This Temptous Rage 5/14 Series Incomplete
Chapter 5: Breakout
By Denna at dennaseer@hotmail.com
Rated NC-17 for language and violence
Keywords: Buffy and Spike.what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. I am not making a profit off of this.
Spoilers: "The Wish" except Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't killed
Summary: Spike faces Willow; Giles and Oz break into the prison



July 5th, 11:33 PM

"I knew you'd give me a reason if you tried hard enough. But that was
almost too good."

The Master's voice reached him through the darkness, and Spike struggled
unconsciously, before having time to regain self-control. As it turned out,
his struggles were futile; his hands were chained above his head. The rough
edges of the cuffs were cutting into his wrists and he tried to ease the
pressure but his feet barely touched the floor. Yet this pain was good for
him, making him lucid again.

"Willow may be yours by right, but I'm still The Master. My word is law.
And I want you to be punished."

The Master stood so close to him that for a few moments Spike could only
see the vampire's narrow silhouette, the pale deformed face frozen in a
smile. The vampire's hand whipped forward, capturing his face and tilting
his chin up so forcefully Spike started losing his feet again. Sickness came
back, as his head was roughly jerked upwards. He bit his tongue so hard it
started bleeding. There was nothing he could do; he'd made his choice when
he had fought the dog away from Buffy. At that moment he'd given the power
over his life to The Master.

Buffy.Worry, unexpectedly sharp, pierced him. He didn't know why he was
worried. It was bloody stupid, that's what it was. The Slayer shouldn't have
been his concern; she was the killer of his race. Why then did he ruin
everything for the girl's sake?

He thrashed, trying to get free from The Master's grip. For the first time
he realized they weren't in the cell anymore but in some room, an
interrogation room, looking nearly identical to the one where he had spent
last night.

Buffy was there too, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her
chest. Her wrists were chained to the wall high above her head and there
were thin trickles of blood running down her arms. Her enormous tragic eyes,
so dark on the fair face, met Spike's gaze with silent despair. Spike looked
away in distress. His intervention obviously hadn't changed anything and had
spared Buffy nothing.

"What shall I do with you, traitor?" The Master pondered as he tapped his
chin. "Punish you and then kill you? Or keep you alive and let your brethren
have a poke at you?"

Spike stuck his fingernails into the hard metal of his cuffs and felt the
tips of his fingers bleed. The Master hit him, the punch in his abdomen so
hard that Spike had to bite the inside of his lip so as not to make a sound.

"I think I'll just have some fun with you for a while," the vampire said.
"I want you all soft and weeping when I kill you."

I won't cry, you soddin' poof, Spike thought. The sight of an electrified
whip in The Master's hand made him sick with apprehension. He suppressed an
involuntary shudder. There was a constant metallic taste in his mouth from
all the blood he had to swallow. Buffy's voice reached him through the
pounding in his head.

"Please, Master.please, don't."

"Shut up, bitch," The Master said lightly. "It's all your fault, anyway.
Remember that while you watch me beat him. And I'll add to his punishment
for every word you utter now."

Despite himself, Spike felt himself smile. Had he not done the same thing
to hundreds of families? Killed their children and made their parents watch?
Seemed a fitting death; to die the way he killed. He never finished the
thought, the pain that wrapped around him made him choke, turning his
thought disjointed and incoherent.

He hadn't realized it would be so bad. The feeling of the lash clinging to
his body was unspeakable. There was no trace left but he kept feeling it,
across his chest and upper belly, even as the next blow came.

I won't cry, he thought again, but he did cry out on the fifth blow, hating
himself for the strangled sound that pleased The Master so immensely. Blood
from his bitten lips caught in his throat and he coughed. Fire-like pain
encircled his body, tearing into his mind. He clung to the only thought he
had left, that no matter what, the vampire wouldn't see his tears.

He didn't close his eyes but darkness surrounded him, turning The Mater's
figure into a shadow and the lashing whip into an arc of light.

The flash stopped suddenly and no other blow came. Spike struggled with his
failing sight, shaking his head furiously, trying to see clearly. Sickness
became nearly overwhelming but at least he knew what he saw now. Another
vampire was next to The Master, a pale hand gripping the vampire's wrist.

"That's enough, Master," Willow said.

For a moment Spike felt overpowering joy at seeing her, and cringed in
shame at the next moment. How weak he had become that he had started seeing
the vampire as his rescuer.

"He killed Oren," The Master said, jerking his wrist out of Willow's grip.

"I know," the redhead's voice was light and derisive. "But forgive me,
Master, but did you not provoke him? Xander told me what happened."

"Xander should mind his own business," The Master muttered.

"Oh?" Spike saw how Willow's mouth rounded in feigned surprise. "I thought
that, as keeper of this traitor, I have the right to be informed about
everything that happens to him. You don't think so, Master?"

For a little while he didn't answer, his lips compressed in a thin line,
and then he stepped away, shrugging.

"I suppose. You're lucky, Willow, I am not usually so lenient with my
minions."

"I am not your minion, Master."

In a fluid movement Willow came up to Spike, her hands flying up to touch
Spike's face briefly, brushing the strands of hair away. Spike wanted to
avoid the touch but had too little control over his own body that he
couldn't. Willow still must've noticed his feeble struggles. "It's okay, my
handsome one," she said softly, "It'll stop hurting now."

The lock opened, releasing his cuffed hands, and Spike slid down into
Willow's arms, solid and strong.

"Don't be afraid to fall," the vampire's voice whispered against his ear,
"I like catching you. I will take him away now," she added in a different,
business-like tone to The Master.

"All right, Willow. But remember this, I am still your Master. I will allow
this frivolous game of yours to continue only because you captured the
traitor, so he is yours. But.attempt to interrupt any further and he will
not be the only one I punish." The Master replied.

"Yes, Master. As you wish, Master," Willow answered as they went out the
door.

His consciousness was wavering as Willow walked him along the corridor. He
wanted to get free from the vampire's grip but wasn't sure he could stand by
himself. He didn't know if it was the after effects of the whipping or if
his state had worsened because of the vaccine, but he seemed to be on the
verge of blacking out at any moment.

"Here," Willow's voice reached him through the oblivion, "My office, so to
speak."

The next thing Spike knew was that he was sitting in an armchair, deep and
comfortable, and Willow was leaning towards him. Her red hair shimmered and
her deep green eyes sparkled with a deadly tragic glow.

"Is something wrong?" Willow asked, a strange note of worry in her voice.
"Don't pass out on me anymore, William."

Her hand was on Spike's face again, cupping his cheek, and Spike moved
away, deeper into the chair. His hands were chained in front of him, he
noticed, and had been since he had been hanging from his wrists. It didn't
hinder him to push Willow away, though.

"You're stubborn as always," Willow left him, crossing her arms across her
chest. "I'm even starting to think you prefer The Master's company to mine.
Why are you so disgusted by me? I am a vampire, just like you."

It was not that, Spike thought; it was her he was disgusted by. There was a
fear he felt from her presence, a panic that seized him from her touch.Spike
couldn't explain it, or didn't want to, so he just said:

"It's nothing personal."

It seemed to him there was something bitter in the curve of Willow's smile
as she stood looking down at Spike thoughtfully.

"You now the history of vampires, don't you?" she asked all of a sudden.

Hesitantly, he answered, "Of course, I'm not daft."

"And what is it you know?" The voice was taunting and yet somehow strange.
Even when Willow didn't touch him, the vampire's presence was still
overwhelming, affecting Spike in some way. He muttered without looking at
her.

"Vampires are humans that have been changed to demons. They need blood to
live and can't go out in the sun. Have I passed your little test now?"

"Right," Willow said lightly. "A long time ago, a man was born of a demon
and a mortal. This man was born with the ruthless need to kill and desire
for blood but also with the capacity for love and mercy. But the man was
tortured with his mixed desires and it was not long before he killed
someone. The demon in him took over and he drank their blood while they're
heart still beat. When the man realized what he had done he cried for
redemption, that he would do anything for the person to return to him.

"The poor boy got what he desired, though. The creature awoke from his
death but as a monster driven by his need for blood. And the more that
creature killed, the more creatures like him appeared in his wake. And soon
vampires roamed the world."

"So in a way, you could say we're all mutated humans with little demon
bits, huh?" Spike asked, breaking the mood.

"Yeah, right," Willow answered as if he didn't interest her at all. Spike
stared at the flood of red hair as the vampire turned away from him. Her
voice sounded hoarse as she talked. "But did you ever wonder what would
happen if a vampire.mutated like that as well? If, for some reason, a
vampire was fledged more like the first vampire? Torn between blood lust and
mercy? Being too human for her own good? What about such a creature?"

"That depends, don't it?" Spike answered in a light, almost casual voice,
but she never turned back to look at Spike. "In fact, I had a relative like
that once. Bloody poof, always felt guilty after every meal."

"It's funny that I feel horrible after killing but love it all the same,"
Willow interrupted. "I love to kill. I live for it. But I can't stand it.
Some even think it's contagious." There was joyless laughter in the
vampire's voice. "Can rub off or something. It's convenient though when you
don't want anyone to cross your way. Even the Master is afraid of me
sometimes."

Willow turned abruptly, her eyes flashing dark green. Spike didn't have
time to say anything, and had nothing to say as Willow moved to him swiftly,
her hand on Spike's throat.

"By the way, my Xander told me you wanted to see me. What was that about?"

To have sex with you would be an honest answer and then to escape would be
even more honest. But it wouldn't have worked, Spike realized suddenly, even
if he managed to sleep with Willow. The vampire would never let him go.

"About nothing," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Liar." Willow's slap wasn't of real force, just stinging a little. "Liar
and a coward."

Her hand in Spike's hair gripped hard, forcing his head back. She leaned
closer, so close that Spike felt the smooth surface of her forehead against
his face. And at the next moment Willow's lips were on his, her tongue in
his mouth.

Willow's lips felt soft and cool, her tongue wet and obtrusive, wandering
in Spike's mouth. Spike didn't feel any taste; his sinuses were swollen and
insensitive. There was just the feeling of something alien in his mouth.
Neither pleasant nor repulsive. But her fingers dug into his scalp painfully
and it brought him back to reality. He hit with his cuffed hands into
Willow's chest and kicked with both his feet. The vampire flopped onto the
floor, seeming slightly disoriented. Spike got up on his feet, staring down
at the woman.

There was no way to escape so he just waited as Willow wiped her mouth on
the back of her palm and rose.

"I guess I'm going to have another appointment with The Master then, luv?"
Spike asked levelly.

Willow's movements were slightly stiff; Spike must've hurt her after all. A
blow in his solar plexus made him double, hunching over Willow's arm. Willow
supported him and lowered him onto his knees almost carefully as Spike
gasped. But her grip on his shoulders was iron-hard, pushing him down.

"I could take you right now," Willow told him in a teasing voice. "How
would you like that? Seeing nothing but your blood, feeling nothing but
pain. I can make it hurt. Make it hurt more than anything you've ever felt.
Don't think that I won't, baby, because I will."

Willow's voice broke, and suddenly in a flash of understanding that pierced
through Spike's troubled mind, he knew that her threats and insults weren't
really directed towards him, but in a strange way mirrored her own pain and
fears.

Deep down in his unbeating heart, a feeling akin to pity moved in him, but
at the next moment Willow pressed his head roughly to the floor and all
Spike could do was struggle, just to delay the inevitable.

The floor shook under him suddenly, an echo of a distant explosion that at
first felt like the beating of his blood against his eardrums. But it
must've been real as Willow let go of him abruptly. Spike backed away from
the vampire, looking up. Willow got on her feet smoothly, her small mouth
compressed. Sounds of alarm seemed too far away but grew louder, flooding
the room. Spike saw Willow wince.

For him, the noise was almost unbearable. His aching head and raw nerves
shot through with pain. Involuntarily, he held his head, covering his ears,
but it did nothing to make the sounds go away. He noticed Willow's lips
moved and guessed rather than heard what the vampire said:

"Stay here. I'll go check what it is."

The door shut behind the woman, and then Spike moved. He felt dizzy, weak
and sore all over, but he also knew that if he didn't move now, he'd lose
his only chance.

He looked around the room, searching for a weapon and above Willow's table
saw two ancient rapiers, crossed under the glass. He hit against the glass
with his cuffs, turning away from the splinters. His hand smeared blood on a
sharp piece of glass as he reached for a dagger, but finally he had it. Its
point was probably blunted but it was better than nothing. Spike walked to
the entrance, intending to wait for Willow's return for another attack when
another explosion shook the ground under his feet. He fell forward, onto the
door and it pushed forward under his weight. He found himself in the
hallway.

He saw other vampires running down the hall and other species as well. He
pressed himself to the wall but no one seemed to notice him or pay enough
attention. With an effort, Spike resurrected the plans of the prison in his
mind, as much of it as he knew. If he was going to get out of here, he was
going to have to get upstairs away from the underground dungeons.

If? What else was he going to do? This was his chance, no doubt his only
one. He saw a few men in ragged clothes, probably prisoners as well, moving
in the direction to the stairs. One of the vampires stopped to attack them.
Two men fell, two more managed to escape. And at the next moment the vampire
fell as well, attacked by some species of demon, unknown to Spike, from
behind.

It looked like an illustration of Survival of the Fittest, Spike thought,
or The Trials of Hell. He leaned against the wall, supporting himself with a
rapier against the floor. He knew what he had to do; his mind gave him very
definite orders. Get upstairs and fight himself to a door, flee from there.
But when he moved, he walked not up but forward against the flow of people.

He had barely registered the way that Willow had dragged him from the
interrogation room to her quarters but something had to stay in his head.
Maybe it's all in vain, he thought helplessly, maybe she's not even there
anymore. Taken back to her cell and then Spike would never find her.

The door to the room was open and Buffy was there. No one else.

"Spike?" There was incredulity, joy and distress mixed in the girl's voice.
Spike wanted to say something but staying upright demanded so much strength
he had to clench his teeth, so he just shrugged weakly.

The Slayer's hands were tied, just like Spike's had been when The Master
whipped him, and Spike thought scathingly that the vampire had probably just
replaced his toy with another one when Willow had taken him away. What upset
him most was the blood that leaked from Buffy's mouth when she spoke. Her
breath sounded so ragged that it was possible that a couple of ribs were
broken. Focused on the immediate task, Spike hacked at the metal cuffs on
her hands with the rapier until they split apart lightly scratching her
wrists. Buffy slipped onto the floor weakly.

"Come on, pet." Spike held out his hands to help her up. The rapier was
just a hindrance now, so he had thrown it away. "Get up. We need to get the
'ell out of here."

He felt Buffy hang onto him for a moment and then the girl fell again.
There was a strange feeble smile on Buffy's face.

"I don't think.I can walk."

"Oh. All right then."

Spike turned with his back to her, getting down on one knee.

"Hold on then. I'll carry you."

He was not sure he could but there was no way he was going to leave the
girl here. Not after all the effort it took to get here.

"Just look at this. How touching!"

Spike had been looking down at the ground so the view of him was obscured,
and for a moment he could almost make himself believe it was just an
illusion. But then he heard Buffy's short gasp. Of course, the vampire was
real. For some reason The Master had returned.

"You're just a stupid traitor," The Master said. "And I don't have time to
play with you. I think I'll just kill you now."

The vampire raised a sharp wooden stake and pointed it down at Spike. For
some reason Spike couldn't look higher than it was. He could just see the
point of the wood in The Master's hand.

Shouldn't have thrown away the bloody sword, he thought absently. But what
difference would it make, apart from dying with a weapon in his hands?

The sudden sound of a battle cry made him look up. For a moment, he thought
it was The Master but it was too guttural, too full of anger for him. And as
he stared at him he saw his body suddenly combust into clouds of ash. Some
of it fell upon Spike's face as he stared at where The Master had once been
in disbelief.

And then, behind the puddles of dust, Spike saw the one who'd been killing,
a tall, smiling man with a stake in his hand. He didn't seem to be dressed
for battle, with a fancy black belt and tie with a brown suit. But his face
framed with graying sandy hair looked vaguely familiar. Spike just felt too
messed up to recognize him.

"Well, that was rather timely wasn't it?" the man said, speaking in an
eloquent British accent.

"Uh.thanks."

"Pay it no mind." He stepped through The Master's ashes and nodded to
Spike. "Now get the hell out of here while you still can."

And at the next moment he was gone and more fevered battle cries were heard
down the corridor. Spike turned to Buffy and said:

"Hold on now, pet. Let's go."

The girl looked guiltily at him and Spike shook his head impatiently.
Buffy's bony arms hooked around his neck, and he got up.

With how skinny Buffy was it was much easier than Spike thought to carry
her. But his head still swam in pain and every once in a while he stumbled
over his own feet.

The first few corridors were empty, dead bodies lying here and there, but
as Spike reached upstairs, it was an inferno. The crowd was so dense, all
kinds of creatures running towards the doors, that the mass seemed solid.
The sound of slamming and creaking doors were continuous but the crowd
didn't seem to get thinner.

He entered into the crowd, getting into the flow and even managing to
advance through a little. His cuffed hands didn't let him protect himself
from the pushes, and he heard a short painful cry that Buffy made as someone
shoved themselves against her broken ribs. Another push, more like a blow,
made him stumble, and suddenly a hard hand caught him, pulling him away.
Almost without surprise Spike stared at Willow's pale face.

"I knew I'd find you," she breathed out.

The words were so senseless Spike thought that he might have heard them
wrong. In this mess, with everything falling apart, Willow wanted to say she
was looking for him? The three of them were pressed to the wall against the
churning crowd. Spike let Buffy slide off his back and swayed with sudden
relief. His knees were so weak he didn't know how he could stand.

"Don't go there," Willow said in a low voice.

The words were so senseless Spike thought he must have heard them wrong. In
this mess, with everything falling apart, Willow wanted to say she was
looking for him? The crowd pressed the three of them to the wall. Spike let
Buffy slide off his back and swayed with sudden relief. His knees were so
weak he didn't know how he could stand.

"Don't go there," Willow said in a low voice.

Try to bloody well stop me, Spike wanted to say. The power of the vampires
over the prison was down, ruined probably by that man in the black tie who'd
staked The Master a little while ago. He saw Willow's long fingers reach
toward his face. They were streaked with blood and Spike didn't know if it
was hers or someone else's.

"Don't go," Willow told him.

The next explosion was very close, the blinding fireball blossoming down
the corridor, right in the middle of the crowd. If felt like the wall Spike
was leaning against was crumbling. Maybe it was just his body giving up on
him.

He was sliding down and couldn't stop it, and he saw Willow's narrowed
eyes, looking at him attentively. He heard Buffy's desperate voice,
screaming something next to him. And at the next moment more mortals were in
his line of vision, the familiar one among them and for some reason Spike
thought he must have seen this face before on TV, or over the numbers
stating his award for capture.

He didn't know if Willow was shot or hit but she suddenly slumped onto the
floor. There was no knife in her slack hand, just a key for unlocking the
handcuffs.

"Help him! You won't leave him, you saved his life!" Buffy's lilting voice
was so insistent; Spike hadn't known it could sound like this.

"Giles?" someone asked behind the man. The man walked up to them and bent
towards Spike.

He took the stake in his left hand and his right arm wrapped around Spike's
ribcage, pulling him up. Spike was obviously in discomfort being dragged
around like a little child but the man didn't seem to notice.

"Buffy." he looked back for the girl and saw in relief that another man was
helping her up.

"What about the vampire?" The smallest one of the insurrectionists, a thin,
blonde-haired boy, probably no older than Buffy, spoke with almost unmoving
lips, his thin blonde eyebrows drawn together.

"What about her?" the man turned back slightly.

"She's not dead."

"Then finish her off, Oz."

"I think she's important.rankwise I mean. We could use her."

"All right," the man shrugged. "Than take her as well."

Spike saw how Willow was jerked up on her feet, her arms twisted behind her
back cruelly. The vampire's head drooped, she probably was not quite
conscious, and her red hair flooded against her chest like threads of flame.

"Back to HQ," someone said.

This Temptous Rage 6/14 Series Incomplete
Chapter 6: Healer
By Denna at dennaseer@hotmail.com <mailto:dennaseer@hotmail.com>
Rated NC-17 for language and violence
Keywords: Buffy and Spike.what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. I am not making a profit off of this.
Spoilers: "The Wish" except Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't killed
Summary: Buffy and Spike find themselves in the desert with Giles and the
rebels.

Chapter 6: Healer

July 6th, 1999, 7:32 PM

The room was a tangle of thin nets hanging from the ceiling, separating the
area in tiny cells. It apparently was done to prevent sand from littering on
everything but it didn't work so well and the floor was layered with tiny
ribbed dunes of golden gravel while dust clung to face and hands unbearably.

The lights, caught in the web of gauze, seemed reddish and dull and the
figures of medics seemed like vague white shadows, their voice distant
humming. They were taking care of the wounded. There were the hurt among the
soldiers, and also the dead.

"Where are we?" Spike's voice was hoarse, barely audible and his eyebrows
drew together in pain as he talked. He had just woken up after several hours
of being unconscious and I had only woken out of a deep sleep half an hour
ago.

"At the infirmary," I said. "In some desert, somewhere."

I'd barely had a glance at it, at the vast yellow sand as I drifted in and
out of consciousness. The men had left us here this morning, in a small
space with two beds, separated with flimsy screens from the rest of the
room. They also had taken their handcuffs off of Spike and me.

"Bloody hell," Spike's voice wavered.

His bloodless face with sunken closed eyes shadowed, teeth clenched hard
together. It was hot in the room, even stifling with all those nets catching
the air, but he was shivering under his blanket, hugging himself with his
narrow hands clasped on the black material of his torn, dirty shirt. I
pulled a blanket from the other bed, piling it over him. I stroked his
cheek, probing his forehead. He was burning again. His eyelashes trembled as
he tried to open his eyes, and then shook his head.

"Go away. You're too heavy."

I took my hand away quickly, still feeling the heat of his skin against my
fingers.

"Spike," I whispered. "I'll go call for someone. You're really sick."

"No!" For once there was strength in his voice, intensity making it louder.
"Don't call for anyone. You're such a soddin'.pest."

I took a deeper breath, feeling how hot sharp pain suddenly pierced my
side. The constant tang of blood in my mouth became stronger. I fought pain,
sickness and fear before I was sure my voice would be steady again.

"Spike.I'm sorry."

"What for?" His voice was impassive again, the words slurred. His eyelashes
never rose, as if too heavy for that. I leaned against the bed rails,
holding my side, trying to take small breaths to lull the pain away.

"If you hadn't carried me, you wouldn't be so sick."

His eyebrows arched as if in misery.

"Whatever."

"If you hadn't come for me, you could've gotten out through the doors and
gone home."

I knew that. I wasn't a fool, no matter what he said. If he hadn't returned
for me, I would've likely been dead now. Or with The Master. A wave of panic
flooded through me at the memory of the vampire's deformed, white face,
colorless lips and long pale fingers, at the memory of the loud sound of my
ribs cracking under his fists.

#That's good, little flower. I love it when you cry for me#

No, it was just a memory. Nothing more. The Master was dead, I reminded
myself. He couldn't touch me anymore.

"I did what I wanted to do," Spike whispered. There was a strange
expression on his face, so much determination, as if he wanted to convince
himself in what he was saying. "It was my choice. You had nothing to do with
it."

I chucked quietly. Yeah, of course I had nothing to do with it. He had just
saved my life.

I didn't say anything but he grew restless suddenly, tossing around as if
trying to escape something like a grip or a presence.

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it! Shut up!"

He was delirious again and I didn't know which way I preferred him. He
could be so angry when lucid, silent and antagonistic. But his tormented
deliriums where he argued with a presence that wasn't even there were even
worse. I sat quietly in the bottom half of his bed, waiting for him to calm
down.

"She said I would die there.. but I didn't.I'm out.I got out.I'll get out
of here, too.I'll do whatever I have to, love.I won't forget."

I felt a pang of misery at his anxiety, at his determination. He'd talked
like this in prison as well, about something he had to do, no matter what.
Oh, surely he'd do it. I already knew Spike well enough to know that nothing
could stop him once he decided. He'd leave here.and I wouldn't see him ever
again.

"But first you have to get well," I said in a reasonable voice.

He must've heard it. His mouth curved in a bitter smile as he shook his
head.

"Silly bint. I can't get well."

There was something in his words.something that made me believe him. It
made my heart sink hopelessly.

"You'll die? But.but you can't die, remember?"

He'd talked about having two more weeks or something like that before and I
clung to this thought desperately. I saw his pale eyelids move, his eyes
flash a dim blue.

"Why.why do you care?"

Why did #you# care? I thought. Why did you care about what would happen to
me? I shifted, pulling my knees up to my chest. It made breathing more
difficult but I felt less vulnerable this way, as if my body could give me
some protection. It was stupid, of course. My body had been turned against
me countless times.

Spike's pale face, eyes closed again, was blank and tired. I listened to my
breath, steady and quiet, feeling how this sound calmed me down somehow.

"Buffy," he shifted restlessly. "Have you gone somewhere?"

Hadn't he just told me to go away?

"Nope," I said. "I'm still here."

"Good." His frown smoothed a little. "But I don't care, of course.just
checking. You can go if you really want to."

"I don't want to," I answered quietly.

"Buffy." There was some strange, fluttering sound in his voice. It let me
know that he didn't know what he was saying again, that he was delirious
once more. "Pretty one. Little.little flower."

Little flower. That's how The Master called me, keen on various endearments
that he inevitably made sound as insults. I closed my eyes, fighting the
memories, intent not to let them crowd in on me. It was Spike who said it,
Spike who'd saved me from what I didn't want to recall. From Spike these
words sounded different, even if I couldn't understand why he had said them.

"You make me feel wrong," he whispered, his fluctuating voice dreamlike and
distant. "Make me want to touch you.you to touch me.It's not right.I don't
want it.I know what's right." All of a sudden his voice became strong, hard,
almost unwavering. "I'd do anything for you, Dru."

I bit my lip, looking at him in misery. I wished so much I could reach to
him, to pull him out of the world of hallucinations where he was. But I knew
how he reacted when I touched him, so I stayed where I was. There were
blackish circles swaying in front of my eyes from the lack of oxygen since I
couldn't take a normal breath. My side under my hands seemed to throb with
hot pain at every heartbeat. I held it tighter, hoping for it to just stop.

"So, let me see what you have there, young lady."

The voice sounded behind me, and the touch came from there too. There was a
grip of cold metal on my elbow. I panicked even before turning back,
thrashing and rolling down from the bed to the floor. I wrenched myself from
the hold and looked up. A sound that escaped me was a strangled shriek.

"Hey, hey," the woman said hastily, raising both her hands, one of flesh
and one of metal. "I just wanted to see-"

"What happened?" Spike was sitting up on the bed, his eyes open but glazed
and unseeing. "Don't you touch her!"

"-wanted to see if I could do something about your ribs."

The woman had a white coat on. Her black hair was tossed away from a
beautiful face with kindly features. She was a cripple, one of her hands was
an elaborate device made of shiny metal, its fingers moving with a
mechanical speed. It must've been what scared me so much. I sighed, feeling
chagrined and unhappy with my own stupidity.

"You look like you could use a doctor, kid," the woman said and then looked
at Spike. "And you too. Dr. Wilkinson!"

A black woman appeared, pushing the net away. She was older, appearing to
be in her late forties, bleached hair cut neatly to the nape of her neck.
She stood silently looking at the other.

"Could you see to this one, please?" The black-haired woman pointed to
Spike. "And I'll take care of this one."

She reached her hand to me and as I took it, pulled me to my feet.

The floor seemed a bit shaky and the woman's face was suddenly too close,
breaking into a smile as I gripped her hand harder.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ms. Calender, but you can call me Jenny. What's your
name?"

"Are you a doctor?" I asked.

"Well.I'm as close as you can get to here, except for of course Dr.
Wilkinson. She's the only licensed doctor here. But don't let that scare
you, I know exactly what I'm doing."

"What happened to your hand?" I asked, somewhat bluntly.

"Oh, that? I was cornered a few years back by some vamps. They decided to
have some.fun with me. I managed to get away, I was rescued, but my arm.it
was mutilated and we had to cut it off. But look, I got a shiny new one for
free!"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't worry. It happened a long time ago and anyway, it's an excellent
conversation piece. Now, I'm afraid we're going to have stall this small
talk for a while until you can tell me your name."

"Oh. I'm Buffy the-I'm Buffy Summers."

On the next bed, Dr. Wilkinson was taking a quick examination of Spike.

"You've really been messed up with, both of you," Jenny said
disapprovingly, pushing me to sit down. "Well, we'll see what we can do
about it."

I saw Spike resist weakly as Dr. Wilkinson pulled his blankets down,
opening his jacket. After a quick and confusing search with her stethoscope,
she finally clued in and muttering a quick curse, rose from the bed. The
woman turned to Jenny quickly, her eyes widening.

"Ms. Calendar? You better get over here!" The doctor backed away from the
bed fearfully.

"What's wrong, Tanya?"

Dr. Wilkinson turned to her with frightened eyes. "Oh God.I'm not sure.but
this man doesn't have a pulse.I think.I think he could be.Oh God, oh God..
You better take a look."

I watched them curiously as they bent over Spike, the older woman looking
scared and cautious.

Jenny stood up but did not back away as the other did. "I don't understand.
He is dead. He shows all the signs of being a vampire.but he has a fever.
These red lines on his ribcage, see there? It looks like he's suffering from
a seizure-flu. But.that's impossible.

"I don't want to take any chances." Jenny said after a moment of
contemplation. She moved to the wall and grabbed a stake, hurrying over to
the weakened form on the bed.

I flew from the bed, stumbling forward. All of a sudden, all my Slayer
instincts flared up once more after shutting them down for so long. I felt
my blood pulse in my veins and I grabbed Jenny's wrist with a speed I hadn't
known I had. Dr. Wilkinson's face looked sick with fear, and Jenny's was
frowned and tense.

"You will not touch him, you hear me!" I took my other hand in his while I
stared her in the eyes. "He's a hero and I will not let you hurt him. He's
sick. He's very sick. But he's not contagious at all. I was in the same cell
with him; we slept under the same blanket. And I got nothing from him. And
he never laid a hand on me once. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I
won't let you hurt him. You do, and you deal with the Slayer."

Jenny and I locked eyes for a moment. If Jenny was surprised, she certainly
didn't show it. She dropped the stake, and I let go of her wrist. Dr.
Wilkinson cleared her throat nervously.

"How long were you in the same cell?" Jenny asked.

"Four.five days," I exaggerated, but I had to make them believe me.

"And when did he get sick like this?"

"He was already like that when they brought him in."

"That you didn't get infected proves nothing," the young woman shrugged,
her fingers both flesh and metal entwined. "You just might have an immunity
to whatever epidemic you're zombie friend here is going to start. I don't
have to tell you that the idea of a vampire sick with the flu scares the
hell out of me. And what it could do to our soldiers."

"You don't.need to worry." Spike whispered. His head rolled on the pillow.
"I won't.infect anyone."

"And how would he know that?" Dr. Wilkinson snapped, as if Spike wasn't
there. I looked up at Jenny pleadingly. Of course, I didn't know the woman;
I had just met her minutes before. But she was definitely not as pigheaded
as the other doctor and she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.
Besides, there was no one else.

"I'll make an analysis, all right?" Jenny said, staring at the vampire
distrustfully. A syringe appeared in her hands, and at the next moment
Spike's hand flew up, catching the woman's metal wrist.

She immediately tensed and Dr. Wilkinson stared longingly and fearfully at
the stake on the floor. I watched Spike pull himself forcefully up into a
sitting position, his eyes open and unblinking, with just thin lines of blue
around dilated pupils.

"I don't have the bloody flu. It's a vaccine."

"You're carrying a vaccine for seizure-flu?" Jenny asked disbelievingly.

"Not seizure-flu," Spike fell back again. His arms were wrapped around
himself tightly and his face had a stubborn, streaked expression that I
recognized well. "I won't say anything else. I want to talk to that man in
the black tie, the leader around here. What's his name.Giles?"

"He's a damn vampire, Jenny. He's a danger to us as long as he's here.
Plus, if he's ill he could contaminate the whole damn place. Just stake him
and put him out of our misery." Dr. Wilkinson said firmly. I saw Jenny shrug
thoughtfully.

"Rupert brought him here. Go tell him what's going on. If he wants to talk
to the vampire, it will be his choice, okay?"

I saw Dr. Wilkinson walk away and sighed out in relief a little.

"Here, I'll give you a pain relief injection." There was no empathy in
Jenny's voice as she talked to Spike. "No reason for you to suffer. You
might wake up the other patients."

The stupid guy argued, of course, just as I knew he would.

"No.it won't make a bloody difference."

I could tell Jenny was about to say something really scathing but the
netting was pushed away once again and, in front of Dr. Wilkinson, there was
the very man who had killed The Master and saved us, ordering to take us
away.

~

"It's the infirmary, for God's sake." Jenny kept complaining in a very
quiet voice, drawing the nets behind us. "I have the right to be wherever I
want to."

It was Spike's wish, and for some reason the man (Giles, yes that was his
name) had gone along with it, to talk privately. Dr. Wilkinson interfered,
of course, saying that it was a risk, a trap, an attempt at assassination or
something and Giles gave her a brief, not unkind but indifferent look.

"There's always a risk. So, Jenny? Will you kindly leave us be?"

"All right, all right," the healer muttered. "I really have things to do.
Like putting some bandages on this girl's ribs."

I didn't want to walk away from Spike, but there was no other choice. Spike
wanted me to be gone like all the others as he talked to the man with sandy
gray hair and calm blue eyes. The man I had met long ago, when I first came
to the town that would be my demise.

"Here." Jenny stopped. "We won't hinder them here. Sit down, kid."

She talked barely audibly, and a moment later I understood why. Even though
Giles' silhouette looked dim as he stood in front of Spike's bed, his voice
was clear and distinct, coming to us through the nets.

"So, now that we're alone, what did you want to talk to me about?"

I looked up at the woman in surprise. Her face was deadpan as she busied
herself with some medical paraphernalia.

"You're Rupert Giles, aren't you?" Spike's voice was fainter but clear
enough. Through it, I could feel the effort he was giving for it to sound
steady. "I.recognized you."

"I am." The man's shadow suddenly broke as he sat down on Spike's bed. His
voice was a bit softer now. "And you?"

"Spike. I'm a vampire, as the whole damn place already knows.I have a
vaccine in my body for a.for an old friend of mine. A vampire, like me. She
got sick from a mob and the only way to save her.was for me to get this
antidote stuck in me. But it has the power to.kill any vampire with one
injection or dosage. I need to deliver it to Paris as soon as possible."

Even though Jenny must have been listening as attentively as I was, her
hands never stopped moving, pulling my top up and probing my ribs. I
shivered slightly from the different sensations from her warm human hand to
her cold metallic one, but curiously, her touches brought me no panic. There
was something business-like yet soft in them.

"One rib is broken, two are fractured," she informed me. "I'll put some
fixating paste on them so you can still do the important things, ya know,
eat, take a shower, breathe. You'll be better in a matter of days, with your
Slayer powers, right?"

"Kill a vampire with one dosage?" Giles repeated quietly. "You do know how
much we would give to have it? How many lives we could save?"

"It's not my business to help you kill my kind," Spike answered
unfalteringly. "I just need to get the hell out of here. Immediately. Those
undead poofs delayed me, but I still have time if I go now. And.I need to
pay respects.. my friend was killed during my capture."

"I see." Giles' voice was thoughtful, very serious. "But I don't know what
can be done about it. This desert is probably surrounded at the moment, and
I can't risk my people anymore than I already have. Excuse me if a renegade
vampire hitching a ride back home isn't on my list of priorities. With time,
we could find a way to bring you safely across, but it will take a while. In
the meantime, maybe you can tell me more about this vaccine-"

"I don't care about what's safe or not," Spike interrupted. "I can take a
risk."

"It won't be a risk. It will be suicide. As far as I understand, the
vaccine will be lost if you die."

There was a silent pause. So silent I could hear the nets moving in the
small drafts of air. Then Spike said quietly:

"Look mate, I don't have much time left. The vaccine can't be exposed. It
can only be stored within a body. I've been protected for a while with
antibiotics and stuff like that. If I didn't have them, I would have died
instantly. But.I can carry it a while longer."

"How much time do you have?"

"Two weeks. Assuming I can still move after twelve days."

I had known it. He was always repeating this time. Back then it had seemed
such a long time to me, most probably because I didn't quite believe what he
said and just considered it one of his delusions. But at this moment I felt
something swelling in my throat, choking me. Two weeks.and then he'd die.
Two weeks, it was so short, practically nothing!

I felt how Jenny's hands stopped on my ribcage, her fingers touching
through the film of fixating paste, and despite myself, I leaned into that
touch, as if seeking protection from the reality of Spike's death.

I had spent I didn't know how long with death hovering around me in the
vampire's prison. Even longer as the Slayer. But now, when we'd got out,
when we were finally free.

"No, Spike." I whispered helplessly.

"A bit of a fanatic, your friend," Jenny said, taking hold of my hand,
dabbing my raw wrist with disinfectant.

I bit my lip at the stinging pain, my eyes filling with involuntary tears.
I blinked them away angrily. It was not such a bad pain, nothing I couldn't
bear.

"I see," Giles repeated. "We'll be checking for escape routes and as soon
as something is up, you'll get an opportunity to leave freely. We at least
owe you that. You might've heard some things about me but I'm not nearly the
monster I'm made out to be. Until then though, think more about your 'kind'
and what they have done for you. And where you can go from here. You at
least owe us that."

"Thanks, mate."

"Two fanatics," Jenny said, shaking her head. "No wonder they've come to an
agreement so easily."

"Spike.Spike is not a fanatic," I whispered. The woman's steely gaze turned
to me. "He's.he's a hero."

"For me, it's all the same," the woman shrugged.

I saw Giles' figure straighten as he moved away from Spike's bed, pulling
back the nets. The barriers of half-translucent material became thinner and
thinner between us, and suddenly I saw him standing in front of me, his head
lowered slightly and his calm eyes narrowed.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Jenny. You should know that by now."

"What? I mind my own business."

"Of course." There was no real anger in the man's voice and I realized that
this probably wasn't the first conversation they had had before. "And if
you're finished with your business, can I take the Slayer? I would like to
talk to her."

I looked up at him at a loss. What could it be that this Watcher wanted to
talk to me about? Did he want to re-check Spike's story? I decided at once
I'd confirm everything, what I knew and what I didn't.

"I don't know." Jenny put a thin strip of clear plaster on my wrist. "Wait
behind the net, I have to check."

I could see it gave her enormous pleasure to say that. Giles walked out.

"Any other injuries you want to tell me about, miss?" Jenny asked. I knew
by the tone of her voice was she was talking about and I flushed, shaking my
head. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"What about that scar on your lip? How'd you manage to get that one?"

I fingered the long horizontal scar on my lip. I had had it for so long I
had nearly forgotten it was there. I had gotten this scar long before the
prison, when I was seventeen. When Jeremy had almost died. A vampire with an
extra long knife and me with no stake. Still, I had been better than that.
At the top of my game I had been at the time. A tiny scar was nothing as
long as he was all right. But I was foolish then. He would die by the
Master's hand almost six months later. I was stupid; I never should have
brought him with me to Sunnydale.

"War wound." I answered.

Jenny stared after her for a while, and then nodded. "All right, Giles,
she's all yours. But, you have to find something for them to wear.
Especially this one. She can't.. totter around here with two little scraps
of silk for clothes.

My clothes were more than two scraps but I decided not to argue.

"All right, I'll see what can be done," Giles nodded. "Now follow me will
you, Miss Summers?"

"Where are you taking her? She has to be in bed."

I looked at Giles. There, in the prison, his self-confidence and
determination had a wonderfully pacifying effect. It seemed almost as if
nothing bad could happen while he was around. No bullet, or fire could touch
him or anyone he took under his protection. And he was beaming then,
exhilarated with the battle, violently happy with all the havoc he created
around him. Now this joy was gone. There was something quietly subdued in
him, not less powerful but sad and sorrowful. Much like the man she had met
so long ago when she had first come here. And she could tell he remembered
their encounter just as vividly as she did.

I got up and walked to him. Jenny had given me something that made my steps
seem much more steadier and the changing the pain in my ribs to a dull ache.

"It's right over there," Giles pointed. "My office."

~

The room was much smaller and void of nets completely. A narrow window,
reminding me of a loophole by its form, was covered with sand at its bottom
for a few inches. It must've been night outside, the darkness like ink,
almost solid. I watched Giles walk up to the table and sit down silently. He
reached to the dial of an old radio, increasing its volume.

"Although no terrorist group claimed responsibility for the act, the most
logical and reasonable answer for the attack would be the New Answer Brigade
led by Rupert Giles, assumed former member of a secret government
organization. Two years ago, as the truce between the United States
government and the Allegiance was signed, Giles led his first attack."

A flicker of Giles' wrist changed the channels.

"Central Prison in South California, considered escape-proof, had never
been under attack since its foundation three years ago. How could it happen
that if fell from one swift blow from a small, but infamous, terrorist
group?"

There was something in Giles' face, something that made me look at him
rather than the dials of the radio. I wondered if it was being called a
terrorist that made his mouth tremble like that.

"The Allegiance Government has already demanded retribution from the United
States Government, as well as the arrest of Giles."

The Allegiance was the vampire's self-denomination, I recalled. No one else
called them this way except for the media and politics. It was insane how
politically correct the world could be. I guess they were too afraid to
address by what they really were. Monsters.

"The number of casualties among prison guards and officials is unknown, but
for other species it could certainly count in the thousands, when the
fugitives entered the minefield surrounding the prison. This newest edition
to the security system was unknown to any but prison officials. So, even
though the Allegiance could not prevent their captives from leaving the
prison, they could still claim that no criminals escaped during the attack."

I stared at the dials blankly. I recalled suddenly the quiet, insistent
voice of the redheaded vampire who'd stopped Spike on his way.

#Don't go there. Don't#

If he.if we had gotten out the doors, we would be dead now. If Giles hadn't
taken us along, we would've have probably been dead or in a lock-up now. I
stared at Giles in admiration. He certainly was nothing like the shy,
passive man I thought he was before.

He didn't look at the radio. His eyes were cast down to his hands on his
lap, intertwined and seemingly placid, if not for the white lines on their
knuckles.

His hair was graying considerably, I noticed suddenly, white among sandy
tresses. He looked at me, his eyes blazing with such pain that I flinched.

"Sit down." He pointed at a chair and I obeyed. A brief, absent smile
curved his lips. "So, they want retribution, eh? They've just murdered
several thousands, humans among them, in cold blood, and now they want
retribution? How many of those 'criminals' were truly guilty of something, I
wonder, not just used to demonstrate the power of our world's new masters?
How much time did you spend in the prison?"

The question was unexpected, all before then during his speech, Giles had
seemed as if he didn't even notice me. I swallowed nervously.

"I'm not sure what the date's today."

His intense eyes stopped on me for a few moments.

"July 6th."

"Oh. Eight months. I was there for eight months."

I hadn't had any idea it was so short a time. I had lost track of time long
ago but I still believed it was more. It felt like I had been in that hell
for years, day in and day out. No, I had only been there for over half a
year.

"Eight months?" Giles looked at me sharply. "It's supposed to be a transit
prison, no one can be held there for more than a month."

I didn't know what to say about that but he seemed to grow agitated again,
but in a good way like my words had pleased him. I saw him get up, walk to a
cupboard, and pour some Scotch into a glass for himself.

His face was thoughtful as he took a sip.

"Could you tell me about your time in prison?" he asked, avid but cautious.
I looked at him, not sure what to say, rubbing my plaster-covered wrists.
What did he want to hear, anyway? "I want you to tell about it.Miss
Summers."

"Call me Buffy."

"We weren't on such casual terms last time we met."

"That was a long time ago. A lot has happened since then."

"Yes it has, Slayer."

Slayer. I didn't want him to call me that again. Sometimes I wished I could
drop it all together. But the Master never let me forget it. He knew I hated
it, hated to be reminded of who I was.and how I failed my family, how I
couldn't keep my dignity in the end.

"Well, Buffy," Giles asked softly. "Will you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Will you testify? We'll make a record, a videotape, where you'll tell
everything. How you were arrested, how much time you spent in prison, how
you were treated there..."

I felt the room start swirling around in front of my eyes and I clasped the
seat of the chair tightly. He couldn't mean that, could he? He could want me
to tell.I couldn't.I must've misunderstood.

"Buffy." As the haze cleared, I felt strong fingers holding mine. Giles was
near me, squatting in front of the chair, his hand on mine.

I had no reason to be afraid of him; he'd saved both Spike and me. But his
closeness, the strength of his hand made me panic. I shrunk back in the
chair, shivering.

His eyes were blue, radiant and serious, compassion in them as warm as the
touch of his hand.

"Don't be afraid, Buffy. I won't hurt you. No one here will hurt you. Do
you understand?"

I nodded.

"We need your help. You have to tell.People must know the truth, even if
the government doesn't want to listen to it. Truth is a powerful weapon. I
believe in it as much as I believe in any other, perhaps more. Think about
people in the future who you can help by exposing the truth."

"I.I." My thoughts were messed up, jumbled and confused.

He must've been wrong about me. He probably thought I was a different, a
hero.a Slayer. Someone who'd passed through that time in prison with honour
and dignity. Someone like Spike. And what could I tell about, apart from my
shame and weakness?

"I don't think it can be useful.what I can tell," I whispered. "It
wasn't.like you think."

He kept looking at me, and then something changed in his eyes, as if he
understood. I thought he'd leave me now, step away in disgust. But Giles'
hold on my hand became tighter.

"What do you think I think? Why do you think I can't imagine it? You're
wrong if I want some fabled tale from you. I know the truth.there's no shame
in it."

For a moment, I saw the man I had first seen in Sunnydale. The idealistic,
hopeful man. I guess he hadn't changed so much after all.

No shame.I suddenly knew that he didn't lie or misunderstand. Of course he
knew, my clothes gave me right away. And he still asked me to help.

I felt very cold suddenly, even in the stuffy room. How could I say no to
him?

"I'll do it," I said.

"Good." For a few seconds he stayed, smiling, and then got up. "I'll
prepare everything for the recording tomorrow morning. There's no reason to
delay, the statement should be sent as soon as possible."

He walked up to the table now, his fingers running over the keyboard
swiftly. I got up.

"Thank you," Giles turned to me briefly, with a smile of brilliant radiance
and infinite melancholy. "You can go now. I'll tell someone to find you some
clothes."

I nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind me.

The infirmary was empty by then, and nearly dark. In the dim light coming
from the adjacent room I walked between the nettings until I found my bed.
Spike laid flat under the blankets, eyes closed. He appeared to be calm and
rested and I thought that Jenny had probably convinced him to take some
medicine.

I still shivered minutely with tension as I slunk under the blanket. The
bed was soft and warm, surrounding me seemingly from every side. I sighed
contently; I'd almost forgotten what it was like to sleep in a bed. So
wonderful that I could almost forget about the task waiting for me tomorrow
and just sleep.

"Buffy?" Spike's quiet voice spoke in the air. I glanced out of the blanket
cocoon and stared at him. "Everything all right, pet?"

"Yeah," I whispered in reply. There was a small frown trembling between
Spike's eyebrows, as if in worry. "He wanted me.to testify.about the
prison."

There was a pause and then another question came.

"Are you going to do it?"

"Yeah," I said again. I watched him cautiously, for a sign of disdain in
his face or surprise for what I had told him.

"Brave of you," he said. I wondered if he was joking but he didn't look so.

"Good night, Spike." I said quietly, hugging the pillow and settling more
comfortably. Spike's tranquil face with light and shadows cast upon it was
the last thing I saw before falling asleep.

~

His fingers flew over the keys without his eyes looking at them, and his
mind participated just as little. The documents were filed and ready to be
sent. In the next coverage they'd say that Rupert Giles' group did assume
responsibility for the attack. But how many of them would mention the
evidence he'd just sent, explaining the reason why he did it and was going
to keep doing it for as long as he was alive?

Audio coverage was his constant accompaniment.

"The United States government informs the Allegiance that, while Rupert
Giles is considered a criminal and will be put on trial once captured, he
will not be extradited to the vampire race."

He smiled mirthlessly at it. What courage! The government decided to show
that they could make independent decisions as well, and not just be the
vampire's lapdogs. For him, it hardly changed anything. He was ready to be
arrested one day, understanding reasonably that it might happen and just as
sanely thought that he would do anything to avoid it.

He clicked sent and watched the stream of data being dispatched, brushing
his fingers through his hair. There were many more white strands in his
dusky hair than there had been four years ago. He knew exactly when it had
really started to appear in his hair. The day when he'd gotten Oz back.

Again, as always, pain flooded him at the memory, amplified with cold
anger, so strong that sometimes it seemed to him his heart could not bear it
any longer and would give up under the pressure. He could not seem to be
able to forget.

And even if he tried to forget, there were always things that would remind
him. Like the girl he had just finished talking to. Buffy Summers the
Slayer. So thin you could count her ribs under her
leave-nothing-to-the-imagination garments. And those huge, dark eyes on the
childish face. The eyes that seemed to be scared forever, hiding terror in
their depths even when she smiled.

He remembered her from before. She was so cold and jaded; a master of her
kind. She was naturally gifted in the fight, but her emotions could not be
shown through. Now she was broken by those monsters. The Slayer.broken.

He recalled how Buffy had backed away from him, as if his touch would hurt
her and felt his hands clench into fists compulsively. What kind of
creatures were these vampires? How old was Buffy? Seventeen, eighteen.Oz had
been sixteen..

Giles' memory quickly brought up the image of a thin, exuberant young man,
silently intelligent. They had done so many things together, playing games,
fighting countless demons, talking of books and music.

The glass of wine was a saving anchor from those memories and Giles reached
for it hastily, emptying it without feeling the taste. His fingers pressed
on the glass too hard; before he noticed it; the cup broke in his hand in a
waterfall of twinkling shards.

"Bollocks.look what you've done, Ripper."

He talked to himself quietly, pulling out small bits of glass from his palm
and wrapped a handkerchief around it. No reason to bother Jenny with it and
earn a weird look from the woman.

Then, three years ago, Giles had hardly known Oz. But their joint work and
fight over the next few years, the hatred of the vampires they shared
brought them together. Both of Oz's parents had died because of the damned
race.

Nothing was as they dreamed. Everything happened uglier, bloodier, so awful
that Giles couldn't think about it.

Just one crime, one crime among the rest of what the vampires did. One, two
lives ruined. What was it in comparison with thousands dead in that failed
escape from the prison?

What kind of creatures could set that mining field around the prison?

Don't ask.

So many years of fighting. First on behalf on the Watcher's Council and his
duty passed on from blood, and then as a partisan. Trying to separate humans
and inhuman. Only recently did Giles believe that it was not so easy, that
the line of justice was jagged and not everyone who had a human face could
be called human. Sometimes it seemed to him that there were too many of
those who'd stepped beyond the line of inhumanity and stayed there.
Including himself.

Giles got up on his feet, swaying slightly. The wine, combined with the
post-battle exhaustion, hit him fast and hard. But there was nothing to be
done about it.

He wasn't an alcoholic. He didn't drink because he couldn't do without
it.but because without the soft veil of inebriation, the world's angles were
just to sharp. Unbearably sharp. The wine helped him to go on, not hindering
him or affecting his duties.

He knew what his duty was now. That redheaded vampire.They'd make her
testify and tell of the dirty secrets of her race. No matter what the cost.

Next