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*Three nights later, Shady Rest Cemetery*

Buffy patrolled the mostly empty cemeteries alone. It was weird to not have someone with her, and she tried to recall how she coped with it before Spike. It all seemed so far away and jumbled, she couldn’t remember. Of course he hadn’t patrolled with her every night since they became an item, and before that he’d gone for days on end before giving her any signal, yet he was still somehow present. There was always something making her feel him close, maybe out of range of her senses, but still there.

Since the debacle in the back of the Bronze though, he’d completely dropped out of sight. She even went by his place, only to be met with a weird combination of the warm- and cold-shoulder treatment. Sure, his minions were grateful to her for having come through with hunting down Dalton’s attackers, even if they weren’t caught yet, but they were also fiercely loyal to Spike, and he didn’t want her to find him.

The rest of the gang were busy, trying to formulate plans, research, or plain old schoolwork, and Kendra begged off patrol that night. She said something about her Watcher needing her for some special training—which that made Giles act stuffier than usual. That had been fun to see.

So Buffy was left to roam about and wish for a good slay, although everything seemed to be dead. As in deader than dead, because there was nothing for her to take her frustrations out on.

Just as she felt herself getting closer to the full-on-sulk territory than before, she thought she heard movement behind the nearby bushes. Almost afraid to hope for any distracting, worthwhile action, she stalked closer to the source of the sound.

All of a sudden, she felt the sting of a dart in her shoulder. She ripped it out, only to have two more pierce her clothes and skin. Reeling from the unexpected attack, she barely dodged the Taser another attacker tried to use on her.

Several things went through her mind at the same time. She was getting woozy, which meant the darts were probably filled with tranquilizer. She’d finally found the human demon hunters, but it was clear they were after her as well, as she’d feared. She was alone. There were five of them.

She managed a kick to the head of one of her assailants and dropped him like a rock. Was it still called a ‘knock out’ if it was done with your foot?

She thought she heard one of the remaining baddies say ‘fucking Slayer.’ Which only confirmed they knew damn well who it was they were messing with.

She was attacked with collapsible batons and brass knuckles, judging by the feel of it whenever one of the attackers landed a punch. And they all came at her at once.

Her legs were becoming jello-y.

She was going to lose and be taken.

All she could think of was that the guys would find out she was missing, but it might be too late by then. And she desperately wanted Spike to have been with her.

She might have knocked out another one, but it was getting harder and harder to focus, so she tried to make a run for it. She knew full well she wouldn’t make it but was unwilling to admit defeat.

Her legs were in serious danger of giving out by the time she was pulled behind a tree, while shouts and fighting noises could be heard behind her. She almost lashed out at the new threat, but she stopped when she recognized one of the demons who’d joined her on the raid to the abandoned hunters’ lair. One of Spike’s allies.

“Don’t worry, Slayer. They’re running away like dogs. The rest of us will give chase, but we’re taking you home.” He frowned when Buffy was unable to respond. The world shimmered and dimmed around her. “Do you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked.

Buffy almost passed out at the realization she was safe, but she tried to keep awake for as long as she could. She nodded weakly, blinked a couple more times, and then her lids were too heavy to lift anymore, and she allowed herself to drift off.

~~~***~~~

*Summers residence*

Joyce almost had a heart attack when she saw her daughter carried home unconscious by unknown men.

Their leader or spokesman, or whatever, was telling her about an attack they witnessed, but all Joyce could focus on was her daughter’s pale, bruised face. She dragged Buffy and her saviors in the house and did everything she could to make her daughter comfortable on her bed.

When she could think beyond doing whatever she could, like getting Buffy water and a first aid kit, she made a quick call to Hank.

“Hey, there.” He sounded too chipper for being called at eleven at night. Then she remembered he had caller ID and must know Buffy would be on patrol for at least another hour on a regular night. So he thought Joyce was calling him just to say hi.

She didn’t have the time or the resources to figure out how she felt about that. “Buffy was attacked by the demon hunters, and some of the allied demons saved her and brought her home. Come. Now.” She didn’t wait for him to respond. Didn’t say anything else. She ended the call and went back to cleaning the cuts and bruises marring her daughter’s skin.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help her sooner, but we jumped in as soon as we realized what was going on.” The man looked nervous.

Joyce tried to understand why. He must be one of Spike’s men. Which meant he wasn’t a man, but a demon. Joyce dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. He was kind enough to bring her daughter home to her, so Joyce didn’t care what he did the rest of his time. He was a good man, and she would treat him as such. “You did her and me the greatest favor you could. You brought her here alive. That’s good enough for me.”



He gave a curt nod. She could tell he was moved but tried to hide it.

“My… Her father will be here soon. If you could please stay to tell him the full story, I’d appreciate it.”

“Done, Mother of the Slayer.”

His formal tone almost made her smile. “You can call me Joyce.” She glanced at her sleeping daughter. “You’ve earned at least that much.”

“Thank you, Joyce.” He spoke to his men, who were still huddled against the door frame. “Let’s clear out and give Joyce and the Slayer a bit of privacy.” He turned his gaze to her. “We’ll wait for your husband downstairs.”

She should correct him, tell him Hank wasn’t her husband anymore. Instead, she nodded her consent and went back to fussing over Buffy, thinking that the sooner they went downstairs, the sooner she could start looking for wounds hiding under her clothes.

~~~***~~~

*Spike’s office*

The door flew open, and Spike spilled some of the drink he was pouring himself. “I thought I told you to leave me the bloody hell alone.”



Penny didn’t seem sorry in the slightest. “This trumps that. The demon hunters attacked Buffy, and she was nearly taken. Luckily for everyone, a team from Razhak’s crew was there to drive them off and take her home. She’s been tranqued and is a little worse for wear, but she’s okay.”

Spike roared and threw his glass against the wall. He picked up the lamp on his desk to do the same, when Penny stopped him.

“I thought we were supposed to be gentle on the furniture, sir.”

“You open that mouth of yours for another helpful comment, and I’ll stake you good and proper. You hear?” He snarled again but placed the lamp back down. He was about to say something else about her smug look, but he stopped when he saw how worried she was. She was concerned about his Buffy, so he’d let anything else slide.

His Buffy that had been out there alone, because he was such a wanker about her lie to Jaslay. “Bloody fuck.” He needed to act. “You and Dalton go by the Slayer’s house, stand watch, and keep me informed. Call out everyone and tell them it’s open season on the wankers who did this. I’ll be out, hunting them myself.”

While he spoke, a photo reel of Angelus’s teachings played out in his mind, while Spike ear-marked or discarded the various torture techniques according to the level of destruction he needed to bring to the unwashed pathetic excuses for humans who’d dared touch his Slayer. Spike had never used any of those lessons, but it was high time the Poof’s teachings were put to good use.

Ignoring his surroundings, he grabbed a trench coat and a skull cap and stormed out of his base. The quickest way he’d catch the hunters would be to have them come to him. He was half a bottle of whiskey in, so acting like a drunk lout wouldn’t be hard, especially with his accumulated experience in the department. To add an extra touch, he vamped out, slammed his face into a wall, and faked a limp.

He was a tasty-looking morsel, if he thought so himself. Clearly a vamp, lurking around dark alleys on his own, drunk, bleeding, and almost incapacitated. It’d be a wonder if nobody attacked him by morning. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried it before.

The slayer wouldn’t have let him act as bait, and there was another Slayer in town who barely knew him and might get stake-happy.

He no longer cared.

The trap was set. Now all he needed was to see who took the bait and then take out his frustrations the good old-fashioned way—through massive amounts of pain.

*

The rogues played possum for a couple of hours, but if Spike’s senses were right, they were hot on his trail at long last. He suppressed his grin of triumph when he ducked in an alley and fake-retched behind a dumpster. It was show time.

Indeed, after just a couple of seconds, he heard footsteps closing in from all sides. He waited until they were close enough to choose fight over flight, and then sprang into action.

Grunts One and Two were disabled with knockout punches to the temple and dropped before they knew what hit them. Spike grabbed another by the baton he was trying to hit him with and slammed him full-on into one of the dumpsters. The other two shot some darts at the wall he’d used for support before the attack, and were busy switching weapons by the time he was on them. He punched one hard enough to make him lose his balance, and followed it up by concentrating on his last remaining buddy.

He traded a few hits with Five, which gave a Four and Two time to get back up and have a run at the vampire. He just grinned wider and pummeled all of them into submission. No matter how good they were, or what training they had, they were no match for the vast experience, raw power, and sheer determination driving Spike’s actions.

Only once everything was said and done, did Spike allow himself the luxury of taking stock of the damage he’d received. They’d gotten more than a few hits in, some of which he’d still be feeling in a couple of days, but those paled in comparison to his victory and what it meant. Payback time*

A short call was all it took for Spike’s minions to pick up the moaning and groaning humans and deliver them to the hunters’ abandoned lair by the docks, still complete with cages, chains, and shackles.

“Since you’re all awake, I want you to listen and listen well. We’re going to play a round of Torture and Tell. I am going to torture each and every one of you in turn, until you answer all my questions. There will be no escape, no mercy, and you will tell me what I want to know.”

The only response he got was a change in the intensity of the glares thrown his way. They must have been trained better than he’d thought.

He shrugged and started working them over.

After a couple rounds of punches to kidneys and livers, he moved on to kicking them in the shins and manly bits. He made sure each captive was in the same amount of pain by the time he was done.

Some of the leaders of the demon community joined as onlookers—there to witness the punishment the Master of Sunnydale implemented on behalf of the demon community.

“Now that the introductions are out of the way, maybe you can tell me who the hell you are and what you want with the demons of our town. Why did you want to kidnap the bloody Slayer, of all people?”

He was met with stony silence.

Cursing on the inside, he realized he’d be in for the long haul. “It’s time for the one-on-one part of the evening.” Looking around, he settled on the one who looked as their leader. “You just volunteered to be first up, mate.”

Spike removed the man’s fingernails, one at a time. The next captive lost his toenails. Spike was about to start on the third’s teeth removal, when the supposed hunter’s leader gave a quick command. The humans started foaming at the mouth and twitching in their bindings.

“Bloody fuck. The buggers had cyanide in their teeth.” The demons present scrambled to save any of the captives, but the hunters were all dead within minutes.

Razhak and Malcolm, the leader of another allied demon clan, approached Spike. “Kicking and cursing the corpses will accomplish nothing. At least they are dead, although their suffering could have been prolonged.” Razhak belied his words by spitting on one of the corpses.

“Yeah, it’s okay. You can stand down. Justice has been served.” Malcolm was more laid back. Then again his clan hadn’t lost anyone to the rogues yet.

“And I’m sure they are not the same ones that attacked the Slayer, so we’ll all get another chance at more vengeance.” Razhak was looking tired.

It reminded Spike to question him about what exactly had happened to Buffy. So he kept from lashing out. “. They were supposed to tell me their plans, base of operations, leaders, and whatnot. These deaths serve nothing.”

“They could still act as a warning.” Malcolm held an axe to clarify what he was suggesting.

Sneering at the cooling corpses, Spike nodded. “Cut off their heads and impale them on pikes, next to the Welcome to Sunnyhell sign. Let every would-be demon hunter get the message that this is our town.”

He was glad he sounded more confident than he felt. If the ones he caught were willing to die, rather than betray anything about themselves, including the sound of their voice, then a few things were clear. They were fanatics; they were foreigners, or at least not native to the US; they were well funded, judging by the small arsenal each carried; and they must have been sent by somebody.

Spike hated being in the dark about whom he was facing.

~~~***~~~

*Gwendolyn Post’s motel room, early next morning*

“Kendra, wake up. We have news.”

The Slayer was wide awake and alert in two seconds flat, which earned a quickly-smothered smile of pride from her Watcher. “What happened, Ma’am?” Kendra asked.

“First of all, it took you one second too long to react to my words—time in which a hostile entity could have incapacitated or even terminated you. I expect better.” Ignoring the mumbled apology from her Slayer, Gwendolyn went on. “I have received word that the rogue demon hunters tried to capture Ms. Summers and failed. This morning, the heads of five of their members were found impaled on spikes next to the Welcome sign at the edge of this hellhole. It’s clear which party was responsible for that act.”

If Kendra felt any shock at the news, she didn’t show it. Instead, eager for orders, she kept her gaze on her Watcher, as she’d been trained to do.

It was a good thing the Jamaican Slayer had been entrusted to Gwendolyn since she was called.

The watcher responsible for training her since infancy had been much too relaxed in his duties, as were most of the ones assigned to Potentials. Travers had seen the light, though, in the wake of Ms. Summers’ prophesized death and her subsequent involvement with demonic elements.

Gwendolyn had immediately been reassigned from her post to pick up the slack with Kendra. Her first order of business was to make sure the dramatic loss of her previous watcher, as well as the slaughter of Kendra’s entire native village gave the new slayer a new sense of urgency in her dealings with demons.

Sure, the loss of human life was a tragedy, however considering they’d been sacrificed for the greater good, Gwendolyn felt no remorse for arranging it. In fact she felt it was a real shame Lothos hadn’t managed to kill Ms. Summers’ entire high school and her family, as opposed to a few teenagers and her rather useless watcher.

It was now Gwendolyn’s job to ascertain exactly how tainted the slayer had become, while taking over the proper patrolling of the Hellmouth.

“This means we must step up our schedule. I wished we had enough time to look for the gauntlet, but orders from Mr. Travers are clear. We act tonight.”

“I understand, Ma’am.”





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