure nobody else around them was either. He hated getting that feeling. Those thoughts. He cursed the chip once again. If it weren't for that stupid thing, he'd have been at her throat by now, and on his way back to Brazil. Now he was becoming Pavlov's dog. He still very much wanted to sink his teeth into things, but he knew better by now than to think about it. And the less he thought about it…

"Thanks, Spike." The slayer's voice floated over to him, and he huffed a sigh.

"Don't make a thing of it. You've had enough to deal with in here," he paused, trying to decide if he wanted to turn around and meet her eyes. He decided against it. He already knew they'd be big as moons and make him want to be soft. He wasn't stupid. He knew what helpless ladies brought out in him. Poncy William. And he'd be damned if he acted that way with the Slayer. "How you feeling, pet? Better today?"

Her feet shuffled on the floor, coming just a bit closer. "Hungry as hell, mostly. A little thirsty. But no more weird druggy feeling, so that's of the good," she sighed shakily. Yeah, she might be trying to act tough, but Spike knew better. "What about you? Holding up okay?"

That irritated him for some reason. He didn’t want her concern and pity. She didn’t have any the first time he’d been in here, and the only reason she cared now was that she was in the same boat. She didn’t care about him, or any other demon in this place. She just cared about having somebody to cling to until she got out. Then what? She’d go back to kicking him around and using him as a punching bag. Not that that bothered him, right?

"I'm fine, Slayer," he snapped.

Maybe it was the hunger, or the fact that his ribs still hadn't set right, or the sleep deprivation. Whatever it was, he wasn't in the mood for her to offer her sympathies to him. He wasn't in the mood for anything but getting the hell out of there and getting down to Willy's for a pint of something fresh.

"You're all bad moody. You sure you're alright?" Was she... pouting? Certainly sounded like her pouty voice.

"Listen to me, you stupid bint. I have never been in a good mood with you. We aren’t chums, remember? In case you forgot, I want to rip your throat out with my teeth. Don't think for one second that any of this changes that."

“Now now, you two. I think that’s quite enough.” Walsh spoke lightly as she approached.

God, Spike didn’t even want to sink his teeth into her at this point. He wanted to twist her head off and throw it at her little boy assistant that was always flanking her. Riley. He even had a wanker name.

“Seventeen, you should show a little more concern for your lovely fiance. She’s off for more evaluations today.” She smiled, and it made Spike’s skin crawl. Pretty impressive, for a human.

Buffy’s pulse had picked up. “You really think I’m letting you throw me back in that room with more demons and no weapons? You’ve lost your mind.”

What? That’s what they’d done to her? Thrown her into Thunderdome? No wonder she’d been in such rough shape. But she’d barely had time to recover. They couldn’t really expect her to be ready for more of that. And with no weapons? She’d be killed for sure. Wasn’t hard to get a lucky hit when your opponent was half dead to begin with. It didn’t matter how good she was. His stomach dropped.

“You’re not taking her off to kill her. Over my dead body.” He let the bones in his face shift, brought his fangs out. If he had to take another beating for her, he would. But she was not dying today. Not by their hands.

“If I’m not mistaken, your body is already dead. There’s just a pilot in there that keeps it moving." She smiled coldly at him before addressing the Slayer. "I think we may have got off on the wrong foot here, Buffy-"

"Oh really? And what would possibly make you think that?"

There's my girl. She was definitely back to herself. No hesitation to be sarcastic, standing her ground. Like a Slayer should.

"You have to understand our position here. From what I've been told, you are what's known as a Slayer? We thought you were a myth. If we'd had any inclination of your true identity when we brought you in-"

"Did ya think to ask me? Maybe look in a book? Ask any demon in here, they'll tell you exactly what I am. And I can guarantee, they're more afraid of me than they are of you. So go ahead, Walsh. Run all the tests you want, and you still won't know what I am, or what I can do."

Buffy glared at the old bitch, fire dancing in her eyes. God, she was furious, and that face of wrath was really something to behold. He reigned his demon in, letting his human face come back. He didn't need to defend her, he reminded himself once again. He wouldn't be able to even if he tried.

Walsh cleared her throat, clearly not used to being interrupted. "I'm trying to extend an olive branch here. You don't have to be locked up here with these creatures. You can come with us, peacefully. Join our cause. Be a part of something greater."

Buffy grinned. Not the happy-yay-I'm-not-a-prisoner-anymore kind of a grin either. It was the kind you gave somebody right before you took their life. Very slowly, she raised a fist, then her middle finger.

"Extend this, bitch."


***


Worth it. Push, relax. Push, relax. The shoulder presses were actually kind of a welcome task. Mindless, repetitive. After getting hit with that stupid taser yet again, the exercise took the ache off. Got her muscles back to doing what they were supposed to, and not being seized up. She’d done so many different reps at this point, they were all starting to blend together. Whatever ‘evaluation’ Walsh was doing with the gym routine, Buffy didn’t exactly care. They wanted to know how strong she was? How much she could lift? How hard she could hit? The only way she was ever letting that on was when she could eventually show them all first hand. She wouldn’t bother holding back then.

Riley mirrored her actions on the other side of the glass. He was a control subject, Walsh had said. So they, what, wanted to see if she was stronger than him? If he was their best operative, Buffy wasn’t impressed. He was covered in sweat, and straining and making disgusting guttural sounds. Ugh. I can’t believe I almost dated him! It made her stomach turn to even think about it now. Would he ever have told her? Would he have lied to her the entire time about it? Would he still have gone along with taking her prisoner?

"You know," Riley panted between presses, "we don't have to be enemies. We can help each other."

Yeah, right. She had all the help she'd ever need. Her friends, Giles, her mom. Even Spike, sometimes. She'd rather call a truce with the guy who'd tried to kill pretty much everybody in her circle at least once before shaking hands with the Initiative. She wasn't an operative. She didn't want to be one, and she certainly didn't want to be their lab rat.

"You know something, Riley?" She asked, not panting and not sweating. "I really think we do. The whole being enemies thing, that is," she added, just in case all his disgusting grunting kept him from fully following the conversation.

"Buffy, come on. This -" he took a heaving breath, "this was all just a huge misunderstanding. At least hear Walsh out. You might change your mind about us."

He'd stopped doing the presses and was watching Buffy with a pleading look in his eyes. She didn't stop. She wanted him to see that she was stronger than he was. She wanted him to know that she was absolutely not struggling with this work out crap. She glared at him through the glass, rage building inside her.

"I will never change my mind about you. You kidnapped me. You shot me with a taser. You've kept me drugged and docile as a kitten. You let that creepy ass scientist cut my shirt off me! And then you got offended when a vampire offered me the shirt off his back."

"That's not-"

"Don't interrupt me!" She jumped to her feet, the anger she hurt finally bubbling over. "This entire operation is despicable. You. Walsh. Graham and Forrest too, I'm guessing? You're all disgusting. And you know what the real kicker is?"

She tilted her head, staring at Riley through the glass divider. He took a few steps forward. Very stupid, naive steps. She imagined kicking a nice big hole in that glass, stepping through, and giving him a good throttling before his buddies busted in and saved him.

"Spike has been trying to kill me for three years," she spoke quietly, beckoning Riley to close that last bit of distance. "He's kidnapped my friends. Almost killed Giles. Then you guys happened."

"He can't kill you now." He was trying to sound reassuring, she could tell. Like somehow, Spike not being able to kill her erased everything else they were doing.

"Spike couldn't kill me before, but that's not the point. He and I? We want each other dead. That's the way it's been since the night we met. Thanks to you guys, we're on the same side now."

Riley scoffed. "Yeah, right. That's why you two were arguing when Walsh and I came to get you. That's why you said that thing about you two not being friends. Right? Being on the same side and all."

“We’re not friends. If it weren’t for you idiots, I would have killed him when he came back here. But you went and made him all harmless, and it generally goes against my code of ethics to hit something that can’t hit me back.” Well, maybe not to hit him. She’d still do that. But she wouldn’t kill him.

“If he can’t hit you, that makes you human, right?”

She really could not believe it took that to make Riley understand that she wasn’t a freaking demon. Was he an actual neanderthal? Whatever. This whole conversation is just ridiculous. He’s trying to get under my skin, get me to go to the dark side, and that’s not happening. And really, kind of getting tired of the whole grunt routine in here.

“Look, I’m tired. Can we just focus on whatever the hell it is we’re supposed to be doing here so we can get it done faster? Because no offense-” You know what, screw him and his feelings. “Actually, no, totally ALL of the offense intended. The smell of your sweat is coming through these little breathing holes, louder than your voice is. And let me tell you- it’s freaking rank. So the sooner I can get out of this room and back to my cell, the better. At least the neighbors there don’t smell as bad.”

Either literally or metaphorically. She didn’t say that part, but he seemed to get the subtext. His face screwed up in all the disgruntled rage he could muster before he threw his hands up and walked away. He stormed through his conveniently unlocked exit, slamming the door behind him. Must’ve made him feel masculine or something. Why did men always want to slam doors anyway?

She waited, seemingly for an eternity, before somebody came to take her back to her cell. Graham, thankfully. He at least seemed level headed. More so than the others, at any rate. He didn’t shoot first. He let her walk freely, mostly. As free as one could be with a taser gun pressed against their spine. She could have taken the opportunity to make a run for it, and she wasn’t sure why she didn’t. Maybe because she wasn’t sure where the exit was. An elbow to the temple, grab the taser and use it on whoever tried to stop her. It would have been really simple. Punch and run.

Maybe if she kept acting agreeable, he’d eventually let his guard down and she really could escape, with Spike in tow. He hadn’t left her, so how could she leave him? Even if he was a bipolar vampire.

And what had all that been about earlier? He’d been almost nice, until she asked if he was okay. Was that it? He didn’t want her to be worried about him? How could she not be? Whatever crap they were feeding him wasn’t very helpful. It wasn’t healing his wounds like it should have been. Most of his bruises were healed, but his lip was still split. There was still the nasty gash in his forehead. He was starting to get pale and thin and sick looking. A lot like he had when he’d come to her for help.

Buffy had been so lost in thought, it barely registered that they’d arrived back in the containment area. She could feel the demons’ eyes on her as they walked, watching her hungrily. She stepped in front of her empty cell, waiting to be let back in. The taser left her back, and she expected the door to slide open. But it didn’t.

“No,” Graham spoke from a few feet away, drawing Buffy’s eyes to him. “Walsh wants you over here.”

She looked at where he was indicating, and her stomach flipped. He stood with his gun pointed at Spike, key card ready to open the door. To Spike’s cell. He was putting her in Spike’s cell. With Spike still in it. What the hell was this? A punishment for giving Walsh the finger? Or telling Riley that he smelled like a locker room?

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Oh, balls.”


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