Black the Sun

Email: sangga55@hotmail.com

Characters: Spike, Buffy, ensemble

Disclaimer: All BtVS stuff is owned by Joss and the gang yada yada... Lyrics are used without permission

Rating: M

Category: Action/Adventure/Romance

Spoilers: Not really related to anything - probably S5. Take it as given that Spike got chipped, and is now working with the Scoobies.

Summary: On the eve of a solar eclipse, an exotic baddie needs the blood of a vampire - and Spike just drew the short straw.

Author's note: This started out as a straight adventure story, with a bit of coy B/S stuff, but it gradually evolved into more of a shippy fic. I've played around with the characters for a while now, so I figured that this was a natural progression, but it's my first all-out romantic fic, so please be kind. For the card-sharps among us, I don't know shit about poker. Rituals and magicky stuff are adapted from Dianic feminist witchcraft rites - don't try this at home, folks (unless you're an adept!) - and actual Egyptian burial traditions (I am a committed ficwriter after all, and do try and do my research). And - my prejudices showing - Riley doesn't exist. Never did (no tears from me, you'll notice). Thanks to Alex Lloyd for the title, and thanks to Boo, for encouragement and kind words.

Black the Sun - oh no, look at what we done

Go away - oh no, won't you please stay

And dream of me

I wish you would dream of me

Up on your feet around the bend

Searching I hope it never ends

Walking your lonely street again

Where the tide meets the shore

And dream of me - I wish you would

black the sun

And dream of me - I hope you will

black the sun

Alex Lloyd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

Chapter One - A Slow Time on the Ole Town Tonight

It was a black room, lit only by a shaded overhanging bulb, which cast a circle of glare onto the round green tabletop. Seven figures, in various states of shadow, and preparedness...

"So are you in?" A fog of smoke accompanied the question.

There was a long pause.

Then Xander sighed and tilted his head, staring at the small divvy of chips already on the table. He peered at his cards again with a dissatisfied expression.

"Hm..." He picked up two chips from the dwindling pile in front of him.

Anya nudged him helpfully. "You have to put in the same amount as me - I'm the ante." How she managed to maintain the vivacious enthusiasm at three in the morning was anyone's guess.

"Yes honey, I know - and let me reiterate that this round is being played for real money" He threw his chips in, looking meaningfully at her.

Anya looked miffed. "It's not like I can't tell the difference."

Giles threw in next. "Yes Xander, I think Anya has a handle on the situation - she's won the last two rounds, after all." Anya beamed at Giles' support. Buffy's Watcher had his glasses pushed up onto his head; he'd slung his jacket around the back of his chair, and was now down to braces and an open collar. It was late, and they'd been playing for quite a while now - they were all a little worse for wear. "Really, Spike, must you chain-smoke during every round?"

The bleached vampire, a pack of cigarettes rolled under one black t-shirt sleeve and a shot of Giles' single-malt on his right, just grinned and blew twin plumes of smoke out through his nose, dragon-fashion. "In a word - yes." With one dirty thumbnail, he flicked the corners of the pack of cards under his hand on the table. "Dealer's perogative. Anyway, wouldn't be stud poker without the smoky ambience."

Willow leaned over to Buffy with a grin. "He just likes saying the word 'stud'."

"I've noticed." Buffy rolled her eyes in Spike's direction.

"I'm in." Tara threw her chips into the growing pile. Willow followed as the next in the circle, which left Buffy studying her cards with an unhappy look. She threw in her chips with a shrug.

"Yeah, whatever." She had a terrible hand, and took a swig of soda to console herself.

Spike tossed in his chips with one hand, and looked at Anya. "And..?"

"Ah, give me two cards - no, um, give me three cards. And pass the popcorn."

"Three - and..?"

"Two for me." Xander spoke through a mouthful of potato chips.

Giles held up a finger for one card. "Er, have we exhausted the supply of donuts?"

"Yeah - sorry." Buffy tossed in three cards and nodded at the empty box between her and Willow. "The human garbage disposal here had three."

Willow looked appropriately guilty. "Sorry Giles - I'm a sucker for those little donut holes. Spike, that's two for me."

"And me." Tara snagged a handful of popcorn, before passing the bowl to Anya. She was looking very pleased with herself, on account of the large-ish pile of poker chips in front of her.

Spike started dealing out the requested cards with a practised nonchalance. He perused the table of munching Scoobies. "I believe you're all going to get enormously fat."

Buffy threw popcorn at him. "Yeah, right - any more of those chicken wings and you'll be the only vamp in Sunnydale with a spare tire."

Willow and Tara giggled, and drank out of each other's soda bottles.

"I -" said Spike expansively as he collected cards, "-am on a fixed diet of blood -"

"-and alcohol." said Giles, sotto voce. Buffy snorted.

Spike ignored that comment and continued. "-which would have to be the lowest calorie diet on record."

Willow grinned. "All I can say is that it's a good thing that cigarettes have no measurable calorie value."

Spike raised one eyebrow and tipped his head towards her like a teacher giving a lesson. "Thought you knew, Red - cigarettes constitute the sixth alternative food group."

"I don't get the spare tire thing." Anya whispered to Xander.

"I'll explain later."

Tara rearranged her cards as she spoke. "Actually, I've been reading about this Australian woman who claims to live on air - so Spike, I think that would have to qualify as lower cal than blood."

"Living on air?" Buffy raised her eyebrows.

"Sounds kinda strange," said Willow as she nibbled popcorn. "not to mention a bit, well, unsatisfying."

"Sounds like bollocks to me." Spike was ruminating over his cards, and trying surreptitiously to catch a glance at Buffy's hand. She gave him a pointed look and he grinned wolfishly at her.

"I have to agree with Spike," said Giles. He straightened his cards as he leaned back in his chair. "Living on air has a ring of untruth about it."

Xander, who was throwing popcorn into the air and trying to catch it in his mouth, had laid down his cards and was making no pretence of attempting to get involved in the game. He was losing anyway. "Yeah, maybe she eats stuff and then barfs it up."

"All together people - a hearty 'ew'." Buffy wrinkled her nose, and flicked popcorn at Spike to keep him from looking at her cards.

"Mm - how very Californian," mused Giles, sipping his own glass of Scotch.

"Then I think that would technically come under 'bulimia', as opposed to 'living on air'," said Willow with a grimace.

Spike was losing patience with the chatter. "So are we playing here or what?"

"Oh yes, sorry." Anya stopped trying to catch Xander's popcorn and looked quickly at her cards. "Okay, I bet three." She threw her chips into the coloured puddle of chips in the centre.

Xander shrugged and tossed in three. "Yeah, I'll see that."

"And I'll raise two." Giles straightened in his seat, and threw in five chips with a jaunty air.

Tara gave Giles an amused look. "Well, that was very confident..."

"Yes, it was, rather, wasn't it." He smiled at no one in particular, pleased with himself. Giles was a terrible card player.

"..but I'm afraid I'm going to have to raise you one." Tara smiled at him slyly and tossed in her chips. She could make a bit of money out of this. She hadn't learned nothing from living in a house full of brothers.

Willow looked pained. "Ah, crapola. I fold." She laid her cards down with relief.

Buffy was screwing up her nose in concentration, and Willow's move put her off. "Will, that's not fair - you always fold too early."

Willow shrugged and tried to look apologetic. "Yeah, but I get to share the goodies if Tara wins."

Buffy sighed. "Well, I guess I'll see." She threw in six chips.

"And the dealer sees," said Spike as he pushed his chips forward.

"Well, I raise another two." Anya dribbled her chips in with one hand, while putting popcorn in her mouth with the other. With her apparent disregard for most of the accepted norms of social card-playing, it was difficult to tell if she was bluffing or just being confident.

Xander gave her a look of disbelief, then threw his hand in with a sigh. "Well that's me out."

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose and repositioned his glasses. "Erm - hm."

"So are you in or out?" Spike was in the process of lighting another cigarette.

"Ah - oh dear. I'm out." Giles folded his cards down sadly.

"Anya, I'll see that and raise two." Tara was on a roll now, and Willow gave her a happy smile.

Buffy just shook her head. "Too rich for me - I'm out."

"Good for you, pet." Spike had seen enough of Buffy's cards to approve her decision.

She glared at him. "Do you mind?"

He just gave her a 'who-me?' look, and threw in ten chips, catching the eyes of Tara and Anya. "And I'll see your cards, ladies...oh bugger."

Anya had a collection of five cards with absolutely no relationship to each other whatsoever, but Tara had a flush. She grinned broadly, "Read 'em and weep, ace. Flush beats two pair." and started scooping the pool of chips towards herself with a great deal of satisfaction.

Willow was yippee-ing in the background, giving little gleeful claps. The rest of the circle just sighed and reached for their wallets.

"Ah, the joys of card-playing." Giles leaned back in his chair and began polishing off the rest of his drink. In spite of losing fairly consistently all evening, he'd rather enjoyed the mellow atmosphere.

"Yeah - the joys," Xander said glumly, as he passed Tara his and Anya's share.

Tara smiled benevolently at him, tidying up her pile of notes. "Yep, I'll go along with that." She frowned at her stash, then looked up. "Someone didn't - hey, Spike, you holding out on me?"

Spike was leaning over the table, gathering cards together and studiously avoiding her gaze. "Ah, can I owe you?"

Tara gave him a look.

Spike gave a squeak as he felt a light touch on his rear, but before he could turn, Buffy had deftly lifted his wallet out of his jeans pocket. "Hey!"

"Come on, blondie - I know you've got cash. Pay up."

"Give that back!" He grabbed for his wallet, but she slipped it behind her back.

"Oh no, no, no you don't!" Buffy smiled and shook her head at him with a mock frown. She had definitely been sampling his Scotch, Spike decided. He growled at her.

"Now play nice, you kids," said Xander - somewhat distractedly, as Anya was nibbling his ear.

"I will, as soon as I get my - Slayer!"

A grinning Buffy had passed the wallet on to Willow, who was in the process of plucking notes from the billfold. Willow handed the cash to Tara, and then perused the wallet's contents again. "Hey Spike, is that a four-leaf clover? And you've got pictures -"

"That's private." Spike leaned over and snatched back his meager possesions. "Bloody hell, is nothing sacred to you people?"

Giles decided to head off the impending skirmish. "Now, ladies, don't tease the dealer."

"Too right," said Spike with a soft sulk. He tucked his wallet back into his pocket, looking at Buffy warily.

She grinned at him. "Sorry Spike - you're just way too teaseable."

"Yeah, right - you haven't even been trying hard."

"Is that a challenge?"

Giles coughed delicately. "Well, all, it's been very enjoyable, but I think I may have to close up shop. Early start, and all that."

Willow smiled at him. "Yeah - you're a responsible businessman and proprieter now, Giles. You'll have disgruntled customers banging on the door at nine."

He shuddered. "Don't remind me."

Tara began pushing the poker chips together in Giles' direction - they were shop property and standard Friday-poker-night fare. "Why don't you just stay here the night? You'll have to get up in a few hours anyway."

"Yes, it's tempting." He scratched at his chin. "But I think a shower and shave may be more so - and I haven't set up the camp bed yet. So I guess I'll be enjoying my own bed, if only briefly."

Xander stretched and stood. "Well, folks, it's been a blast - nothing I enjoy more than getting my paycheck at the end of the week and then gambling it away again." He smiled at Tara ruefully. "How do you do that?"

She tilted her head and looked mysterious. "Ah, you'll have to keep playing to find out."

Anya leaned over the table towards Tara, examining her face with intense curiousity. "Yes, I also want to know how you keep winning like that. You're not cheating are you?"

Tara smiled at her. "Nope."

"And it's not magic, is it? A never-lose spell or something?"

"Nope."

Anya sighed and stood, linking her arm through Xander's. "Damn. I guess that means that you just know how to play properly, and I can't compete with that." With that parting remark, she and Xander waved their goodbyes and headed for the door.

Buffy stood, rolled the kinks out of her neck and began pulling on her sweater. "Well, I guess I'll do a quick turn of the neighbourhood before I head home." She looked over at Willow and Tara. "Can I walk you guys back?"

"Sure." Willow gathered her jacket and stood. She nudged Tara, who was rubbing her eyes. "C'mon, hon - we got an escort."

"Buffy, I don't know how you can stay awake all night and still function in the morning." The blonde witch shook her head sadly. "I'm gonna be non compos until midday."

"Ah, s'just practise. Besides, I don't have anything major on tomorrow - I mean, today," she amended.

"Giles cleared his throat. "Actually, Buffy, the, er, training session we talked about..."

"Oh, shoot - sorry Giles, I forgot about that." She winced, and sighed towards Willow and Tara. "Well, I guess I do have something. But I can still walk you, that's cool."

"Okay - just let us get our stuff together." Willow and Tara moved to the corner to gather up their belongings.

Giles began clearing the table of the poker remains, then glanced around, noting Spike's sudden absence. There was a clink of glasses from the office - Giles frowned. "Spike - you're not helping yourself to my Scotch again are you?"

The vampire emerged from around the corner, with a decanter in one hand and a glass in the other. "Not at all," he said, as he poured himself a measure.

Giles sighed.

Spike proffered the glass. "Don't want any?"

"No - and neither do you. Hands off my booze, if you don't mind. It's my last bottle." He stood, and began putting things away.

Spike just shrugged, and began sipping his drink. "Got to have a consolation prize. I can get you another if you like."

"By 'get' you mean 'steal' - thanks all the same, Spike, but I do make a enough of a living wage here to afford to buy my own Scotch."

"Suit yourself."

Buffy, Willow and Tara had collected their things and stood ready to leave.

"Sure you don't need a hand cleaning up, Giles?"

"Thank you, Willow, but I think I can manage. Buffy, I'll see you in the morning."

Buffy looked pained. "We're talking 'morning' as in noon, here, aren't we Giles?"

Giles opened his mouth, changed his mind, and settled for a nod. "Alright, I give in. Around lunchime, then, should that suit?"

She grinned broadly at him. "Thanks, Giles - you're the best."

He sighed melodramatically. "Yes, yes - flattery will get you everywhere. Just make sure you get here on time, I can't close up for more than two hours on a Saturday - disgruntled customers and all that."

The three young women offered their thanks and began walking towards the door.

"See ya, Giles." "Yeah, goodnight, Mr Giles!"

Buffy was almost to the door when she turned, as if remembering something, a grin on her face. "Hey, Spike - catch!"

Spike looked up in time to see a small dark object come sailing through the air towards him - he grabbed for it, and found himself holding his own wallet. With an expression of furious surprise, he looked back at Buffy. "You bloody little pickpocket!"

But the only reply was the tinkle of the bell, and a muffled chorus of giggles and goodnights as the girls closed the door behind them.

Spike turned towards Giles, spitting with rage at being caught off-guard. "Did you see that?"

Giles just smiled. "Yes, I did - she's getting rather good at it, isn't she?" The sight of Spike in a temper was usually never so amusing.

The vampire glared at him. "Did you teach her that?"

"Oh, no - she picked that up all on her own."

"Wonderful - just what we need. Vampire Slayer-cum-Artful Dodger," Spike muttered gloomily. He knocked back the rest of his drink, and made ready to pour another.

"Spike..."

"What?"

"Go home, Spike."

Spike sighed, deposited the decanter and the glass on the counter, and reached for his coat. "Oh, alright - party-pooper." He turned up his collar, and loped towards the door.

Giles called after him."Oh, and, Spike -"

The vamp turned, his face half in, half out of the light. "Yeah, what now?"

Giles' face bore the trace of a smile. "I just wanted to say thank you, for being so nice to Tara this evening. I think she really enjoyed her 'winning streak'."

"Yeah, well -" Spike shrugged with a secret grin. "- she misses out sometimes, doesn't she." He peered at Giles with a curious frown. "Take you long to pick that up, did it? I must be slipping."

Giles raised his eyebrows in reply. "I'm really not that bad at cards, you know."

Spike snorted and turned - and with a whirl of shadow, he was gone.

Giles paused to sigh at the oddness of it all, then returned to the cleaning.

Chapter Two - Cross Plus Cattleprod Equals No Contest

Buffy had just deposited Willow and Tara at their dorm room. The campus had been dark and unfriendly-looking, so she was glad she'd walked them home.

Willow opened up with her key, and the other two women followed her into the small, comfy room. She lit a couple of perfumed candles just inside the door, and turned with a smile.

"Wow - door to door service. Now that's what I call hospitality."

Buffy shrugged off the thanks. "No problemo. It's on my way home - well, kind of."

"You mean, if you patrol the half of town furthest from your house, then it's on your way home, " Tara grinned, as she dumped a large black canvas bag onto the double bed. There was a clanking, as items inside jostled for position.

Buffy frowned at the bag. "Sure you got enough in there?" She flopped onto the bed, feeling comfortably at home in the witches' room. "What's with the heavy artillery? It's not books, I gather."

Willow bustled around, getting ready for bed. "Nope, not books - books having less of a clanky sound, and more of a thumpy sound, so to speak..."

Tara smiled indulgently at her, then looked over at Buffy. "No books - it's ingredients for some spells we're getting set up. For Sunday, you know?"

Buffy contemplated. "Sunday...mm, nope, no idea. What is it, a Wicca festival day or something?"

Willow and Tara exchanged a glance, then Willow looked at Buffy with a touch of consternation. "You and Giles haven't talked about Sunday? I mean - I thought, you know, that Giles would be getting you ready or something..."

Tara nodded. "Yeah - I thought Mr Giles would be up with that stuff."

Buffy just shook her head - now she was confused, and a little worried. "Why? What's up with Sunday, guys?"

Willow, toothbrush in hand, sat down on the bed opposite Buffy, the black bag between them. "Well, Sunday is a special day, on account of the eclipse."

"An eclipse - like when the shadow goes over the moon?" Buffy looked from Willow to Tara and back again. "But that's no biggy, right? I mean, doesn't it happen a lot?"

Tara was leaning up against the dresser. "Yeah, but this isn't that kind - not a lunar eclipse, I mean. This is going to be a solar eclipse."

"When the moon goes across the sun." Willow continued. "It happens during the day, on Sunday afternoon." She looked meaningfully at Buffy. "It only takes an hour or so, but for a certain period during that time, day basically becomes night -"

"Day becomes night?" Buffy began to understand the reason for their concern.

Tara picked up the thread. "Yeah, it's a pretty heavy time for magic - lots of opposite forces intermingling. It's like a window of opportunity."

"And you figure it might be a heavy vamp-time as well."

Willow caught Buffy's eye. "Well, yeah. The whole 'day-turns-to-night' thing and all - it has to be more than just symbolic." She frowned. "I really thought that Giles would have at least, you know, mentioned it or something."

"Yeah - me too," Buffy replied thoughtfully. "But he did set up this whole special session tomorrow - I mean, today. I guess this must be the big news." She noticed how worried Willow and Tara looked, and gave them a reassuring smile. "I'm sure that's it. And I'm certain he'll have something worked out - he always does."

Willow brightened. "Yeah, I'm sure Giles has some plan or something. He is, like, Mr Man-with-a-Plan."

"Yup - absolutely. I mean, we've dealt with gates of hell, and hordes of undead - I bet a little ole eclipse is just, you know, no sweat. Like this." Buffy snapped her fingers and smiled cheerfully at the witches. And made a mental note to give Giles a swift kick when she saw him at midday. She rose to leave. "Well, I better let you guys get your beauty sleep."

Willow looked up, her face still bearing traces of concern. "So, you sure you'll be okay with the eclipse thingy?"

"I'm sure," Buffy replied with all the confidence she could muster. "I'll talk about it with Giles today and I'll call you about it later."

"Well, okay then. And if you need us, Tara and me'll just be here, working on witchy stuff."

"Thanks guys." Buffy stood in the open door. "And don't stress, okay? And Tara, don't spend your winnings all at once." She smiled at them, and left.

Buffy left the dorm area, and headed downstairs, pushing through the glass doors of the residential college. Her steps were firm, but mentally she was rolling over the new information about the eclipse - and the fact that Giles hadn't mentioned it. What was up with that? Giles was usually on the ball about that sort of stuff - it wasn't like him not to keep her clued in when there might be a possibility of danger.

Maybe he forgot - no, that wasn't like him either. Or maybe he just didn't think it was that important - or maybe he ...she shook her head and sighed. It was kind of pointless angsting about it until she talked to him and got some more information. She quickened her feet as she crossed the dark campus grounds. Speaking of information, she thought it might be worth making a pit-stop - talking to someone who had to know a bit about the eclipse. She picked up the pace, making for the cemetary. It was nearly morning, and if she moved fast she might catch Spike just as he was getting ready for bed.

In fact, Spike wasn't as close to home as he would have liked to be. He'd had to make a call at the blood bank - a quick panty-raid, so to speak - and was only just rounding the gravestones on the approach to the crypt. Light was dawning - he could feel the faint energy of it in the air, and the morning breeze was up, wafting under his collar and making him shiver, not from cold, but rather from the anticipation of being caught out just a little too late. Time to pick up his feet.

He closed on the door of his nest, fumbling the pilfered packets of blood into one pocket while sticking a cigarette in his mouth. He frisked up and down his coat - where were those bloody matches? - as he pushed open the door with his shoulder. What he needed was a lighter. He'd had one, a rather nice Dupont from the thirties, but he couldn't remember where he'd put it - could be anywhere, really. Ah, the matches - there you go. Come to think of it, the Dupont might be in that big box down the back of -

And it was at that point, walking into the crypt, match aflame and poised to light his cigarette, that Spike noticed the posse of figures fanned around the walls of his living room.

He stopped, stock still in the centre of the room, and his mouth thinned. The first thing he noticed was that someone had moved behind him, to block the entrance of the crypt. Not good.

"Well - isn't this a nice little welcoming party." His words were flippant, but his voice was low, and he roved his gaze swiftly around the room, counting bodies and calculating. The figures were indistinct in the gloom of the crypt, but it was the smells that identified them. Five humans, a demon of some description, one other - probably human, but reeking of magic. All silent. Really not good. Nice and slow, with calm deliberation, Spike cupped his hand around the dying match, touched the flame to his cigarette, and took a serious draw. It looked like it was going to be a long night - and it was always worth keeping up appearances.

"William the Bloody." The accented voice cutting through the ominous silence came from his right.

Spike paused, opted for nonchalance although his senses were screeching with warning, tapped ash onto the floor. "Who wants to know?"

One of the figures stepped forward - a tall dark-haired woman wearing a rather inappropriate navy business suit. Spike noted the tang of magic that rose from her like perfume. He also noticed that she held a large wooden cross in one hand - and that she didn't appear to be particularly nervous. Relevant fact one. He began making a quick inventory of relevant facts - fact two, they'd come prepared. Fact three -

"William the Bloody - master vampire. Turned in 1880. Grandchilde of the Scourge of Europe. Responsible for the deaths of two Slayers." Fact three - she knew who he was. Frustratingly, he couldn't place the accent. Her voice was warm and deep, like honey, Spike thought. This wasn't a relevant fact. More relevant was the movement from the rest of the group, inching closer as she spoke. He saw that the humans wore white coats - like lab coats. What the hell was this about?

"I think you forgot 'Snappy dresser'." He spoke flatly, only to the woman now, and gazed straight into her face. She stared straight back. Now that was bloody unnerving. She was close enough now for him to take in more details - the sleek, black Egyptian-style bob, the long red fingernails, the sharp features in an olive-skinned face. And he was able to observe every nuance of movement as she smiled - saw her lips curve into a self-satisfied smirk, saw the teeth emerge as she snarled out the last piece of information about him.

"Implanted by the Initiative. Current status: Impotent."

"Hey! - who are you calling impotent?" Spike almost lost sight of how precarious the situation was, with the pissed-off feeling that came over him - geez, you come home after a rough night, you're hanging for a feed, and your crypt is full of bloody overblown heavies who ponce around in business suits and insult your manhood... Then he noticed how the lab-coated group had advanced to within a few arm's length - and that they weren't carrying stakes. Each member of the group held a small, flat device with a handgrip - two-pronged, matt-black. He'd seen them before. He remembered suddenly where - and how little he'd enjoyed the experience when the Initiative boys had used them. Tasers, they'd called them - jazzed-up cattleprods.

And that was when Spike realized that he was really in trouble.

Buffy walked through the cemetary, frowning at her feet, visions of suns, moons, and eclipses dancing through her head. Times like these she wished she'd paid more attention in science class. She'd been wracking her brain for whatever data she could remember about astronomical events; the only thing that came back was a mental image of a picture slide that old Mrs Briggs had displayed for the class. It had showed a black background, with a corona of sparkling brilliance around what looked like a big black hole. Buffy only thought of that because she remembered liking the name - the 'Diamond Ring Effect'. Cute. But, honestly, that was all she'd retained.

My poor mom worked her butt off to give me a decent education, and what does she have to show for it? A collection of repair bills, a bunch of disassociated trivia, and a nifty jewellery metaphor, Buffy thought glumly. Oh well - at least Spike should be able to provide something more concrete.

He was getting pretty handy like that, Buffy mused. Almost useful. He'd lent his expertise (not to mentin his expletives) on a few other matters lately, and consulting him was starting to become a habit with her. She wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing. He did know almost as much about demons and stuff as Giles - if only he wasn't so darned testy...

Buffy's feet slid a little on the dewy grass near the crypt, and her hand went out to push at the door - when it suddenly swung inwards, revealing an imposingly attractive woman in a navy suit. The woman glanced down at her imperiously, then pushed past her without a word. Buffy was forced to give ground as the woman was followed by an entourage of guys in white coats and a large, square-jawed man, who could easily have passed as a quarterback with the Sunnydale U football team, and who was hefting a large black roll of carpet over his shoulder. All of them ignored Buffy as they filed out.

"Hello? - geez, rude much..."

She stood to one side of the door as the motley group filled the crypt's grassy 'porch', but when Spike didn't follow in their wake, she took a furtive, frowning peek into the vampire's lair. What the heck was this, a crypt-party? So where was the bleached party animal? When she looked back to see the labcoats depositing odd weapons into a bag, a chill lifted the hairs on the nape of her neck. Something very wrong.... And that was when she saw the pale, long-fingered hand lolling out of the big guy's carpet.

*Spike*

Buffy marched towards the group, who had already started out of the graveyard, the woman and the Hulk in the lead. As she passed the labcoated lackeys, some of them reached out to try and halt her progress - much to their regret, as she casually clocked the more adventurous ones into groaning piles, leaving the rest to scurry out of her path. She was catching up to the leaders, and called for their attention.

"Hey! I said, Hey!!"

The woman and her henchman stopped and turned, looking vaguely surprised at the interruption. Certainly the woman's expression indicated that she was unused to receiving orders of any kind. Well, thought Buffy, she better get over that in a hurry.

She offered up her very best cheerleader smile. "Look, I'm sure you think you're doing me a favour or something, but Spike's really kind of growing on me. Like mould."

The woman's face looked blank. Buffy decided to clarify - with seriousness. "See, kidnapping my friends doesn't really get you onto my Christmas card list. So I want the vamp back - now."

Finally, a response - the woman produced a slow, sardonic smile. When she spoke, Buffy noticed the odd lilting rhythms. "Then, you are the Slayer. It is strange that the Slayer has friends such as this one." Her glance held a weight of sarcastic derision that seemed to colour her words only faintly - Buffy decided that here was someone who was used to hiding her emotions behind polite phrases. And there was nothing Buffy hated more than a goddamn social window dresser. Her face went deadly.

"Look, perhaps I haven't made myself screamingly obvious - tell your friend to drop his little bundle, or I'll have to break his arms."

The woman's expression turned flat and frosty. She caught the Hulk's eye, and muttered a word - "Ushabti." The huge man rolled the Spike-carpet carefully off his shoulder onto the grass, his eyes on Buffy. His face was expressionless, and Buffy started to feel vindicated - Yay, I won the battle of the bitches! - until the guy began moving menacingly towards her. Uh oh.

The quarterback came on quickly, for such a big guy. When he was in range, Buffy let fly with a headshot and roundhouse kick combination. But punching this - this - thing was kind of like punching the Everlast bag in the training room - you hit and you hit, but you make no impression at all. It was like he was absorbing the punishment, as if he was incapable of feeling pain. Buffy's hand swung out for a right hook - and the guy held up one giant palm, letting her smack into it like a workout pad. She tried again with the left - same result.

"What...the hell...are you?" Buffy puffed in frustration. "The world's largest ball of wax?"

Her next right made contact with his shoulder, and once again it was like thudding into an inanimate object. But this time, the guy met her eyes when she made contact. He was trying to tell her something. He looked down - and she followed suit. What Buffy discovered was that he had what looked like an electric shaver nestled under her ribs. What the hell..? She looked back up, to find him grinning into her face. And she had about one second to think "Oh shit" before she felt a sizzling flash of pain, the world short-circuited, and all the lights went out.

Chapter Three - Aspirins and Eclipses

"Would you like one aspirin or two?"

Giles was rummaging in a shoebox - his makeshift first aid kit for minor emergencies at the shop - which he'd nestled between piles of stuff on the counter. He kept casting worried glances at Buffy, who was sitting on the research table looking rather worse for wear; but she had Willow to lean on if she got woozy. Giles had called the witches when Buffy had stumbled into the Magic Box with an atrocious headache and a garbled story about Spike being kidnapped. He'd tried Xander and Anya, but had only gotten the machine. Now he was on damage control - and all the detail he'd manage to get out of Buffy so far involved a giant ball of wax, and waking up covered in dew outside Spike's crypt.

"Definitely two - maybe three, " Buffy said with a groan. She was rubbing her ribs where she'd been tasered, and was feeling both sore and uncomfortably damp. Tara carefully placed a rug around her shoulders.

"Here - you don't want to get a chill."

Buffy smiled at her gratefully. "Thanks." Then she winced. "Do we have an ETA on those aspirins Giles?"

"Ah - here they are." He carried them over with a glass of water, watching her with careful concern. "Have you remembered any more about what happened?" he said gently.

Willow gave him a faintly reproachful look. "Give her a sec, here, Giles. She's still hurtin'."

Buffy knocked back the aspirin and shook her head. "It's okay, Will, I've had worse. And Giles is right, these guys have a head start, we need to get moving on this."

"Who exactly are 'these guys'?" Giles asked.

"Well, they weren't all guys - there was a woman. A real customer." Buffy said thoughtfully, remembering. "She looked like the head honcho, the rest were just lackeys or something. Five guys with labcoats, plus the quarterback."

"The quarterback...?"

"This really big guy - the one that zapped me." She shook her head. "He wasn't human, I don't think. No one could take that much punishment and just shrug it off like that."

"You think he was a demon?" Tara suggested.

"Maybe. Whatever he was, he looked like he was the muscle - the woman was doing the bossy thing."

"Perhaps you could describe this woman for me." Giles said. "And the, er, quarterback fellow."

Buffy shrugged, then winced at the pain in her ribs. "Oh, you know - tall, beautiful. She had this Cleopatra hairdo -" She made a face. "- very 80's. And an accent too. She said something to this guy before he attacked me - bashti, oobastee - something like that."

"Ushabti? Was that the word?" Giles turned, with a glimmer of excitement on his face, towards his research files. Willow and Buffy rolled eyes at each other with a grin - Giles was like a kid when he started chasing up obscure bits of information.

Tara had a thoughtful look. "I think I've heard that before - it's Arabic, isn't it?" She looked towards Giles as he returned, leafing through a lightweight leather-bound volume.

"Not Arabic - Egyptian. From the Theban period." He held open the book for their perusal. "It means 'vassal'."

"Yeah - lackey, vassal, whatever. That's the guy." Buffy said with a shrug.

"No, this is a little different - an ushabti is a figurine or statue usually placed in a pharoah's tomb. According to Egyptian burial rites, it performs deeds for the deceased in the other world."

"Well this guy was definitely no statue - he was about 7 feet tall, for a start. And he moved around - " She indicated her ribs. "- as for example. Statues don't usually do that, in my experience."

Willow gave her a gentle nudge. "But Buf, I've come across plenty of spells for bringing totems and things to life - it's definitely possible."

"Yes," Giles agreed. "I've heard of sorcerers performing spells of that nature. The image, or golem, is devoted to a particular master - it has limited powers and often a limited life-span, but it performs set tasks and duties. Such as defence, for instance."

Buffy looked confused. "So if this thing serves a dead person, why was it doing the dirties for the Cleopatra woman? She wasn't dead - or undead either, from what I could work out."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. She just didn't have the vibe." Buffy chewed her lip, thinking. "But she did have a vibe of something - kind of magicky."

"A witch," breathed Tara.

"Or a priestess - given that we seem to be dealing with Egyptian influences here." Giles said. He screwed up his brow, and looked at Buffy. "Is that all you can remember? No other details?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, that's it - except for the tasers."

"Something to do with the governement?" Willow suggested. " I mean, we know the Initiative used them, so maybe..."

"Perhaps, Willow, but I think that kind of technology is available to anyone who has access to large enough sums of money." Giles said. He closed his book with a sigh. "I'm just sorry we don't have more to go on. It would make searching for them a lot easier."

Buffy looked at the floor. She was thinking about Spike - without info they couldn't find his kidnappers, and if they couldn't find the kidnappers... She sighed, feeling a keen anxiety that she didn't want to betray to the others, and hoping that any delays wouldn't be dangerous for the vampire. Or fatal. She swallowed around an odd lump in her throat, then felt a soft touch at her elbow. She looked up into Willow's sympathetic face.

"Poor Spike." Willow gave Buffy a quick, supportive smile. Tara backed her up.

"I'm sure he's okay, Buffy. They wanted him alive - so to speak - for whatever reason, so that's a good thing, right?"

Buffy nodded, slowly. "Yeah, that's a good thing. I just hope we can find him in time for - whatever it is."

Giles was scratching his forehead, pondering. "'Whatever it is' indeed - I just wish we knew exactly. Let's think logically about this - why would you need a vampire?"

"To make another vampire?" Willow proposed.

"But why would you need Spike, as opposed to any other vampire in Sunnydale? They definitely picked him for a reason."

"He has a lot of enemies." Buffy pointed out.

"But I don't think any of his typical foes would kidnap him - they'd be more likely just to stake him and leave it at that."

Tara perked up. "Maybe it's something to do with the eclipse."

Buffy gave Giles a sharp stare. "That's an idea - and can I ask, at this point, why exactly you didn't fill me in about this eclipse-thingy? I mean, 'day into night'....it's kinda important, don't you think?"

Giles had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Well, I had planned to discuss it with you today. But honestly Buffy, it isn't the, er, 'big deal' you're making it out to be."

"So, fill me in." She gave him an arch stare.

He took in her pouting expression. "I am sorry - I just didn't think it was of dire importance. You see, the eclipse lasts for about 2 hours -"

Willow nodded. "Well, yeah - and I can think of plenty of things I'd do in two hours if I was a vamp..."

Giles looked faintly exasperated but continued. "- but the totality - the peak period of the eclipse, when the sun is completely obscured - only lasts for 3 minutes. Which rather limits most vampiric activity to poking your head out of your nest and looking around for a moment before ducking back inside." He glanced at Willow meaningfully. "I certainly don't think you'd be traipsing around Sunnydale, wreaking havoc - you're liable to be caught out mid-plunder."

"Oh." Willow coloured delicately.

Then Giles expression turned apologetic. "But I do concede your point - Tara, this business with Spike could very well have something to do with the eclipse. The timing can't be merely a coincidence."

Buffy looked into space, trying to think around the diminishing thump of her head. "So, why Spike? Why do you need a vampire for the eclipse?"

Giles just shrugged regretfully. "I can't tell you at this stage." Then he caught Buffy's eye - he could see that she was worried. "But now we have a good basis for research - the eclipse, a spell of some kind, requiring a vampire, linked to Ancient Egyptian theology or demonology... It's a good start, Buffy."

She nodded and smiled her thanks at his concern.

Willow stood. "Okay - so I guess we go into research mode, huh?"

Giles turned to her and Tara. "No - Buffy and I can attack the books, there's something else I need you to do. It's pointless having new information if we can't use it to free Spike - and we need to know his whereabouts in order to do that."

Tara straightened at the prospect of action. "So you want us to do a 'Lassie-come-home'?"

"Come again?"

The blonde witch looked abashed. "Oh, sorry - in-joke. A location spell, right?"

"Yes," Giles nodded. "Are you up for it? I know you must both be rather tired -"

Willow just grinned. "We're fine Giles. We can catch up on our eight hours later. But -" she added, "-we'll need something personal of Spike's to make the spell work."

"Then I guess you'll have to make a trip to the crypt. Unless, Buffy has stolen his wallet again." He gave his charge a sly look, but she had to shake her head in the negative.

Willow nodded. "Okay, then - crypt it is. Tara?"

"Yup - right behind you." Tara picked up her bag, going to the counter to tuck in a few necessities. Then the two women headed for the door, Willow turning to call to Buffy on her way out. "And don't stress, okay?"

Buffy smiled, hearing her words of only a few hours before echoed back. "Okay. And guys - thanks."

Tara and Willow smiled in return and left the shop. Buffy turned to Giles, sighing at the prospect of researching with a headache.

"Okay, Giles, so where do we start?"

He looked at her sympathetically. "Actually, I'm pretty certain I can handle this alone - I was thinking that you should get some rest."

She began to demur, but he cut in. "Buffy, you're injured. I know, I know, it's not serious, but you also haven't slept for over 24 hours. You'd be more helpful to me - and to Spike - if you were well-rested and at your best."

She made a face, but had to admit he was right. "Oh, okay, fine, I'll rest. Just wake me if you need me." Then she remembered something. " Oh god - Giles, could you call my mom? She'll be having kittens by now, I haven't checked in since last night."

"Certainly. Now go out to the training room - there's blankets and training mats, I think they should suffice for a bed in the short term."

"I'm sure it'll do." Now that she'd stood up and stretched, Buffy realized how sore and tired she really was - a rest probably wasn't such a bad idea. She began dragging her aching, blanket-wrapped body towards the training room.

"And Buffy -"

"Yeah?"

Her Watcher's expression was reassuring. "Spike is very capable - he's survived very well for over a century. I'm sure he'll be alright."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah - me too." But her eyes revealed her apprehension. She turned quickly to prevent Giles from seeing the swirl of strange emotions that washed over her face, and headed for the training room.

"Me too," she whispered softly.

Chapter Four - A Spell for Friend

"Um - hello?"

The door to the crypt was ajar, and even though Willow knew that no one was home, it felt kind of strange to just walk in unannounced. She gave the door a little push and it creaked back a bit further, revealing the dim gloom within.

Tara was whispering. "You don't think there'd still be anybody -"

"No, I doubt it. From what Buffy said, the Egyptian guys already got what they came for." Willow replied, in the same hushed tones.

They looked at each other, then tentatively crept over the lintel and down the steps. Willow cast her eyes around the cobwebs and the meagre trappings of Spike's lair. She'd never been here during the day - it was a bit weird. She sniffed the air, noticing a fusty smell of old earth and stale cigarette smoke.

Tara walked forward cautiously. "I feel like I'm breaking and entering," she confided.

"Oh well - Spike would probably approve. And hon, I think we can stop whispering now."

"Oh - okay."

Reluctant to disturb anything, they picked over the debris. Willow noticed the remnants of a wooden chair strewn across the dusty floor, and a number of scuffmarks. There were a couple of nasty-looking dark splatter-marks on the floor - Willow made a face, and then realised that there was a plastic packet beside each one. Blood-bank baggies - and they'd obviously been thrown with some force. Then she made another face, realising the implication - blood-bombs, gross. She drew Tara's attention. "Looks like Spike put up a fight, anyway. Oh no - the TV." The set had been pushed over on it's side, and she moved to right it, poking at the bent aerial.

"Oh boy - Spike's really gonna be pissed about that, " she muttered.

"Willow - look."

Tara had moved over to the opposite side of the crypt and was lifting up a large black length of something. She shook it out - there was a spray of dirt, and the imprint of a shoe on the back, but it was definitely Spike's leather duster.

"God - he never takes that thing off. I thought he was sewn into it. What's it doing lying on the floor?"

"I guess he lost it in the scuffle."

Willow and Tara looked at each other, thinking the same thing - this was serious. Then Willow sighed, and shook herself into action.

"Okay - that qualifies as something personal. It'll do for the spell."

"I'll get the other stuff." Tara handed the coat to Willow and moved for her bag, which she'd left just outside the door.

When she returned, she found Willow swinging from side to side, watching the warm leather brush her legs as she modelled the coat.

"Willow!"

Willow jumped guiltily. "Oh - sorry. But you know -" she grinned, " - I've always kind of wanted to try this on for size." Then her grin changed to guilt again as she took in Tara's expression. "Oh - but not in, like, a morbid way or anything, just, you know...oh, okay, stopping now." She sighed, and slipped the coat off her shoulders.

Tara gave her a forbearing grin. "You're kind of swimming in it anyway, Will."

"Yeah, that's true. But Spike's a lot bigger than me. Okay then, what have we got?"

"Here - candles and censer. I borrowed a bowl from Giles, and there's a bottle of water in the bag."

"You want to do the scrying thing?" Willow looked surprised. "I thought we could do the 'mound of dirt' thing - make a little model, you know?"

"Yeah, we could, but I think Giles needs something more specific - we need technicolour visuals. And making a model with mental energy is pretty tiring, I don't know if I'm totally up for that," Tara admitted.

"Okay - I guess we're both on kind of low battery," Willow conceded. She began brushing away a clearing in the middle of the room. "I'll do the fire, you can do the dragon's blood powder."

The two witches set to work. Once the circle was prepared, they stepped inside and sat cross-legged opposite each other, carefully settling the bowl of water on top of Spike's coat in the centre.

"This concrete is cold," Tara mumbled.

"I'm with you on that one. Okay, are we ready?"

They linked hands and began to chant. The Latin words for invoking the circle became a warm, buzzing hum that rose above the two women and fanned out into the crypt. Willow found herself in a familiar state of heightened awareness - her mind became fuzzily relaxed, but underneath she could feel the thrumming of energy, ready to be channelled into a focussed point. She closed her eys, and let the names of the goddesses roll off her tongue -

"Ea, Aurora, Esmerelda, Vesta, Heartha, Aphrodite, Marianne, Themis, Tiamat, Demeter, Persephone, Kore, Ceres, Diana, Hecate, Devi, Kali, Astarte, Isis -"

The candles flared up dramatically, and Tara and Willow looked at each other. Tara looked at the candles, blazing unnaturally, and returned her gaze to Willow. "Remember what Giles said? Egyptian theology..."

Willow raised an eyebrow. "Whew - I guess so." Then she cautiously continued the spell.

"I enter this circle in perfect love and perfect trust."

Tara echoed her words. "I enter this circle in perfect love and perfect trust. By the holy names, let this circle be purified of all anxieties and fears. The circle is closed."

"The circle is closed."

Around them, the dragon's blood powder on the floor began to glow softly, and Tara realised that her seat no longer felt so cold.

Willow continued. "As servants of the Goddess, we invoke the scrying seal. Lady, help us to find he who is lost; we beg thy aid. Visit the waters and peel back the curtain of ignorance. Clear the darkness from our sight, open our eyes to your understanding. Help us in this hour of our need, for we seek a friend." And with a hitch in her throat, Willow became aware that this was true. Spike really was a friend - had been one for quite a while now. Why had it taken something like this for her to realise it? She began to understand what Buffy was going through, and felt a wave of concern for the bottle-blonde vampire come over her. She looked up at Tara, who was smiling at her sympathetically. She knows it too, Willow thought, knew it before I did. Suddenly she felt bad, that all her old mistrust of Spike, her own prejudices against him, had been so obvious - it must have hurt him a lot, to be involved in all the Scoobies stuff, but never really be accepted. Never be treated like an equal - like a friend. She was surprised to feel her eyes grow wet.

The touch of Tara's hand clasped in her own brought her back to the purpose. The blonde witch smiled gently at her lover. "Hey - no anxieties or fears, remember?"

Willow nodded, and cleared her throat to go on with the spell.

"In the name of the Goddess, we appeal. Themis, Aphrodite, Lady of the waters - " - she scattered a pinch of salt over the water in the bowl - " - allow your elements to reveal the place we seek."

A faint mist began to circle upwards from the water, as though it was coming to a boil. It began to thicken and spread, seeping out over the edges of the bowl, covering the floor of the circle.

Tara took up a handful of myrrh and elecampane powder, sprinkled it over the glowing charcoal in the censer, and continued the spell.

"Thespia, Lady of Darkness and that which is hidden, we invoke thee. We seek one of your children, a creature of the shadow. With these gifts, open our eyes to the place where shades dwell. Our minds receptive to your will, favour us with your gifts. So mote it be."

"So mote it be."

As the final words were said, the two women opened their eyes to see a thick bank of fog blanketting them from the waist down. Willow realised that she felt comfortably warm and relaxed. As she centred her gaze on the scrying bowl, she watched the mists move and part with a sense of wonder that was disconnected from her conscious mind. The water of the bowl was dark, but as she focussed her eyes she began to see shadows forming, swirling - shapes resolved themselves, became defined. It was like looking into a dark window, or a still pool - the images were reflections, ghost-pictures, but definitely clear enough to make out. There was a tall building, a skyscraper lost in a field of similar shapes. At its base, a large metal rostrum held a long stone placard, with letters in bas-relief: Heliopolis.

"That's not Sunnydale," Tara said quietly, the mist stirring with her breath.

"No - it looks like -" The vision spun out into dirty streets and chaotic traffic. Willow glanced at Tara. "It's Los Angeles."

The images shifted, blurred; they were looking inside the building, at a long audience hall or chamber. The walls were ranged with strange statues, and thick with carvings. Glyphs of gods and goddesses, bizarre creatures with heads of bulls and ibis, papyrus reeds; the picture writing of a language now all but forgotten. Except by a few. At one end of the chamber a woman stood, her head tilting as she followed the script - she was dressed in tan linen and jet-beads, her black bob falling to brush her shoulders.

"That must be Buffy's Cleopatra."

To the woman's left was a raised dias, which supported a bed, its massive four-post supports rising to the ceiling. It was curtained all around by swathes of muslin. To one side of the bed stood a giant of a man, standing so still he could have been a statue himself. As the witches watched the image, a disembodied hand stirred the curtain of the bed from inside, and a quavering voice called out a word: "Satis?". The woman turned and strode towards the bed.

The picture blurred again, became formless. Just as Willow was thinking that it might have ended, another vision formed. A smaller room, the stainless steel and blue tones contrasting with the terracottas of a moment before. A raised plinth, of what looked like white marble, dominated the centre, and around it a moving bustle of figures in white coats. It looked like a bizarre operating theatre. But the patient strapped to the plinth -

"Oh, Spike - oh no, " breathed Willow.

He was held down firmly with leather straps at hand, foot, chest and throat. As they watched he began twisting his head around wildly. He seemed to be appealing to the labcoated technicians, but was being ignored. He appeared to give up, cast his eyes towards the ceiling, his expression a maze of frustration and anger. The image began to blur again, but the last thing they saw was Spike's face as he closed his eyes and coiled himself for a final howl to the heavens. The words came out distinctly as the vision faded to black - "Somebody get me the hell out of here!"

Willow and Tara looked up at each other, shaking with effort, and with Spike's desperate call ringing in their ears. Tara let out wobbling breath, her face pale.

"I think we've seen enough."

Chapter Five - A Thousand Bottles of Beer

"Somebody get me the hell out of here!"

Spike's yell made a few of the technicians jump, but apart from that produced no discernible effect. He let his head fall back - ow. Bloody marble.

He'd tried wheedling, screaming, complaining, faking nice, and then general abuse, using the choicest of expletives from his extensive collection in a number of languages, but the labcoats had been resolutely ignoring him. He refused to reduce himself to pleading. He was running out of options now. Hang on - there was always that old standby, being monotonously annoying. He took a deep breath, fixed himself a spot on the ceiling, and launched into full voice.

"Ooooh - a thousand bottles of beer on the wall, a thousan' bottles of beer; one fell down, crashed on the groun', nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall - nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer..."

Spike switched into auto-pilot as he belted out the song, thinking about how he was going to get out of this rather tight spot he was in. Tight indeed - he'd tried the straps any number of times, but the leather was thick, and held fast. The one around his neck was starting to chafe. This merely contributed to his general state of High Piss-off - this, and the fact that he was hungry, tired, nicotine-deprived, and sore in numerous places from the electric shocks.

Past the fight at the crypt (outnumbered and outgunned, he reminded his ego), he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. 'Here' being this shitty too-bright room with all the labcoats, where he'd blearily regained consciousness. He had no idea how long he'd been out, how long he'd been here, what time it was, whether it was night or day - his internal clock was on the fritz, from lack of an outside view. Maybe daytime - it felt like day, or rather, he felt tired enough for it to be day. He sighed and closed his eyes, keeping up the steady drone.

"...nine hundred and ninety-four bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and ninety-four bottles of beer..."

Spike ran his tongue over his teeth, and the dry inside of his mouth, before starting the next verse. He kept reminding himself that he'd been this hungry before, plenty of times. Yup, plenty of times. Okay. So, how to get out of this bloody mess...

The odds were definitely not in his favour. He had no idea where or when he was, and he knew that nobody else did either. A mental image of the Slayer and her friends swam in his vision, then he shook it away. Hell, he thought bitterly, they probably haven't even noticed my absence. He was on his lonesome. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time. What he needed was a brief opportunity - a loosened strap, a moment of weakness, a sympathetic ear... He looked around, as much as was possible, at the labcoats. Not much in the way of sympathy there.

"...one fell down, crashed on the groun', nine hundred and eighty-nine bottles of beer on the wall..."

He noticed one of them let out a small sigh, but by and large they were too on their game to let him bother them at this stage. They were like bloody machines - bustling around, to-ing and fro-ing, little worker bees carrying trays of instruments (that was a worry), and hardly a squeak out of them. They talked to each other in whispers, a low hum that was getting on his nerves. Not like he couldn't hear the words, but it was damned irritating, being ignored like this.

"...nine hundred and seventy-nine bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and seventy-nine bottles of beer..."

God, he was even beginning to bore himself. He took another breath to start on his nine hundred and seventy-eighth bottle, but was rudely interrupted by a techie who strode to the plinth and unceremoniously pushed his shoulder down.

Spike favoured the guy with a half-hearted grin. "Well, at bloody last - I thought you lot were deaf or something. Hey, you wouldn't have a cigarette on you by any chance?"

The technician studiously avoided Spike's gaze, and began pushing up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Another guy came and stood by the first, looking on wordlessly. He'd pulled over a tray on a dolly stand, and positioned it beside the plinth. Spike started to feel a nervous tingle in his stomach. He couldn't see what was on the tray, and craning his head only put pressure on his throat.

"Hullo, what's this then, eh? Look, if you're giving me a manicure, I'd like a nice shade of - Jesus! Is that a needle or an icepick?"

The technician brandished the huge syringe above Spike's arm, while the other one began swabbing the inside of the vampire's elbow. Christ, they were really going to jab him with that thing...

"Geez, couldn't you find a bigger one?" His attempt at bravado fell flat - his expression was too freaked out to make it work. Spike's self-preservation instincts kicked in with full force, and he started writhing in the restraints. The technician leaned in with the syringe.

"Hey! I said, hey!! - don't even think about it, you fucking white-coated -"

Spike hissed sharply as the needle slid into the vein. He lifted his head and yelled into the anonymous techie's face, "You bloody wanker - that hurts!!!" before another guy slipped behind him, pushed his head down hard onto the marble, and slapped a large piece of duct tape over his mouth. The operating technician slipped the barrel off the needle and deftly fitted plastic tubing that trailed down into something below Spike's view. Something humming... God, they were drawing his blood. A lot of it. He felt an ennervating weakness curl up through him, a vague nausea in his gut. *Oh shit, oh shit. Nine hundred and seventy bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and seventy bottles of beer...*

He could feel the slow drain through his arm - a throb, a false heartbeat. It had to be a machine of some kind - no other way to get blood from a creature with no circulation.

*...one fell down, crashed on the ground...*

He lost count of the bottles. The cold tingle of the needle, the hum of the machine, and the steady drip of his own blood filled him with a terrifying lassitude. This was like his worst nightmare; his life-blood, his core, being pulled out of him slowly... He looked up at the expressionless faces of the technicians, couldn't stand the view, and closed his eyes.