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Cecily looked up from where she’d been whimpering on the floor. Her eyes darted from a furious Spike to an equally vengeful Wood, though the Watcher appeared to be hanging onto his self-control far better than his Slayer. Suddenly angry herself, she rose to her feet and tossed her hair back.

“So I didn’t tell you she was there. Big deal! That bitch slapped me. We’re better off without her, Spikey.”

Hearing her decidedly pathetic excuse, the Slayer turned and stormed into the training room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the walls shook. The dark-skinned man turned on the prissy girl, his face tight with barely-controlled rage. Wordlessly he gripped her arm and yanked her to the front door, unceremoniously shoving her through into the daylight.

“Your petty actions could cost Spike something dear to him. I hope for your sake that it doesn’t. I’d suggest you avoid both him and me in the future.”

Shutting the door in her face, he turned to face the bewildered Scoobs. Wordlessly he handed Willow the note. She read it out loud, her hands shaking. Her eyes grew huge as she finished, realising what Cecily had done. Tara had a hand over her mouth; Anya was staring pensively at the floor; Xander looked both confused and angry; the only sign of Oz’s temper fraying was the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Just then, Spike pushed the door to the training room open. He was shirtless, dressed only in a pair of loose-fitting sweats, his well-sculpted chest glistening with sweat. Whereas before he’d been the picture of wild outrage, threatening in an out of control way, he was eerily calm. His eyes were burning chips of ice in his pale face, his every muscle rigid with tension. The Scoobies were in awe. Wood thought he’d never seen a more dangerous Slayer in his life.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

He proceeded to outline his plan, pacing restlessly in front of them like a caged lion. When he was finished, there was a long moment of silence before Xander slowly nodded. The others followed suit. Wood hurried into the training room, returning with a chest of weapons. Letting it drop with a loud thud, he opened it and doled out the required equipment.

The plan was simple. The others would attack the mansion in the early hours of the morning. Their job, it was repeatedly stated, was to cause a diversion. Under no circumstances were they to engage in combat with a member of the Order. Spike himself would slip into the mansion, find Buffy and bring her out. Then they’d retreat to Wood’s apartment.

By the time midnight came, they were moving quietly over the vast lawn in front of the dark building. Hopefully, most of the minions and some of the Order would be out hunting, which would just make their job easier. When they were all in position, Spike nodded to Willow.

The redhead began chanting under her breath as Xander loaded his crossbow. He took aim and paused. The witch pointed at the bolt with a final, harsh command. It burst into flame and Xander fired. It flew straight and true, flying through the open window and lighting the ancient curtains.

Everybody gripped their weapons a little tighter, the silence stretching for what seemed like an unbearable few minutes. Then the first shout of alarm went up, a young vampire racing outside and looking around wildly. Wood’s crossbow dusted him almost immediately. As if this was a signal, the other vampires came pouring out of the house as all hell broke loose.

Willow and Tara clasped hands, speaking in harmony as tendrils of sickly green energy crackled around them. Seemingly moving as one, they pointed to a cluster of vampires blocking the door Spike would need to use. They were instantly enveloped in a cloud of green magic, screaming with agony as they started to burn. The Slayer took the momentary pause as the other vampires gaped in horror to silently race into the mansion.

The sounds of battle resumed outside as he slowed to a steady jog. It was gloomy and dank in the depths of the old house. It seemed fitting that such a prestigious evil as the Order should make their home here in the damp darkness. For what felt like hours but was only about twenty minutes he travelled the maze of hallways, searching for Buffy’s cell.

Finally, about to give up hope, he caught the faintest hint of a sound coming from a nearby place. Breaking into a run, he started calling her in a hoarse whisper. An answering whimper was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. Skidding to a halt, he tried the handle of the door, growling to himself when he found it locked.

Standing back, he raised a booted foot and slammed it into the heavy door. It crashed open, the sudden stink from inside making him retch. Straightening as he held his nose, trying not to think about what he was breathing in through his mouth, he promptly forgot to breathe at all as he saw Buffy’s condition.

She was so still and pale, stripped completely naked. Numerous puncture wounds littered her body, concentrated mainly on her breasts, where Angelus had bitten her. Patches of her skin were blackened and dry where she’d been burnt. Bruises ranging in colour from dark purple to yellowy green stained her entire body. The weight she’d gained while with him had diminished once again, leaving her bones to press gently against her skin.

It wasn’t as bad as when she’d been starving, but he could tell she hadn’t eaten the entire time she’d been trapped here. Worst of all, he could see the sickening stiffness of her right arm, obviously dislocated judging by the swelling of her shoulder. One foot was twisted at a grotesque angle away from her body; he could see the ends of the bones where they’d broken.

Made strong by fury and quick by adrenaline, he crossed the room and gripped the chains. He pulled until his palms bled, every time he felt the chains loosening sending him a fresh wave of strength. Finally her bonds dropped away and she fell into his arms, a groan of agony sounding in her throat as the movement jolted her arm.

Carefully sweeping her into his arms, he jogged down the hallways, some instinct guiding him to the exit. As it turned out, Angelus and Darla had gone hunting, leaving the mansion to the care of Drusilla, who was too lost in her own world to help the minions. Their ranks had been decimated by the time Spike returned.

Seeing the pent-up rage in the Slayer’s every move, the minions still not dusted retreated to the safety of the mansion. Willow and Tara leaned on one another for support, drained and exhausted from the effort of using their magic. Anya fussed over a cut in Xander’s arm while Oz merely nodded to Spike in congratulation.

Tired but victorious, the group made their way home, Spike’s grip on Buffy tightening as she shifted restlessly, whimpering and sobbing quietly. Looking down at her face, tight with pain, he vowed silently that Angelus and his Order would feel every blow, every humiliation, a hundred times before he dusted them.





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