Title taken from my new method of naming fics, picking a Duran Duran song title.
Summary: During an alternate season 2, Buffy is on the run to avoid recapture by the military group that had kidnapped and experimented on her. When she finds herself pregnant through artificial means, her desperation to stay one step ahead of them escalates. Yes, this is a vampire/slayer fic, and of COURSE it's spuffy.
This chapter deals with non-con experimentation and procedures.
Chapter 1
As Buffy locked the flimsy door of the motel behind her, she realized it brought her no measure of relief. A lock meant nothing; it was something she engaged merely out of habit. She had forgotten what it felt like to be unafraid. To not have that edge of panic and paranoia curling around the edges of her senses at all times; her eyes systematically surveying her surroundings for any hint of the enemy.
For the ones who did this to her.
Bastards.
All was quiet for now, and she allowed herself to relax a fraction, her hands unconsciously going to caress the growing bulge of her abdomen.
She had been running for so long, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Not that it really mattered. Buffy never stayed long enough in one place to gain an impression, either of the favorable or negative.
It had only been seven months, yet seemed a lifetime. Thoughts of her previous life tried welling up to flood her consciousness and Buffy battered them back frantically.
She didn't want to remember that time. It made her nostalgic, made her long for home, and that made her weak.
But she had been happy.
With a frustrated growl, Buffy kicked over the chair that had dared to block her way in the run down hotel room she had taken for the night. She'd be gone tomorrow.
Always running.
A hint of tears tried to blur her vision and Buffy swiped them away angrily. Turning to the bed, she grabbed the tattered wallet that lay upon the faded blanket and checked the status of her funds, finding it lower than she liked.
Well, that was something easily taken care of.
Grabbing a stake, Buffy threw open the door to her room and slipped out, always on the lookout. One thing she had quickly come to realize was that it didn't matter what town, what state, even what country she was in, there were always vampires to be found.
And they always seemed to have money.
Every sense heightened for both demonic and human signatures, Buffy slipped through a pair of rusty gates where she knew she would find something waiting for her. If nothing else, this experience had taught her how damn predictable vampires were. She had thought it was just Sunnydale vamps who haunted cemeteries, but she was so very mistaken.
Ten minutes later, Buffy let herself back into her room, her funds now well and truly replenished. It had never crossed her mind to rob the vamps she had staked in Sunnydale. But then again, her very survival had never depended on her cash flow either. Still, she was without guilt. She needed the money and by whatever mystical force that made vamps go poof, anything in their possession also poofed.
And that was a waste.
The thing in her belly was kicking, but she ignored it as she got herself ready for bed. Her steadfast refusal to think of it as a baby, as a part of her, was getting harder and harder as it grew larger and more active inside her. But she couldn't allow herself that luxury.
Because she had no idea what had been put inside her.
When she finally fell asleep that night, her living nightmare bled into her dreams, a habitual mental drain. Buffy had grown used to it, trapped in the hell her mind had recreated, blindly clawing to get out. It never failed. Total exhaustion was of the familiar for her these days. She had come to thrive on it.
It didn't mean it got any easier.
Heart pounding, body glistening with sweat, Buffy attempted the deep breathing exercises that had been taught to her in her other life.
When she had been happy.
It was seven months since her life had been taken away from her. Seven months since she had been abducted by an unknown enemy on a routine patrol in Sunnydale. She had been sixteen years old and had grown up in the span of an evening.
To this day, Buffy still didn't have a clear identity of who, exactly, had abducted her. Her first impression upon waking from whatever they had tranquilized her with was of a white so blinding it hurt her eyes. Everything was white. Even the bastards who claimed to be there to help her had been clothed head to toe in white industrial suits, masks covering their faces from her view; steadfastly refusing to answer even the simplest of her questions. Male, female, she had no idea.
The Council had been her initial thought; her last meeting with them not having ended on the best of terms, but it didn't take long for her to question that assumption. She didn't know why she began to think differently, she just did. From their whispered mutterings, she realized that they were fully aware that she was the Slayer.
Then came the violation.
Drugged so her slayer strength was a moot point, Buffy lost track of how many times her wrists were shackled to a gurney, her heels placed in stirrups while the people in white knelt between her parted legs. Pleas of enlightenment went unanswered and resulted in being drugged with something that made her mind fuzzy, Buffy soon learned to keep her mouth shut. Her mind was the only thing she had left and Buffy refused to give it up to them.
But then came the degradation as gynecological speculums were unceremoniously shoved into her vagina and Buffy soon realized she wasn't a person to them. She was an experiment. That first time, there had been murmurs of surprise at finding an intact hymen, yet that gave them little pause.
And then the pain followed.
Blinding, cramping pain that didn't end until the speculum had been removed and they were finished with whatever torture they were doing to her. Her palms were indented with half moon crescents from her fingernails digging into them as she lay there shackled to the table.
Having her mind altered should have made it easier for Buffy, but she wanted clarity. The drug that stole her strength was released into the air of her barren, white cell at regular intervals through a vent in the ceiling, and thus, completely unavoidable.
It was a non-ending, living hell.
She had no idea how long she had been there when she awoke to the sound of running feet and a blaring alarm. Shouts and screams could be heard over the loud noise and it was only then that Buffy noticed something.
The electronic door that kept her a prisoner had slid open.
What she found outside that cell was pure chaos, but while her slayer strength may have been absent, her mind was all there. And her mind was pure Slayer.
Without daring to question why her door had been opened or what was happening around her, Buffy ran. She met no resistance to her flight, and once outside, she discovered she had been imprisoned in a hidden military base.
Finding the fence surrounding the base with the power shut off, Buffy quickly scaled it, calling on every reserve of strength she possessed.
And then she was free.
Her first instinct had been to return home, an acute need to return to the safety and familiarity of her mother and watcher nearly overwhelming her. To be held in her mother's arms again, only then could she even begin to put this nightmare behind her.
Except it wasn't safe, and Buffy knew it. Since the compound had not been destroyed, Buffy had to assume they still wanted her.
Or at least wanted what they had put inside of her.
She didn't need a test to tell her that she was pregnant, Buffy knew it as sure as her Slayer did.
She just didn't know with what.
Days turned into weeks; weeks into months and her body grew bigger. Buffy didn't fool herself to think that they had put a human baby inside of her. Her slayer side told her that it wasn't so, reacting to whatever supernatural origins her baby possessed.
No longer was she an innocent in any way, except one. Not that anybody would believe the truth of an immaculate conception.
****
Knowing that attempting to sleep again was futile, Buffy swung her bare legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Her appearance, something she used to take great pride in, refused to register anymore, and she ignored her wan appearance in the mirror. She'd changed her look so many times she had almost forgotten what she truly looked like.
Before they took her life and stuck her with another.
The thing kicked her again, and her hand went to the swell of her abdomen, rubbing small circles almost tenderly before Buffy jerked her hand away realizing what she had done.
Firming up her resolve, Buffy went to the chipped desk and sat down in the chair, refusing to allow any maternal thoughts to penetrate. This thing inside her made her a target, it took away her life. She could never even entertain the notion of returning home until it was no longer a part of her.
Beyond that, she refused to dwell.
Feeling the familiar rage of helplessness and the never-ending fear well up inside of her, Buffy looked at the bedside clock. Five AM.
Time to get moving.
a/n Oh don't worry, I actually have more written. Just let me know if you want it :P
Thank you to spikeskat and Rachel for the beta!!
Chapter 2
In under ten minutes, Buffy had her meager belongings thrown together and tossed in the backseat of the beat-up Nissan, the latest in a seemingly endless cycle of used cars that she drove for a short time before moving on to the next one. Learning to drive wasn't a skill she'd have ever thought to master in her other life, but necessity was a powerful motivational tool, and the slayer had quickly overcome whatever trepidation she felt at being behind the wheel of a car. A fierce desire to put as much distance between herself and the ones that had done her harm provided added incentive to learn fast. Having wheels made her less of a target.
And she’d do whatever it would take to make herself less of a target.
Her clothing these days came from second-hand stores or the local Walmart of whichever town she happened to be in. Gone were the short skirts and skimpy tops; her attire these days was utilitarian and plain. Her hair had been cut to shoulder length and fell in an uneven bob to frame her face. Her blonde locks were currently dyed an unflatteringly dark brown that made her blend in. She couldn't remember the last time makeup had touched her face. That girlie girl she had used to be belonged to another time, had lived in another world.
And had no business in this one.
Turning the key in the ignition, the car gave one loud sputter before the engine turned over, noisy and obtrusive in the early morning hour. Reaching over to the passenger seat, she grabbed a scrunchie and twisted her hair into an unflattering bun at the nape of her neck, not bothering to check the results in the mirror.
Then she was off. On to the next town, to hole up in another out of the way no-tell motel.
Always running.
Buffy had driven for a solid ten hours, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the last place she had slept; stopping once for gas and for much needed coffee with an Egg McMuffin at McDonalds. Her prenatal diet didn't concern her. To dwell on whether the “Thing” – as she’d termed it - in her belly was getting proper nourishment would mean acknowledging that it was truly a part of her. That it meant something.
That it was her baby.
And that was something she just couldn't allow herself to acknowledge. Ever. Something deep within her was guiding her actions, and Buffy gave herself over to it, knowing sub-consciously that it was her slayer-ness taking over. Thus far, it had kept her alive, and that was good enough.
An hour before dusk found her in another run-down town, just north of the Mexican border. Buffy was glad to stop, a headache brewing behind her left eye, the constant looking in her rearview mirror and being ever on alert taking its toll.
After paying cash and securing a room for the night, Buffy wearily unlocked the door to her room, barely giving the sparse furnishings a cursory glance as she walked in and dumped her bag on the bed. It was no better or worse than anything she had stayed in over the last several months, and at least this one had an air of cleanliness in its favor.
She eyed the bed longingly, wanting nothing more than to fall onto its welcoming surface and rest her weary body, but right now, her body needed fuel. Buffy had learned the hard way that towns such as these tended to shut down at an early hour.
'Just a few moments,' she told herself, unable to resist curling up on the bed. Her eyelids drifted shut as she fell quickly into slumber.
A scream stuck in her throat, Buffy jerked awake. There was always that profound relief in realizing it was just a dream, but with it would come the complete wrongness – the forced degradation - of what had been done to her. Then anger would take hold and Buffy found that emotion to be the most calming. It gave her strength, gave her clarity. Gave her the courage to go on, to resist the urge to pick up the phone and call her mom. And Giles. And her friends. Angel.
God, she missed them.
Yet she knew to give into that foolish impulse would be signing a warrant for recapture. And she highly doubted she'd be allowed to walk out of there once whatever was inside her had been born.
No, this was the only way.
Buffy looked at the antiquated alarm clock and groaned, her window of opportunity for sustenance had already come and gone while she had been asleep. She swung her legs around and jerked to her feet, refusing to let her pregnancy impact her mobility.
Taking the time for a quick shower, she eagerly washed the stench of travel off her body and was out the door in under fifteen minutes. Her damp hair was piled messily in a scrunchie again and the large, oversize army jacket she wore masked the obvious signs of her pregnancy.
As predicated, the restaurants had long since closed, leaving only the seedy bars open for what existed of the town’s nightlife. With a heavy sigh, Buffy resigned herself to suffer that scene. Drunken red-necks had not proven to be the most astute of males, often times not wanting to take a polite no for an answer. Or a firm one.
Buffy opted to walk to her destination, not wishing to draw attention to her unfamiliar car. Far better for her to spend the extra few minutes on her feet than have to worry about one of the town’s inhabitants seeing her vehicle and the lone female driving it, and inadvertently giving her pursuers an advantage. And there was no doubt in her mind that she was being tracked. Hunted.
No, walking was definitely safer.
The night was warm, a full moon illuminating the way, and Buffy wished she could shed the bulky jacket. But, anonymity was the key. And while her rounded belly was most definitely showing, it was still easily hidden beneath her bulky clothes.
Three blocks later and she’d arrived. Bud's Place. Buffy's eyes instinctively rolled, a small hint of the girl she used to be almost peeking through before the loud rumbling of her stomach reminded her why she was there.
Food. Now.
Throwing the heavy wooden door open, she was assaulted by a cloud of smoke and loud country music, mentally cringing at both. For a second, she considered leaving and scrounging around in her car again for a missed snack, but her insistent hunger prevailed.
Feeling as if all eyes were suddenly upon her, Buffy hunched her shoulders and strode forward, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. She reached the bar and slid into a seat, giving the bartender a thin smile of greeting as he appeared in front of her.
"Y'all serve food, right?" she asked, adopting a southern accent. Anything to mask her previous Valley Girl inflections.
A menu was thrust into her welcoming hands and it took Buffy exactly a minute to decide before ordering a hamburger and fries. With a side of ranch.
That was new, the ranch. She had tried to ignore it, recognizing it as a craving and not wanting anything to do with it, but thus far had been unsuccessful.
The Thing was kicking again with relish, and a stab of irritation went through her at this ever present reminder. She wondered, not for the first time, if she would have a normal gestation period, or if she would be forced to carry it longer than usual.
Because that would totally suck.
Her musing was interrupted when she saw the bartender give her order to one of the hard-looking, overly made-up cocktail waitresses that came up to the wooden slab to fill a drink order. Watching the woman walk away, her tray loaded down with bottles of beers, Buffy idly wondered if that was going to be her. Used up and soured, looking years older than her true age.
And came to the sudden realization that she didn't really care.
"Hey there, l'il darlin'."
Her face expressionless, Buffy glanced at the man who had addressed her, barely able to curtail her lip from curling up in disgust as his foul body odor assaulted her nostrils, even through the thick cover of smoke.
She turned back to stare at nothing, effectively dismissing him. God she hated bars.
One meaty hand clamped on her wrist. "I'm talking to you."
"Leave her be, Jed." The bartender had materialized in front of her again.
With a surly grunt, Jed stomped back to the pool table he'd been losing at all evening.
"Thanks." Buffy's voice was quiet, yet sincere.
"Don't mention it. Your food should be up shortly." With a slight nod, he moved to attend to the others at the opposite end of the bar.
Letting out a pent up sigh of agitation, Buffy refrained from glancing around, keeping her eyes directed in front of her, her senses alert. It hadn't taken long to discover that even non-deliberate eye contact in places such as these was so not of the good. She cursed under her breath when she felt a familiar zap crawl up the nape of her neck.
Slaying was something she'd had to do with more stealthiness than usual, not wanting any reports of some slip of a girl killing baddies to get out. That's why she usually kept to the typical cemeteries for her nocturnal activities, finding an audience less likely to be present.
It didn't mean that it was impossible to take them out if she came across them.
Just as her stomach was about to stand up and revolt with hunger, a huge plate was set down in front of her and Buffy flashed a genuine smile of gratitude at the waitress. She made quick work of the burger, dipping it into the ranch dressing with each bite.
********
From a dark corner, Spike kept his eye on the girl who had immediately piqued his interest from the moment she'd stepped foot inside the bar. After watching her literally inhale a tremendous amount of food, something began pricking at the edge of his consciousness. He knew her.
When she smiled once more at the waitress, recognition struck hard, causing a sharp intake of unnecessary breath. Her appearance was different, but it was her.
The Slayer.
Well now. The night just got a wee bit more interesting, after all.
*****
tbc
a/n-Oooh! It's Spike! It's Spike! *giggles*
|
