The Ostara Project
III: Relativity
by Kismet

"Good," said Operations. He tapped a few keystrokes on his laptop and took off his spectacles.

"Paul."

Operations looked up. "Yes?"

"You're distracted." Madeleine tilted her head with a knowing smile. "Is there something else you wanted to ask me?"

A wry smile bent the line of his mouth. "I was wondering, in fact, if you've heard anything from Teams 4 and 12?"

"If you mean Nikita, nothing yet. Her report is not due for at least another week and a half. It takes time to establish sufficient rapport with a subject to get even the most basic information. Any word from Michael?"

Operations took his time adjusting his thin-rimmed glasses. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Reports on the installation of G13 and the mechanics. I've been meaning to send in a team of operatives for some time now to test-drive the Base facilities. More and more our work is moving in a Southeast Asian and South Pacific direction; we need G13 to be able to support a large flow of operatives and projects."

"Undoubtedly."

There was a silence as Operations looked out the glass walls of his office down at the Intel centre below and the steady flow of operatives going to and fro. Madeleine waited.

As she expected, he gave in. "Any word from Dr. Goodman?"

She smiled at his silent admission of defeat. "From what he's managed to gather so far, he's extremely enthusiastic about this. After all, he was the head researcher on the Ostara Project. He's run some tests."

"What about the problem that cropped up unexpectedly?"

"They'll remove the chip. Minor surgery. Nothing that they can't overcome."

Operations shifted in his chair. "I don't like having to do it this way. It's too unreliable."

"It's done this way all the time by all living creatures, and it's been done this way for thousands of years with great success," she said with a smile.

"Never across so great a gap. I would have preferred it if we could take what we need and do it artificially."

"That would be impossible. We've tried and failed before, remember? Even in the cases where there was success, the subjects mutated to a point where continuing life support was pointless. Even with the girl now the only way is..."

"This way, I know." Operations stood and walked to the glass wall, hands in his pockets. "I just don't like the minimal control that we have here."

"The prognosis is good." Madeleine pushed back her chair and stood up. "As soon as Dr. Goodman finishes we begin Stage 2." She paused at the door. "Dinner tonight?"

"Your apartment? I'll bring the wine."

"Don't be late." The door closed behind her.

~

It was happening all over again. The nightmares were becoming real and he was helpless, tied down under the impersonal blue-white lights, surrounded by white walls and people in white who were going to hurt him.

He struggled when they lifted him off the wheeled stretcher, fighting and kicking and threatening to tear apart the straitjacket they had strapped him into. It took five burly orderlies to hold him down and strap him onto the narrow, cushioned slab.

It was not real, it couldn't be real. He turned his head, snarling in panic.

Glimpses of people in white coats and blue lab suits walking on the periphery of his vision. Smell of disinfectant and machinery. The smell of hospitals and sterile places. The lights went on above his head, glaring down on him and reflecting off his gold eyes. He couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything even as he heard the great machine whirr to life behind him.

"Calm down, Mr. Fitzgerald," came that man's voice, filtering into the room through the speakers. "This is not going to hurt. We merely want to take a few scans."

The sheet of darkened glass above him, above all the medical paraphernalia around him. That must be where the bastards were hiding. Up there, watching.

Humans murmuring around him. They had taken him and the Slayer out of that bloody padded room they had been in. She had fought like a very devil but they had strapped her down too. And he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Knocked down a few of the bastards and his head was splitting in two, supernovas streaking across his vision. He couldn't fight for himself, couldn't protect her even when he heard her screaming to him. Even as they wheeled them both in opposite directions.

He couldn't think straight, couldn't concentrate on any one thing. He hated hospitals, hated labs, hated the sight of scrubbed down white...

With a hum the narrow shelf he was strapped down on began moving backwards towards the maw of the circular chamber that was the machine. He freaked as his eyes rolled up and glimpsed the white-lit interior, the banks of blue light on the inside of the upper curve.

The howls of rage and fear bounced off the walls at impossible decibels, making the staff still inside the room block their ears with their fingers. Above, those looking down into the room winced and Dr. Pierce Goodman quickly strode over to the speaker unit and turned down the volume, cursing whatever the inept people at The Initiative had done. Of course, his own studies had been based largely on their findings and he was not above resorting to certain methods if required to do so, but whatever those idiots had done were now complicating his project. All they were doing was CAT-scanning the subject and he was practically foaming at the mouth already! For the operation he made a mental note to double the doses of sedatives.

He clicked his tongue in irritation as he watched the machine begin its revolutions slowly. In this state of paranoia, how was the subject ever going to calm down enough? Whatever Madeleine intended, he hoped she had a very good plan in store.

~

It was a pleasant if clinically clean room. The walls were painted a cool mint green and the curtains at the tightly shuttered window were a cheerful green and white print. There was minimal furniture, though, and she was strapped into the bed. The light from the lamps glistened on the bag that was connected to her arm by an IV tube.

Buffy's head whipped around on the pillow when the door opened.

It was the tall blond. The woman who had spoke to them from above in the padded cell they had woken up in. The woman who had given her that warning in the room.

With a snarl that would have done Spike proud Buffy curled her fingers and tried to sit up before she remembered that she was strapped down. She had never wanted to hurt anyone as much as she wanted to hurt this woman now, big blue eyes, gold hair parted in the middle and held back by a headband like a girl's and all.

"Hello," the woman said with a smile as she pulled up the only chair in the room to Buffy's bedside. "Haven't you gotten any rest? You look tired."

Buffy was almost too amazed to laugh. "That's one weird way to put it. I've been dragged out of the room by male nurses or something in lab coats who look like linebackers, knocked out, and woken up in a hospital bed in special hospital pajamas with an IV tube in my arm. I hurt in places I shouldn't be hurting in and I don't know whether my kidneys have been removed or I've been injected with an experimental anthrax vaccine. Yes, I'm just spiffy, thank you. What have you done with Spike?!"

The woman just considered her, crossing her legs. She was wearing a plain, impeccably cut black dress and killer black boots. She was built like a supermodel and there was an expression that was almost like concern on her face.

"You're angry."

"Bingo, go to the head of the class," she said with heavy sarcasm. "I'll ask again, what have you done with Spike?"

"Shouldn't you be asking what has been done to you?"

Good God, they've really done something crazy to me, Buffy thought in minor panic. She glared daggers at the woman, Nikita, was it?

"If you mean Lansen Fitzgerald, he's safe. They just need to do a few scans, nothing that's going to hurt him."

Buffy stared at her. "Lansen Fitz-what?"

The woman smiled. "Spike." She leaned forward. "Once they're finished we'll move the both of you to your proper rooms. They're much better than this, with access to the aviaries and you can take walks if you like. Security will be less intrusive."

"And we'll have cameras dogging our every move too, won't we?" Buffy shook her head. "Just who are you people anyway?"

"All you have to know is that we're called Section One." The woman fixed her baby-blues on Buffy almost earnestly. "I know you're angry, I know you feel trapped and cornered but really the best thing for you to do is to cooperate. If you fight you'll only make it unpleasant for yourself."

"How could you possibly know how it feels? You're on the wrong side of the line, dear!"

"Believe me, I know how it feels," Nikita said quietly. "I was once in your shoes myself."

Surprise forestalled Buffy. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask further but Nikita was already continuing, "You can't escape even if you got past security. You're on an island in the middle of the ocean, and even if you get out of the compound we are surrounded by tropical jungle. If that doesn't get you the sunlight will." Her look was piercing. "You don't like sunlight, do you?"

Buffy couldn't help it. The situation was so ridiculous she laughed. "What on earth made you think that? That's why you blacked out the windows, isn't it? Whoever you take your orders from is majorly scrambled in the brain department. Have you even fed Spike yet?"

Nikita's brow creased slightly. "Fed him?"

"You don't even know what you're dealing with, do you?" Buffy shook her head. "Blood. That's what he needs. Blood."

~

LOCATION : BASE G13, SECURED SECTION 21-4
TIME FRAME : 1915 HOURS. TWO DAYS LATER.

"Why was this kept from me?" said Nikita furiously to Pierce Goodman in his office. "I can't work without knowing everything that you can give me!"

"Madeleine thought you would be capable of performing your duties based on what she told you." He didn't turn from his work at the computer. "She probably knew it would come out sooner or later."

"The intel I was given wasn't just faulty, it was an outright lie! I was informed that the male, at least, had been the subject of a genetic experiment but Buffy tells me that he's a vampire!" Nikita banged on the table for emphasis. "A vampire! Good God!"

"It wasn't a lie." Dr. Goodman snapped shut one of his files and opened another, tapping at his keyboard. "Hostile 17, as he was known as, escaped from an organisation known as The Initiative which works with non-human creatures. We've known of their existence for some time and of their studies on vampires, among other things.

"Vampires don't exist!" Nikita pushed up and paced the room.

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "You haven't been to see the girl since your talk with her, have you? Why don't you go down in 15 minutes and you'll see with your own eyes what I can't describe to you. Bring someone with you to lessen the shock. Michael, perhaps."

Nikita shot a look at the grey-haired man. How much did he know? Had Madeleine spoken to him about their suspicions about her and Michael? "You know that Madeleine said that I was to keep this from Michael."

"You were supposed to keep your objectives with the girl from him, not necessarily this."

She went back to the table and leaned over him, bracing her arms on the glass surface. "I need to know what is going on. Why are they here in the first place? What do vampires have to do with Section, and if the girl isn't a vampire, why is she here?"

He looked her in the eyes. "That's classified information. You'll need clearance to access it." He held her gaze for some time, a feat not many could achieve.

Without a word, Nikita left.

~

They were housed in what looked like a large dome. Their rooms were built in this aviary, surrounded by gardens full of strange and exotic plants. There was even an artificial stream linking several little pools to one where they could swim and free flying birds. There was a large bedroom with a king-sized bed, a bathroom, a den with an extensive entertainment system and a library, all furnished tastefully as if in a normal household. There were, of course, no computers and no phones. During the day the dome was mechanically sheeted over with some sort of covering and the lights came on. At night the covers peeled back and they looked out at a sky full of stars.

It was like some fantastical holiday resort. Only there was a viewing passageway all around the perimeter of the dome where armed guards moved at regular intervals and which could only be accessed via plate-glassed doors with key-slots and number pads .The lab-coats had been coming once a day for the past two days for blood samples. They were always tranquillised first, of course, ever since Spike had attacked one of the guards.

It had been a shock to find that the implant didn't work anymore. The reason for this was simple: it had been removed.

Buffy would always remember when they had wheeled him in, holding her at gunpoint as the orderlies lifted Spike off the gurney. The worry and panic that had risen in her at seeing him deathly still (even though she knew he was dead anyway), with his head bandaged had been like nothing she had ever felt before. It had been as bad as when Angel had been sucked into Hell.

There had been no scars, of course, when she took off the bloody bandages. The only thing to tell her where they had cut him was the patch of dark brown hair that had grown back, startling amidst the white blond. She had her own scar, a neat line down her lower belly. Worse, she had no idea what they had done to her.

He had held her as she cried, stroking her hair as he soothed her. "Sssh, pet, don't. We'll get out of here, I promise. Then I'll make them pay, whoever they are. Bloody hell, I'll make them pay. Don't cry anymore, love, please don't." And even as she clung to him some part of her had realised that if they ever escaped everything would change. Spike could kill now and nothing tied him to her any longer. Nothing forced him to spend his anger on demons any longer; what was to keep him from going back to what he had been? He would kill again, wouldn't he? And would she stake him when he did?

She looked across at him where he sat in a deck-chair on the patio adjoining the library, thoughts scrambling in her head. He looked the same as ever. The Spike she had come to know over three years, whom she had patched up sitting on the bath-tub ledge on innumerable nights. She had barely realised how close they had become after living practically in each other's pockets all the time.

Spike's head rose out of the book he was reading and tilted to one side as he listened. "Feeding time at the zoo."

Buffy's eyes narrowed.

Together, wary as hunting wolves, they made their way down the winding path towards the door where food and other necessities were delivered to them. They had already memorised the time by Spike's internal clock. At eight o'clock sharp every morning, 1.30 pm and seven at night the basket of food and other supplies were left. The guards took about twenty minutes to walk the perimeter of the dome from one point to the other. They passed each other at ten minute intervals. The dome covers went up at 4.30 am and opened again at 7.30. The misters came on at 12.00 midnight, as Spike had discovered much to his disgust.

Buffy frowned as she walked along in the gloom. So many little details which were all quite useless. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she tripped over a raised stone in the path and would have landed flat on her face if Spike had not caught her.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked with the concern that had appeared since the day she had discovered the scar.

She made a face. "It's the flats." Whoever picked out their clothes had an ironic eye for style where she had been expecting white pajamas. Spike had an assortment of slacks, jeans and tight knit shirts in neutral dark colours and collared overshirts in brighter colours, often satin or suede in the way he favoured. She had a selection of long, floral summer dresses or straight pants and an assortment of tops, all stylishly casual. Great, she had thought when she first looked into the wardrobe. I'll be sure to win the fashion-award for lab-rats in captivity.

"They could have at least given me some trainers."

"Maybe that's the point, pet. You can't do as much damage in thongs." He grinned at her with a flash of white teeth in the dark.

"Want to test that theory out?" she mock-threatened.

"Don't rush it, ducks. I can knock you flat on your back now." He couldn't hide his joy at that. Whoever Section One were, they had made him whole again and he didn't care why they had done it, only that they'd actually done it.

"I know you're all hot and bothered, honey," she said sweetly. "But save it till we get back, will you? Then I promise I'll give it to you a hundred percent."

He waggled dark eyebrows at her. "I'll keep you to that, pet."

The two baskets were sitting on the flat rock a little way from the door set into the wall. No sign of the guards who must have brought it in.

"Let's see what's on the a la carte menu today." Buffy flipped back the basket cover. "Hmm...pumpkin damper and fresh butter. What looks like cuts of lamb with mint sauce, peas and carrots. Strawberry tart for dessert. And for the gentleman a warm tureen of mulled chateau le swine, plus for variation a few blood bags. A, AB and O. Do they come flavoured or something?" She yelped when Spike hit her on the back of the head with the rolled up newspaper he had taken from the other basket which also held fresh towels, toilet paper and the accustomed selection of music and VCDs.

"These buggers have a strange sense of humour," Spike growled. "The service is like a bloody five-star hotel, only the bellboys come in once a day and dart you then take a test-tube full of blood before changing the sheets. They even provided a complimentary bottle of wine and two glasses."

"Good," said Buffy, snatching the bottle. "I intend to get sloshed tonight."

"Two glasses, Slayer."

"You drink blood."

"I wouldn't mind a little wine."

"And what if I don't want to share?"

"Then I'll just have to find a way to persuade you, love."

She shrieked when he suddenly tickled her in a very ticklish spot. "Spike, don't you dare!"

He growled at her and advanced. With another shriek Buffy turned and fled down the path, kicking off her flat thongs as Spike pounded in pursuit.

In the observation room, Nikita wondered why it had not struck her before. "They're in love," she said with a little surprise. Michael turned his dark head to look at her.

"Does that make a difference?"

Her mouth firmed. "I would like to think that there are some things in this world that Section can't change or contaminate. And I would like to think that even if they're not aware of it now, one day they'll realise it." Her words were a double edged sword, and Michael turned back.

"What exactly did you call me here for?"

Nikita's hands gripped the rail. "That's what I'm waiting to see." Above them she could see the sky through the clear roof. It was a beautiful night and the dark sky was speckled with stars. A night made for lovers. She swallowed her thoughts. She loved Michael and maybe he even loved her a little in return, but he had told her once that there was no place for love in Section. All relationships between operatives always ended in disaster. She had to bite down on the surge of anger that flowed through her. Sometimes she just wanted to slap that expressionless calm off his face, scream at him that she didn't care if it failed, she wanted to try it at least!

They stood side by side, watching as the laughing pair reached the lighted house. The man reached out and swatted the girl with the newspaper just as she jumped up on the patio, and she dumped the basket and whirled on him. Good-natured horseplay soon turned into a real skirmish and Nikita felt Michael shift beside her in some surprise at the change that had come without warning. The vicious blows that they were landing on each other seemed designed to hurt and maim. She herself was staring. She had never seen anyone, not even the best operative, move with such speed.

Buffy leapt up into the air, both feet thumping squarely into Spike's chest. He merely jerked back for an instant before coming at her again with a flurry of swift blows that she blocked. Like a pair of fencers they advanced and backed away, all the tension and confusion suddenly flooding out as they fought. They didn't hold back on the strength of their blows and after Buffy managed to knock him to the ground, Spike let his game face appear, ridges rippling over his face as he snarled at her with distended fangs.

"Mon Dieu..." Michael whispered. Nikita gasped, her fingers rising to her mouth.

He leapt at her and they hit the ground together, rolling over and over as they struggled. And somehow they ended up with Buffy at the bottom and Spike on top of her, both breathing hard, gold eyes staring into hazel ones. They stilled.

Spike leapt off her, turning away abruptly and passing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in. The urge to bite her had been overwhelming. To distract himself he went up the steps to the discarded basket and snatched up a blood bag, ripping it open with one hand and gulping the thick red liquid. It was a poor substitute.

Nikita felt the bile rise in her throat as the demon closed its yellow eyes, squeezing the bag with both hands. The labelling on it was clear.

Buffy rose rather shakily, her cheeks flushed and uncomfortably hot. "I guess you win half the wine after all."

~

"What the bloody hell do you want?" Spike's antagonism was barely held in check as he glared at the two operatives.

"Just to talk," Nikita said. She indicated the other chairs at the long table, glad of Michael's silent presence at one end of the room. She could not have him in here always if she was to talk to the girl, but after what she had seen last night it was a comfort to have him there. They were in a monitored high security room and she had a gun loaded with five tranquilliser darts in case anything happened before the guards posted immediately outside the door got in, but she was still unnerved. In all her time at Section she had never had to face anything quite like this. Fairytales made flesh.

Buffy moved forward and Spike's hand shot out to touch her shoulder. She looked at him. "It's alright."

Nikita watched impassively as the male leant arrogantly against the wall. His protectiveness of the girl was evident.

Buffy yanked out a chair, turned it around and straddled it, resting her arms on its back defiantly. The stare she fixed on Nikita was challenging. "Now, let me take a stab at how you think this is going to work. You ask and I answer, right? No go."

"Then how do you want it to be?"

Michael was suddenly reminded of Madeleine as he watched Nikita calmly close her notepad, put down her pen and lean back in her seat. The same air of quiet amusement, the calm control. From across the room the man the girl called Spike was staring at him in animosity.

"I ask and you answer."

"That's hardly a fair trade, is it? I would suggest this instead: for every answer I give you I get one in return."

"Oh, we're doing the share-and-share bit now?" the vampire sneered. "I'd like to hear what you say, love, after you wake up with a scar across your stomach or bloody stitches in your head."

"We could get the answers in other ways," Michael said softly. "It's your choice, but believe me when I tell you this is the most painless way."

Spike bared his teeth in a smile that had nothing to do with humour. "And I could rip your sodding spine out through your chest right here, you pillock."

"Violence will not get you answers," Nikita said coldly. "But talking with me might. Do you want to know, or would you rather go back in there? It's your choice."

Spike and Buffy shared a look, then the Slayer turned back to Nikita. "I start."

The smile that came over the blond operative's face was like sunrise, in direct contrast to her previous hard tone. "Please do."

"Why are we here?"

"Because some people want to gather information on the both of you."

"Like the Initiative?"

"It's my turn. What are you?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Classic case of kidnap first ask questions later. Have you ever heard of Slayers?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Nikita remained pleasant, unaffected by the sarcasm.

"Well, you obviously know what he is now, don't you?" She nodded to Spike. "OK, here's the spiel." She cleared her throat dramatically, making the corner of the vampire's mouth twitch in something suspiciously like a smile. "In every generation a girl-child is born to fight the forces of darkness and protect mankind. She shall be given superhuman strength, speed and skills to aid her in hunting down and squashing all the manner of supernatural baddies from bloodsucking demons..."

"Thank you," said Spike.

"...to werewolves, ghouls, goblins and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night." Buffy finished. "I'm the girl of this generation. Comprendo, amigos?" She didn't wait for an affirmative. "My turn. What did you do to us?"

That was something Nikita didn't have the answer to. "We removed a microchip at the base of his medula oblongata."

The teen snorted. "Tell me something I don't know. Like why I have a scar and why you people think you can just nab us and study us like orchid specimens?"

She had backbone, Michael noted. For someone her age...

"We needed some samples. Nothing vital was removed or harmed and I assure you that you're in perfect health," Nikita said with a note of finality. "And Section never answers to the 'why'." She sipped from her glass of water. "If what you say is true..."

Spike snorted rudely.

"...then why are you, the Slayer, familiar with him?" Nikita indicated Spike with a nod of her head, ignoring the snort.

"Because I want to," Buffy snapped with uncharacteristic short-temper. "Private issue, so can we move on already? When are you going to let us go?"

"When we're finished." Buffy shot a measuring look at Michael when he answered her.

"Tell me, Buffy," Nikita sat up. "Since you say you were born to protect mankind from the supernatural, that would mean you kill every night. Our information tells us that your methods are quite bloody, so to speak, with ample physical contact with the victims..."

Spike said something very rude. "You knew all the time! Just like the bloody Initiative! What's the point of this..."

"How does it make you feel?" Nikita pinned Buffy with her gaze. "When you kill? Does it make you feel good, feel powerful?"

Buffy paled. Then she got up. "You have no right to ask me that," she said hoarsely, backing away as Spike came forward, putting an arm around her shoulders as he glared at the two operatives.

"This delightful little interview is over!"

The chair Buffy had occupied was flung clear across the room to smash into the wall not three feet from Michael who automatically brought out his gun. Nikita's own weapon slid into her hand and locked on the vampire. She could not control the shift of her expression at the sight of the naked ferocity of his game-face.

"Let us out." Buffy's voice was tight with rage.

"Of course." Slowly Nikita lowered her gun and reached under the table, pressing the button to alert the guards that the interview was over.

Only when the door whizzed closed behind the pair did Nikita allow her shoulders to slump. She felt mentally shaken and physically exhausted from the stress of her first evaluation of the subject Buffy Anne Summers. Michael's hand on her shoulders made her look up at him.

"Are you sure you can do this by yourself?" he asked her. "You must not let them involve you too deeply or get to you." Of course, all he knew was that at the briefing she had been ordered to question the subjects.

"I'll do it, Michael." She put her head in her hands. "You trained me to do this, remember?"

"You mustn't let her get to you, pet," Spike was saying to Buffy as she flopped down on the grass beside the large pool. "That's what they're trying to do. Break you from inside."

"I know, Spike, but..." Tears shone in her eyes and she blinked them furiously away. "What she said..." She did not need to elaborate.

The rest of the day was blanketed by a sombre mood. They hardly spoke, each tangled in his or her own thoughts. Spike watched a little TV, a movie and the flashing, five-minute videos of MTV. Buffy read, or tried to read. Finally she could stand the inactivity any longer and left the house.

The chirp of crickets and the soft calls of the birds in the softness of solitude calmed her somewhat as she walked through the grounds, one hand defensively over her lower belly, fingers fanning over the scar. They had invaded her body but she would die before she let them invade her mind.

She was off the path, in the undergrowth when the lights flicked off and the dome was plunged into temporary darkness. Buffy raised her face to the sky. Sure enough a sliver of grey-blue light appeared up above, rapidly widening like the Cheshire Cat's smile and bathing her surroundings in twilight colours as the stars appeared in the sky above. As she moved through the plants past the dark shadows of bushes and trees, she saw herself in a flicker in her mind, a stalking shadow through the dark. Hunting.

*Do you enjoy killing? The power...*

She shuddered as she moved on. The instinct to kill was in her, the urge to let it all out in violence. She had a purpose when she was the Slayer, a calling in life. Without it, who was she?

The pool glittered in the moonlight like a sheet of dark glass. Shivering a little with the night chill, she hugged herself, then unzipped the long dress. The light linen puddled in a pale pool on the grass as she walked towards the pool, her body silvered in the moonlight.

As is the case in the tropics, the water was warmer than the air as she slipped in, caressing her skin like a silken envelope. Silver ripples shivered around her as her hair floated on the surface, then broke into a thousand reflections when she dove cleanly. The water was silent and warm and being immersed in it was like being returned to the womb to heal. To make a new beginning in Rebirth.

Her head cut above the water, sleek as a seal's before she dove again, stroking strongly under the water. The only sign that she was there was the furrowing pattern caused by the backflow as her body clove through to the very bottom of the pool. It washed away worry and trouble and dark thoughts as if she was an eel shedding its skin and swimming cleanly away, curving through the water till she ran out of breath and it seemed that her lungs would burst before she broke surface again.

She rose in a spray of droplets, her back arching as she tossed her head back to get her hair out of her eyes, gasping as the air rushed into her lungs. She trod water before slipping over onto her back to float on the surface, spreading her arms upwards like an angel's wings as her hair coiled around her like kelp. The sky was so clear that the stars were out in their millions, faraway galaxies streaking across the sky. Places where you could lose yourself and everything would be possible.

Sighing, she turned and swam slowly back to the bank. Feeling wondrously lax and empty, she pulled herself up and stood, letting the water run down her body as she made a rope of her hair and squeezed the water from it. Then she turned and started back in shock.

The burning eyes fixed on her did not blink. They stood, staring at each other for what seemed like hours before at last he stepped forward as if drawn by a magnet.

The breath caught in Buffy's throat as he closed the space between them, electricity tingling the skin of her arms and back. If he touched her...

"Here." Spike wrapped the towel around her then jerkily stepped away. "You'll catch cold."

~

She could not move because her wrists and ankles were locked down to the cold steel of the surgical table. Panic clogged her throat as the fluorescent lights came on above her.

Help, she mouthed, but no sound came out. The fingers of her right hand spread out, scrabbling at the metal till she touched something warm. Someone else's hand.

She turned her head and saw Michael, similarly bolted down beside her. They were both covered in green cloth as if prepared for surgery.

"Session 19. Subjects: Michael, Level 5 Operative. Caucasian male, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes. 31 years of age." It was Madeleine's voice. Nikita scanned the white room with her eyes but could not see anyone. "Nikita, Level 2 Operative. Caucasian female. Blond, blue eyes. 25 years of age." There was a pause and a crackle of static, then, "Proceed."

She raised her head and saw two small forms swathed in green at the foot of the table. They were masked, gowned and capped like doctors, but their proportions were all wrong. Too small...

One of them pulled off mask and cap and a spill of straight blond hair came tumbling down. She was a little girl of perhaps seven years of age, with big serious blue eyes and an elfin face. Nikita felt a jolt of recognition. She had seen that little girl before. Beside her, the dark-haired little boy pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

"Please..." her own voice shivered out, sounding very forlorn and lost in the echoing largeness of the white room.

The little girl smiled as she came up to Nikita's side and the little boy went up to Michael. The bank of round lights was lowered down by a robotic arm, and the beep and whoosh of machinery was all around them. Plastic tubes and wires snarled them in a tangle that was like a spider's web.

"Don't worry," she said in a lilting, pretty voice. "It'll only hurt for a short while.

"Begin," crackled Madeleine's voice around them. The beautiful children smiled as they picked up gleaming scalpels which flashed in the light.

"No, please..." Then Nikita screamed as the pain began.

She sat bolt upright in bed still screaming.

Throat tight with horror, Nikita got out of bed, pulling the silken sleeves of her robe over her sweat-soaked shoulders, her movements jerky as she tied the belt and left her room.

There was a breeze on her second-floor balcony, making her shiver as she bent over the railing, closing her eyes. She knew that little girl. She had seen her once before on a level in Headquarters that she wasn't supposed to have access to. Only once, but the resemblance had been remarkable enough to imprint the memory into her mind forever.

That little girl was her child. Hers alone. Just as the boy she had seen was Michael's. And in that one hour the fabric of her life had been torn to shreds. She had known that Section had its own genetic research programs, but the enormity of it had overwhelmed her. Had Section been secretly harvesting the genetic material of selected operatives for cloning?

The question had never been answered. When she brought Michael there no trace was left. No children. Nothing but bare walls and floors. Sometimes she even thought it was hallucination. Maybe it had been, following the stress she had been under then and her worries that her eggs had been harvested by the lunatic doctor that had been the target in that particular mission. Michael and Madeleine had reassured her that all the lab contents had been destroyed after the doctor had been eliminated.

She kneaded her temples. It was the evaluation that was doing this to her. She had already had six interviews with Buffy Anne Summers, and the more she spoke to her the more wrong it seemed for Section to hold her. There were too many factors to consider; she did not even know what to think of the fact that demons and vampires actually existed and she did not want to think about it...but Buffy had more promise than any other young person she had ever come across. She had intelligence, courage, compassion, a strong spirit and an emotional maturity far beyond her years. For her to be here simply because Section wanted to...wanted to what?

She had talked to Birkoff already, but there was nothing the computer whiz could do about the access codes on Base G13. He did not handle it to such detail and did not have clearance to the inner database of G13.

Nikita bit her lip. She HAD to know what was going on here. What were they working on? Why had Dr. Goodman called this the 'culmination of a lifetime's research'?

All sense pointed her in one direction: Michael. As an operative of the highest level, he might be able to access the information she needed. Would he do it if she asked, and did she even dare ask such a thing of him? She knew he disapproved of her even working with Buffy, and he disliked the extra time she spent poring over the puzzle even more.

The night could give her no answers. With one last glance at the round, heavy moon, she turned back into her room, sliding the doors closed behind her.

Across the courtyard, hidden by the darkness on his own balcony, Michael sat still in his chair, watching till the light went out in Nikita's room and her silhouette on the curtains disappeared.

~

She had been having one of those bloody dreams again, whimpering and tossing in her sleep.

Spike frowned as he held Buffy. The dreams had been happening regularly every night now and the only way to calm her was to hold her. In his arms she would subside into less troubled sleep, his fingers massaging away the lines etched in her face. He could never bring himself to ask her about them when she was awake; for some reason it struck him as too personal.

He said a rude word and carefully slid her out of his arms again before turning on his side, burying his head into the pillow to try and recapture sleep.

She snuggled up against his back, her arm coming up around his waist.

"Bloody hell," he groaned as he fought to control himself. He held stiff for a minute or two because if he moved he knew he would roll her over, strip off her pajamas, kiss her into oblivion and take her, all sense flying out of his head. "That's it, Slayer. Tomorrow I'm sleeping on the floor. A man can't survive being tortured every night like this!"

There was a soft sound from her as she shifted, rubbing her cheek against his back like a kitten.

Spike called himself ten different kinds of fool, then lifted her arm and turned around. She fitted perfectly in his arms, her head tucking neatly under his chin. He felt her smile against his chest. All was well again.

High up in the corner made by wall and ceiling, in a hidden aperture the camera lens captured the idyllic picture.

Hundreds of miles away on another continent, a woman sat in her office, considering what the satellite feed was beaming onto her screen.

The controlled environment was not having the effect they had hoped it would. The subjects were resisting conditioning. Fortunately, though, Nikita had already managed to establish a rapport with the female. She had always had faith in the blond operative. Nikita's weakness was compassion. Every weakness could be exploited to good effect.

Phase 3 would have to be initiated.

It only took her fifteen minutes of access to the mainframe to shift the clearance codes. That done, Madeleine turned to another folder. A potential situation was brewing on the Iranian border, and as usual it was Section One's business to defuse it.

The Ostara Project
IV: Garden Of Eden
by Kismet

"You wanted to speak to me?" The tall blond stood in the doorway, her height emphasised by a sleeveless black polo neck and charcoal pencil trousers. Her hair was twisted up in a chignon. Dr. Goodman approved. He did prefer his women elegant.

"Yes. Do come in, Nikita." He drew his chair up close behind the table, putting on his glasses and adopting a genial, kindly tone. He always found that people reacted more to the tone than the content of the words. Of course, as a respected scientist he had not undergone the extensive training that field operatives went through. He was proud of his distinguished career even if there were no certificates of formal acknowledgments to hang on walls. One had to make small sacrifices when one worked for covert government agencies. He had been affiliated with Section One for more than ten years now, but he didn't really work hand in hand with them. His research was his calling and his life.

Right now he was irritated that he had had to adjust the conditions, but as long as he got results, he supposed it would not really matter.

She sat in the chair he indicated and crossed her legs at the knee, waiting.

"Am I right to assume that you have another interview with the subjects tomorrow? A night session?"

She gave a curt nod. He found her manner disturbing. He did not have much faith in psychological manipulation, and he wished that Madeleine had not sent so...volatile...an operative. From the edited file he had received, Nikita did not fit the normal prototype of an operative. Pierce Goodman squashed his flare of irritation. The one called Michael was just as bad in his own way. Outwardly quiet, efficient, but something in his eyes marked him as a plotter. A planner who would lead, not follow, even if it meant he had to play the game his own way.

The Ostara Project had been closed down once before when many people had given up and thought the cause impossible. Now they were perched on the brink of breakthrough. Really, Operations should have had the decency to give him a stable working environment!

"I have to inform you that the session after tomorrow's will be the last. After this you will have no more contact with the subjects."

Her blue eyes widened. "There are four more sessions to go; I have to make a report!"

"You will have to make it based on what information you already have. Headquarters has decided to cut short your time here. The day after tomorrow both your teams will be shipped out. " He smiled at her. "I should think you would be glad to go back to civilisation."

She thought fast on her feet as all operatives did. "There is enough time for me to squeeze in another session."

He had been prepared for this. "Nikita, I don't think you understand. We are ready to move to the next level of the project and your presence will merely complicate matters." He saw the rebellion gathering in the firming lines of her jaw and added, "We will, for security reasons, change the access codes and your cards will no longer be functional, of course. I hope you don't take offence, this is merely procedure."

She was silent for a while, looking down at her hands.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

He nodded, managing to make it look apologetic, and was intensely relieved when she left without another word.

Nikita walked fast down the corridors, her surroundings and the people who passed her barely registering except in an automatic sense. Circumstance had conspired to take the choice that had been weighing on her off her hands and now she had to find Michael.

~

"Do you realise what you are asking of me, Josephine?" His brown eyes held hers.

She stared back unblinkingly. "I do. And I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important to me. You know why I have to do this; since Audrey..."

"We did this once before and I remember telling you not to come to expect it from me."

Nikita took a deep breath. "Michael, you told me that if ever I needed your help I should ask for it. I am asking now." She did not say what they both knew: that Michael knew that she had broken security clearance on more than one occasion before and that he had probably done the same.

"Why is it so important to you, this?" His eyes searched hers. " I told you that you should not get involved with any target, ever. It could kill you one day."

"Michael, we have been through a lot together, haven't we? You know me as well as I'll ever know myself. And just as I couldn't abandon a pregnant friend's unborn child to Section, just as you would not let them kill me after my involvement with Audrey, I can't abandon this girl. Section is a machine, you and I both know that. All it means is that we must do all we can to preserve the humanity in ourselves and pray that it can make a difference." She reached out and covered his hand with her own. "Please, Michael."

The silence stretched out between them.

"I don't know if I have clearance, but I will try."

She squeezed his fingers in gratitude. "Thank you."

Hours later Michael was walking down a rounded corridor in the third dome. It was in the early hours of the morning and he was far from the quarters the two teams had been given. He knew better than to assume that security had lightened just because it was past 2 a.m., though.

A guard was coming down the corridor towards him. Without a change of expression Michael continued on his way.

As expected, he was stopped, but a flash of his identification got a nod. Well, at least he knew that level 5 operatives were allowed in this part of the complex. A little way ahead he turned into a branch corridor which would lead him to a security capsule.

With a glance to make sure that the guard had passed on, he raised his hand to his right ear, checking to make sure the communication unit had not slipped. "Nikita, I'm nearing the system node."

Nikita adjusted her headpiece, straightening her spine. "I'm ready." She had locked the doors to Michael's temporary workstation and sealed off the room, but she was still tense, expecting any moment to be interrupted.

The capsule was like an aperture built into the side of a great machine, consisting of a small, circular chamber divided into sections like an orange. Each section was a separate bank fully self-functioning.

Michael chose the third from right. He slotted his card into the slot and laid his palm on the pad that whirred out.

"Scanning." The words appeared red on the black screen as his palm was laser-scanned. "Scan completed. Access Level 5. Enter identification code."

He complied, his fingers flying over the keys with a sureness born of practice. Within seconds he had accessed the G13 mainframe. Now it was only a matter of where to look for the information he needed. The menu which appeared on the large screen was daunting in its size and complexity. "I'm in. What should I look for?"

"Search for any projects to do with gene research within the last twenty years." Nikita clenched her fingers as she waited.

"That narrows it down to fifty different projects, Josephine."

"Vampires."

"Negative."

"Cloning."

"Ten."

She tapped a pen on the surface of the table, thinking. "Can you scan for range and location?"

Another wait as he tried on the other end. "The fields of search are too large and too varied. We won't find what we need this way."

"Can you try to check for Dr. Goodman's name?"

"Researchers names can be accessed only after we select a project." Then there was a soft exclamation. "Hold on."

Moments later, "I have it."

"How?"

"I scanned the ten projects for the most recently updated files."

Nikita could not help smiling into her hand. "Download, Michael."

Michael keyed in his clearance numbers and was rewarded with an 'Access Denied'. "We have a problem, Nikita. I have no clearance."

"Is that really a problem?"

"I don't know yet." With another wary glance around him, Michael rapidly tapped at the keyboard. In almost no time at all, he had accessed Project AA-678. "The Ostara Project. Divided into two sections, one which was previously closed and a relatively new log. I'm connecting you now."

Nikita watched tensely as the blank window filled with numerals and digits as the computer processed the link, then heaved a sigh as the download bar began filling. Automatically, the info sheets began flashing open. Images, words, charts and myriad information flooded onto the screen, casting light and shadow over Nikita's face as she skimmed the contents as they unfolded.

"Oh my God. Michael!"

~

(CERTAIN SHEETS HAVE BEEN SELECTED FROM THE INFORMATION DOWNLOADED)

OSTARA PROJECT: Base information
LOG: January 20^th
ENTRANT: Dr. Pierce Goodman. #900003658

(Images from an electron microscope are provided)

SOURCE: Sunnydale General Hospital
TYPE: Blood samples
SUBJECT: Buffy Anne Summers.

In Slide 1, taken during normal conditions, subject's blood samples appear ordinary with no defining characteristics. Red blood cells are concave and contain no nucleus. Blood count is normal.

Slide 2 shows samples taken during fertile period at the peak of the subject's menstrual cycle. Viscosity of blood is highly increased. The count of red blood cells has almost doubled and the appearance of an unidentified form of white blood cell can be noted. It will be observed that the shape of the erythrocytes is already beginning to shift in preparation for the formation of a nucleus in direct contrast with normal human blood cells.
A DNA breakdown shows a striking irregularity in the subject's DNA strand which would appear to be a mutation caused by an entire string of recessive genes.

(What follows is obviously personal conjecture by Dr. Goodman)

It can be scientifically concluded that the subject is clearly not a NORMAL HUMAN BEING. In an attempt to reconcile science to mythology I would venture that a Slayer would be a female of the species with this specific mutation the cause of which is unknown. Several theories have been suggested, one of which holds that all Slayers stemmed from one bloodline in ancient times. However, the reason why each girl's powers remain dormant till the death of the previous Slayer is unknown. Much about the myth must needs be verified.

Important Note: Is this condition peculiar only to this specific subject?

OSTARA PROJECT (II): PERSONAL LOG
LOG: FEBRUARY 9^TH
ENTRANT: Dr. Pierce Goodman

There is a very real sense of personal victory which heralds the formal re-opening of the Ostara Project. The grinding defeat faced previously will not be repeated again; conditions are extremely favourable for success.

Several reasons can be listed as to why previous efforts were all met with failure:

1) NATURAL SUBJECT LIMITATIONS:
Vampire reproduction cannot be classified as sexual or asexual. In all respects the closest resemblance to be found in the natural world would be the reproductive methods of viruses where genetic material is injected into a host cell. From results taken from the files of The Initiative it will be seen that in order to reproduce a vampire will drain a human candidate who will then be made to drink of the vampire's blood. The result of this mutual exchange of fluids is the literal death of the body's systems. How conscious life and cell preservation as well as healing is managed is still unexplained. Although with this demonic species the forms of sexual mating are still observed members of both genders are effectively sterile, the body temperature of males being too low to maintain active sperm levels. Females cease to ovulate.

2) PROBLEMS INVOLVING ARTIFICIAL REPRODUCTION:
The cells being effectively dead, genetic material withers away making cloning and invitro fertilisation unavailable as options. In cases where cells have been harvested from vampire newborns, fertilisation was achieved. However the majority of conceived zygotes stop dividing before implantation. Those that do become foetuses mutate to an extent where it is impossible to preserve life and all die before one month of age.

3) THE NECCESITY OF BIRTH:
Even with years of research and experimentation, The Initiative has not managed to curb the vampire urge to kill or find a solution to the ever-present problem of their inherent need for blood. The time and expenditure needed to achieve this has been predicted to be astronomical, with no guarantee of success. Before any attempt is made to induct vampires into Section or indeed for any other practical use it is imperative that their animalistic urges and violent tendencies be curbed. As psychological conditioning has failed at this objective, the general conclusion is that these unwanted traits are genetically linked to the unknown essence of vampiric blood. As such, taking in naturally-born vampires is not a viable option.

In the light of these enormous restrictions it seemed impossible at the time to continue. However, with the material that has recently come to light an option that was previously not considered has been opened.

Crossbreeding.

Previously no attempts were made in this direction due to the unavailability of 'working' reproductive cells. Yet, with the discovery of the subject Summers there is a very great possibility that this might be the key. Furthermore, future offspring would very likely have living, dividing cells and there is the possibility of genetic engineering to cull the aforesaid unwanted traits.

(Outline of theoretical arguments and future experiments)

OSTARA PROJECT (II): PERSONAL LOG
LOG: MARCH 6
ENTRANT: DR. PIERCE GOODMAN

One step forward and one step back.

Although it cannot be known in all certainty till a sample egg has been obtained, projections indicate strongly that invitro fertilisation will not be a success.

A small success has been achieved, though. The reason for one of the abnormalities of the blood samples has been ascertained.

During the subject's fertile period, the changes in blood content will also affect blood flow and body temperature. The latter will increase significantly. The significance of these changes is not known.

OSTARA PROJECT (II): Personal Log
LoG: March 13^th~
ENTRANT: Dr. Pierce Goodman

Breakthrough!

The two sample eggs and sample body fluids from subject Summers have been obtained and attempts at invitro fertilisation have failed, so the only option now is mating. And all things have finally become clear.

The blood was the key.

Heightened body temperature and a previously unknown complex acidic protein in the female's secretions during intercourse function to activate the previously dormant, or 'dead' sperm, therefore allowing natural fertilisation. As shown in the experiment reports immersion and in some cases mere contact with the protein has caused clinically 'dead' human epidermis cells and sperm samples taken from vampire males to divide at an unprecedented rate, BUT exterminated normal human spermatozoa. The only apparent drawback is that in order for these conditions to be achieved it must be a WILLING mating.

Efforts to locate a possible male candidate are still ongoing after files detailing the inadvisability of using subject Angel came to light. An interesting problem, but more theological than biological.

OSTARA PROJECT (II): PERSONAL LOG
LOG: MARCH 25
ENTRANT: Dr. Pierce Goodman

Surveillance of subject Summers as well as information from The Initiative databases concerning the security breach and mass escape of specimens has borne fruit. The difficulty of piecing together lost and jumbled information three years after the breakdown of The Initiative has been most frustrating.

The candidate is one Lansen Fitzgerald, codenamed Hostile 17 during his containment at The Initiative headquarters. Subject has a very colourful and convoluted history with Summers, evident even through the scant intel acquired. By all accounts the subject is advanced in age and strength by vampiric standards and of some standing in the hierarchy. Foreseeable problems are the subject's similarly advanced level of viciousness and reputedly sadistic tendencies, which may or may not be passed down to offspring. Too little is known of the species to predict with any accuracy what results will be. It must be considered that the subject's nature uncannily mirrors that of his sire, subject Angel, after the loss of that quantity called for want of a better word 'his soul'. Was this passed down from Sire to Child through the blood, or was it instilled in the Child after 'birth'?

NOTE: Make a suggestion to Section as to the possibility of acquiring subject Angel for separate research.

To date subject Fitzgerald has been working in close proximity with subject Summers at her calling. The dynamics of the relationship are unclear but it is evident that there is a very strong element of passion underlining the friendship; whether it be dislike or attraction. Pictorial evidence is provided but due to subject Fitzgerald's intriguing effect on video, no live tapes can be recorded.

(A series of scanned-in photographs, some colour and some black and white. There are aerial shots possibly taken from the window of a tall building detailing a Slaying. Others are of the two subjects meeting in a cemetary, standing at a bus stop under the glare of a streetlamp, sitting over cups of coffee in several different cafes and in other situations. In some they are laughing or animated, caught in conversation. In others they are evidently arguing, at one point fighting. The most striking pictures were taken in a house, possibly the female's. In some stage of undress the subjects are roughhousing, then are shown in the kitchen making popcorn. The last few pictures are of them in an informal setting watching a movie. In all the pictures the male's image is distinct without any blurring.)

OSTARA PROJECT (II): PROJECT LOG 1
LOG: April 3
ENTRANT: HELENE DUKAKIS, #342221187

Delivery was safely made at 1625 hours under the care of Teams 4 and 12, headed respectively by Operatives Michael and Graham. (Identification numbers withheld)

Unloading was smooth and transportation by secured trailer to the compound was without incident. The breeding pair were still unconscious and unharmed though the temperature in the containment unit had exceeded the expected range. Improvements to the ventilation system should be made.

The subjects were held in a temporary cell for approximately two hours before returning to consciousness. The female was the first to wake and seemed disorientated. Within twenty minutes she had completed examination of the cell and ascertained that there was no escape route, then proceeded to wake the male. Their observed interaction is indicative of emotional dependency on each other. When separated later the pair put up strong resistance resulting in the severe injury of two security personnel even though the male soon succumbed to the influence of the brain implant and the female was restrained after she instinctively moved to protect him.

OSTARA PROJECT (II): LABORATORY REPORT
LOG: APRIL 4
ENTRANT: PETER JENNINGS, #755984012
SUBJECT: BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS
SOURCE: BLOOD, OVARIAN, UTERUS WALL SAMPLE. OBSERVATION OF REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM: UTERUS AND FALLOPIAN TUBES.

(Details of test procedures, scans and slides provided. Batch numbers of samples withheld)

CONCLUSION:
Subject is in the 15th day of her menstrual cycle, peak fertility period. Hormone levels are high and their composition unnatural by normal standards. Blood content has changed accordingly and subject's body temperature has heightened perceptibly, yet not to levels sufficient for activation of male reproductive cells. Hypothesis: During intercourse heavy blood flow is directed to the pelvic area and retained, further heightening temperature.

Previous hypothesis 4, 6 and 8 are confirmed. After impregnation the mother's red blood cell nuclei will fuse with the nuclei of the dividing zygote till implantation on the uterine wall. Apparently, the heightened erythrocyte count serves to feed and sustain the foetus throughout pregnancy along with the usual processed nutrients provided by the mother. There is indication that the newborn baby will continue to require this blood. As such the iron, calcium and phosphorus and to a smaller extent the sodium content of subject Summers' diet should be increased in preparation.

The purpose and function of the new form of white blood cell found in the subject's bloodstream is still unascertained.

OSTARA PROJECT (II): LABORATORY REPORT
LOG: APRIL 4
ENTRANT: Dr. MARIA M. BLAUM, #888659344
SUBJECT: LANSEN FITZGERALD / SPIKE / WILLIAM THE BLOODY
SOURCE: NEURO-SURGERY

(CAT scan results and a close-up magnification of a microchip with organic attachments provided)

Surgery on subject Fitzgerald has succeeded. The implant has been removed and subject should return to functioning normally almost immediately.

A serious problem was posed by the subject's rapid healing ability as tissue would try to re-knit within seconds of a cut. Cauterisation with heated metal and electricity had no effect and at one point tissue regenerated in such a way that surgical instruments were grown over. The operation was achieved only with the aid of surgical clips and cauterisation with holy water, which managed to stunt tissue regeneration but also caused inflammation, blistering and some burns and could only be used on outer layers of tissue. Time and swift cutting was needed to remove the implant without damaging brain tissue. As such blood loss was great.

Subject will be significantly weaker for some extent of time following the operation. Rest is prescribed and stress should be avoided. Blood intake should be increased to as much as subject is willing to imbibe and augmented with the following supplements.

(List of supplements)

OSTARA PROJECT (II): PERSONAL LOG
LOG: APRIL 6
ENTRANT: DR. PIERCE GOODMAN

The breeding pair have established themselves in Dome 4 and settled down to routine. Both male and female have deep-seeded links to instincts which virtually all present members of the species homo sapiens seem to have lost. Their behavioural patterns greatly resemble that of monogamously paired predators, a clear example being the dominant breeding male and female of a wolf pack. In a matter of two days they have already attuned themselves to the controlled environment of the Dome and have been observed tracking and predicting security movements as well as trying to estimate time.

Their first move was to explore their environment and determine its boundaries. Separating, they worked from opposite directions, gradually spiralling down to meet in the rooms at the center of the dome, a method often used by relocated wolves investigating new territory. It was interesting to note that during this the male shifted to what they term 'game-face', but shifted back moments before the female entered the room. They studied the secured doors and tested them to discover the protective electric field, actions caused by experience at the hands of The Initiative, no doubt.

It seems supremely ironic that Nature evidently intended for these two natural enemies to, at some point, come together. Vampire limitations ensure that no offspring will be born of any sexual mating among themselves or as sometimes happens, with human victims, whereas the biological adjustments in the Slayers ensure that with human males they are effectively barren. And while the normal vampire method of reproduction and the handed-down powers of the Slayers are almost forms of asexual reproduction here is indelible evidence that they are equipped to sexually reproduce, but ONLY WITH EACH OTHER.

Personal opinion finds it implausible that, given such natural compatibility and forced continual proximity, no such mating has ever taken place before this. Somewhere sometime in the stream of History, a Vampire must have mated with a Slayer. Their offspring might actually be walking among us without our knowledge, an unprecedented first; successful cross-species mating.

The female's natural fertility period is at its end, but hormones in the food should be able to keep her at peak reproductive level for at least two months without any serious side-effects.

OSTARA PROJECT (II): PERSONAL LOG
LOG: APRIL 9
ENTRANT: DR. PIERCE GOODMAN

The female has discovered that the male's violent impulses are no longer curbed. She seems disturbed but accepting. In fact, given time here she may even forget that the reason for her existence is to kill her partner's ilk.

The behavioural conditioning imposed by The Initiative seems to have left no lasting impression on the male. The pair must be tranquillised before staff are allowed into the Dome since the second day when the male bit Rufus Handlow, a lab assistant. The female noticed but did not react unfavourably since she was attacking security personnel. Extra precautions have been taken since, contrary to predictions, the isolation and shift of surroundings has not seeded an impulse to cling to a readily offered habitat in the pair. It has, though, fostered the relationship between them as they trust and interact only with each other.

Yet no attempt at mating has taken place even though sexual attraction is definitely present. There was a moment when the male tracked the female down to the pool when it appeared that they might try...but both held back. Since the implant was removed the male is in all respects able to initiate intercourse and is indeed inclined in that direction, but it appears he fears harming his partner. Professional psychological opinion contributed by Madeleine indicates that the female is confused by her moral obligations as well as previous experiences with subject Angel.

Operations has refused to consider opening a study on subject Angel.

Madeleine is confident that all the breeding pair needs is time and that they must be given it to adjust to their surroundings. They suspect rightly that they are under surveillance and this inhibits any displays of affection, so her suggestion is to allow them to find decoy surveillance equipment.

Personal opinion is that the breeding pair should not be disturbed at all. The psychological evaluation conducted by Operative Nikita is an obstacle which should be removed as the female is forming a certain attachment to her which distracts her somewhat from the male. The objective here is to have the breeding pair completely focused and dependent on each other. A complaint to Madeleine has been sent.

Until then the only recourse is time and an attempt on directing their actions. Music as well as reading and viewing matter of a more romantic or sensual bent is being delivered to them and for the time being the daily intrusions for the purpose of extracting blood samples has been ceased. Madeleine's suggestion of changing the contents of the female's wardrobe has been approved. Perhaps this in addition to the forced proximity caused by the shared bed and living area will create the correct atmosphere.

If the situation does not improve, more drastic measures will have to be taken.

~

Spike flipped through the music selection and growled in exasperation. "Who listens to this bloody junk anyway?" He lifted up a CD in disgust. "Kenny G? Who the bloody hell is the wanker?" He tossed it aside onto the carpet, sitting cross-legged in front of the cabinet where they had stored the stuff their captors had provided. "If I find Barry White in here I'll bloody combust...what happened to Suede, The Foo Fighters and the Smashing Pumpkins?!"

Buffy threw down the remote, giving up. The satellite station service had been interrupted for three days now. "Why don't we just watch a movie instead? Yesterday's 'The Mask of Zorro' was pretty good."

He snorted. "You would think so, pet. You were staring so hard at the Banderas-wuss that if I didn't know better I'd swear you wanted to bite him."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Stop being so childish!" Buffy put her hands to her head. "Would you just put on a movie already? Thanks to you I've shifted to keeping vampire hours and survived more than a week hearing you whine."

"And what movie would that be?" He mentally ticked off what they had been watching. "You've Got Mail, The English Patient, Braveheart, A Midsummer Night's Dream...am I the only one seeing a pattern here?" He reached over and grabbed a book off the stack on the coffee table, grimacing in disgust at the lurid illustration on the cover of a bare-chested, long-haired man holding a fainting voluptuous woman. "The Lion and the Rose. Do you girls get off reading this kind of muck?"

"No, personally I prefer my subscription to Playgirl, what do you think?" she said snidely. "So the person stocking our cupboards is going through a sentimental phase, big deal. I'm just glad that they've stopped doping us and making off with vials of blood." She wriggled on the couch, adjusting her black slit skirt and the one strap of her ivory shantung silk blouse. "But if I catch the person who took all my sensible clothes I'll skin him alive. Where could I possibly go in the three evening gowns they left? The operating theatre?"

"Personally, I can't wait to shake the bugger's hand." Spike winked at her, eyeing the curves the outfit showed off to supreme effect. She stuck out a pink tongue at him and reached sourly out to pick up her glass of wine, unconsciously displaying a golden expanse of bosom.

"At least they've started giving us wine every night. And chocolates. I could almost get used to this."

He tore his eyes from the seductive dip of her low-necked blouse, his fingers itching to tug undone the infuriating ribbon tie that was all that held the strap together. Instead he flipped through the books. To be fair, today they had also included a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, a book of translated Sanskrit poetry and Wuthering Heights. And a recording of Delibes Lakme, the soundtrack to 'The Piano' and a CD of violin concertos. There was more junk in the form of a Judith Krantz novel and a Stephen King. Actually the Stephen King might have potential. All the blood, gore and 'suspense' might just take his mind off the girl who was fast becoming a torment to him in this enclosed area.

It was night outside. Somewhere under the Dome a bird was singing. A nightingale, he thought.

"So, what other movies do they have?"

"Why don't you look for yourself, love?"

"I'm the girl and you're the guy. Plus, you're closer to the basket." She popped a cherry into her mouth and took a sip of her Cabernet Shiraz.

He said something rude as he bent over the basket, flipping through the tapes. "Junk, junk, junk..." Then his fingers stilled and his eyes widened at the last tape. Why, the bloody cheek of them...

"Whassat?" the Slayer asked with her mouth full of cherries. She sat up, cursing the snugness of the skirt. All the inactivity was making the pounds pile on, she could swear it. Of late she had been feeling rather slow, languid almost. Urgh! She needed to get her groove back. Fast, before she turned into a couch Buffy. Or before the mad scientists decided to do something really mad, like cut them open and bottle their brains.

"Nothing." Spike threw books and tapes back into the basket. "Go back to cramming your mouth, love, that's what you do best." He had to find some way to get out of here, he was getting almost...content. Which was no bloody good; he was turning into an even bigger wuss than Angel. Maybe if he managed to gouge handholes in the wall, he was fairly sure that if he got up to the level of the clear dome cover he might be able to smash his way out...

"Lemme see." Warm from the fire in the hearth and the wine, Buffy jumped up, kicking off her kitten-heeled black shoes.

"Sit down, Slayer." Spike shoved the basket beside the cabinet. "You're halfway to getting sloshed."

"After one glass of wine? You're really perceptive, aren't you?" Buffy tapped his back with her toes. "You're blocking the way, dead guy."

"Buffy."

"Spike." She prodded again, harder this time.

"Stop it." He caught hold of her ankle. She tipped the contents of her wine glass onto his head.

"What the hell..." He sprang up and she slipped past him, laughing as she made it to the basket, lifting out the offending tape with nimble fingers. "Slayer, you're insane! This is red wine!"

"You're not doing the laundry so why bother?" She turned the tape over and chuckled at the cover illustration. "Well, well. Interview With the Vampire. These people really have a sense of humour, don't they?"

"Chuck in the garbage, pet. It's crap."

"But fun crap." She went over to the VCR. "I want to watch it."

Spike shook his head in disgust, wine trickling out of his hair into his eyes so he cursed. "I'm going to change, and if you try that again I'll break the bottle over your head."

"Oooh, cover me in red wine. Then will you lick it all off me again after?" She wiggled provocatively at him and laughed when he stalked out of the room. Buffy pressed the rewind button and switched on the huge flat-screen TV.

Spike stood under the cold shower, letting the needles of water hit him as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall. She was a supreme tease, even without being aware of it. Either that or it had been too long between lovers. The last he could remember was Harmony, before the Gem of Amara fiasco which had been what...more than three years ago? The implant had served to curb his urges in that direction too. Bloody hell, it had made a eunuch out of him!

Now he was all back, and ravenous. He wanted her, body and blood. The entire delicious little package.

He thumped his head against the cold tiles.

~

"Did you know about this?" She was looking at him with huge blue eyes in a face that was fragile in its tense uncertainty. His former pupil, his most frequent mission partner. His Nikita.

"No, not of this." It was true, he had had no inkling of Section's activities here but he had lost the ability to be surprised long ago. In the life they led there was no place for personal beliefs to cloud judgement. "Operations told me, after the briefing, about Fitzger..."

"Spike," she said automatically.

"Spike's peculiarities. I wasn't supposed to tell you."

"Madeleine told me not to tell you."

Their eyes met in understanding. They had been played against each other again. She shifted away from him and he clamped down on the feeling of loss that immediately ensued. Always these walls between them, closing them off from each other. Physically they could be together. In fact the first time they made love had been as a mission cover, on orders. A veteran of so-called Valentine Ops where he used the suave outer shell Section had given him to seduce women for information or to position them like pieces on Section's chessboard, nevertheless sleeping with her had been for him something to remember.

They had agreed wordlessly that it would be best if they did not have a physical relationship. It would make it even more painful for them. In Section love was a dangerous thing which could be used against you. And losing that love was the worst pain he could expose himself to. He knew firsthand. He had conceived a son in a sham marriage with the daughter of an international terrorist and lost the boy after. The girl had been as trustingly innocent as the child, believing that her handsome, charming husband had loved her. In a way he had grown to love her, but the target was her father. Once the mission was over, it was all over. Such relationships were fragile, and in the end there was only the struggle for power. It was something he never forgot.

"I hate them." Her whisper was virulent with the force of her dislike, her blue eyes blazing. "What gives them the right to play with the lives of human beings like that?"

"The male, at least, is not human."

"Don't talk about them the way Dr. Goodman does! Do you know why he does that?" she demanded of him.

"Dehumanising them. If he can convince himself that they are indeed lab animals then he will be able to achieve clinical perspective and distance himself for them." He looked sharply at her. He had taught her that. It was the way they had to view the people they had to go through to get to their targets.

"Breeding pair, mating." She shuddered with her disgust. "He talks as if he's working with racehorses."

He looked at her, hunched slightly over with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. He could read her easily. To him she showed her true self, not the polished, icy assassin that she was in the eyes of the world.

"You know what this means, don't you, Michael?" She was looking at him again, fixing him with those eyes. "They're trying to create the perfect killer, the ultimate operative for Section's use. They've been trying for a long time."

He knew immediately where she was heading. "Don't..."

"It was real then. That little girl, those children." She began rocking in her chair, a slight, unnerving motion. "They stole my eggs. They took my eggs." It was a fractured whisper as she shook her cloud of hair down around her, bracing her hands on his table to hide from the world.

"Josephine." What could he do but put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her? To take her in his arms as she turned against him, the tears coming at last.

"My child," she cried. "My children, all those lost children."

He felt the tearing pangs in his chest as if he was physically being hurt. Children. The trusting eyes of his son. "Bye, bye Daddy!" Confident that he would see his father again before the day was out, that his mother would be well again and they could all walk off into the sunset. But Michael's iron will would not let him speak, so he held the sobbing woman in his arms in the silence of his secured office.

"What monsters are they?" she railed against him. "Their own operatives. They're cloning us, Michael! An army of children, good God how can they..."

~

"You have to admit, those two really know how to have good time," Buffy smirked as she watched Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt tear through Paris as if it was a goblet of blood their characters Lestat and Louis meant to drink up. At least Lestat did, Louis was too busy moping. Playing broody-guy like someone she knew. "And they really look good in breeches too." She turned her head to look up at the white-blond vampire. "You were alive in those times, weren't you? I'll bet you looked tasty in breeches."

"Not as tasty as that wanker Angelus. The stupid wuss actually managed to carry off that getup." He rested his cheek on his hand, elbow resting on a cushion of the couch they were both sprawled on. Buffy's elbow was digging into his thigh with most of her upper body weight on it, but he didn't really mind. "But cor, the women were something to look at! Like you in that fancy gown on Halloween in high school. Beautiful."

Buffy made a wry face as he referred to the night of the costume party when she had been turned into a helpless chit when her powers were cut off. "For that backward compliment you get a cherry, Mr 'Fitzgerald'," she teased. She popped one into his mouth, feeling the cold of his lip briefly against her thumb. "Of all the names in the world to pick..."

Spike inhaled, then fixed his eyes on the screen, trying to fight down the sudden urge he had had to kiss her fingers. It was the wrong thing to do, for the blond Lestat was in that scene where he snacked on two courtesans. And at the moment that Spike chose to look he was biting down on the curve of one of the women's breasts which was exposed by her low-necked gown. The fake blood welled up very convincingly indeed, for Lestat and his kind seemed to be very messy feeders.

He tore his gaze away only to see Buffy bite down on a chocolate truffle, her lips surrounding the rich, dark chocolate slowly as she watched the screen.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

Before Buffy knew what was happening the wine glass was taken out of her hand and Spike had hauled her up into his arms as he kissed her, his cool lips parting hungrily over hers.

She tasted like Buffy and chocolate with a faint aftertaste of wine, he thought. And she was so warm to the touch, so soft, so utterly feminine and enticing.

It was a long, insolently thorough kiss, and stunned Buffy into immobility even when he broke it and looked into her eyes, their noses almost touching.

"You have to just get one bloody thing straight, Slayer! You're beautiful and kissable and very, very worth nibbling on, but that doesn't give you an excuse to do what you're doing and it doesn't give me an excuse to take advantage of you no matter how much I soddin' want to, so let's just stop this little game, shall we? It's just too bloody much, you, chocolate, wine...I...we can't possibly do it. You Slayer, me Vampire. Understand? Even if you want it we can't do it." Running out of words, he picked her up, put her aside, ran his hands through his hair then stalked out cursing every step of the way.

Buffy was still trying to understand when he stomped out of the house. Spike wanted to take advantage of her?

~

The coffee gurgled as it was poured into the mug. He watched the level of the dark liquid rise, then stopped the flow and pushed it across to her.

There was no indication of any stress to her face as she accepted the black brew, save for the very slight reddening of the delicate skin around her eyes. Their guns lay on the table between them, on either side of the coffee jug. It seemed like an omen of things to come.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. In itself the words seemed foolish. Somewhere deep in the depths of Section's secrecy was a little blond girl who would forever stand in the way of 'alright'. And perhaps, a little dark-haired boy with serious chocolate eyes.

"Much better." She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Thank you."

"Nikita, don't do anything foolish."

She did not answer and he did not ask.

Somewhere out there, perhaps a little boy laughed.

~

"I think I might start a fashion trend here; prison accessories." Buffy raised her eyebrow at Nikita as she stepped through the door from the aviary into the room where they had their sessions. She looked down meaningfully at the three-quarter length black suede dress she was wearing with it's sweetheart neckline decorated with cut-outs, then at the wrist and ankle cuffs she wore attached to each other by a short length of chain. "Very S&M." Behind her, Spike snorted as the door slid shut behind him.

"Security procedure." The blond operative nodded at the beefy, black-suited guard who unlocked and unhooked the connecting chain, giving her more freedom of movement but leaving the cuffs themselves, before moving to do the same for Spike. Before they came for the sessions they had to put the cuffs on themselves and stand in full view of the cameras before the door opened. "I'm sorry if they're uncomfortable, but you should be used to it by now." Spike growled softly at the man, flashing a wolfish grin as the he took an involuntary step backwards. Nikita he never played with though he was sarcastic; he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

"Yeah, but then I wasn't in high heels. Can't you make them give me some proper clothes instead?" Buffy collapsed into a chair. "I can't go around barefoot all the time in there, and have you ever tried walking on grass in heels?" She eyed Nikita. The operative was an unknown quantity. Something about her made Buffy want to trust her and she had interceded for them on more than one occasion. She had been the one to explain to them about their surroundings and what they could and could not do. She was kind, and she had given Buffy that warning. Yet she was with those loonies who had kidnapped them in the first place, and Buffy knew that the whole purpose of the sessions was to collect information on them for Section One.

They had refused to attend the sessions at one time. The lab coats had then cut off their supply of food and blood, leaving only water. Nikita had been disturbed by the whole proceedings and actually argued with the lab coats about it, but they had held firm.

She had come to speak to them on the third day. Or rather, to Buffy.

"They'll give you enough to just keep you alive," she had said through the speaker on one side of the security door. "You'll live, but it will be almost a living death. I've seen them do it before."

"I can't believe you actually came here to say this. If you care so much then tell them I don't want to see you again. That'll solve the whole problem. Simple, innit?" Some of Spike's speech was rubbing off on her.

"If it's not me, they'll send someone else. Someone who won't be so tolerant. I'm trying to make this as easy for you as I can, Buffy, but you'll have to work with me."

"Why do you care? You want to know what I think? You're putting on one big act, trying to earn our trust or something."

"You may think what you want, I can't tell you what to think but I can tell you why I care. They'll break you as they broke the others. They even break their own operatives, inside. I know, because I was one of the few who survived training whole and not an automaton who obeys any order without thought. And do you know why I survived? I was hostile like you, defensive like you. I wanted nothing but escape but with Section there is no such thing. I am who I am now because I allowed myself to trust, and to trust the right person.""

"Who?"

Nikita's face had become shuttered. "Someone. My trainer."

"Michael, isn't it?" Buffy had laughed. "It's obvious stone-face has something for you."

"Perhaps." Nikita's expression had not even flickered. "Sometimes the one who loves you the most has been right under your nose all the time and you've never known it. It's the same with those you should trust."

"Perhaps you'll like these better." Nikita's voice broke her flow of thought, bringing her back to the present. The blond operative glanced down at the floor, directing Buffy's eyes to where a box lay just under the table.

They contained a pair of black and silver trainers.

"And just what do we owe you for all these fine favours?" Spike's scarred eyebrow rose sardonically. He mistrusted Nikita, and positively loathed Michael. "Prisoners don't get something for nothing. Maybe you'd like a few brain cells, love? Or a couple more tubes of blood? You people have enough to turn yourselves into vampires now."

"I have some tests and texts for you to do today," Nikita said, ignoring him as she slid two neat sheaves of paper over to the both of them along with blunt ball-point pens. I would like you to read the texts, then answer the tests, handing them over to me as each question is answered." She caught Buffy's eye. "At first they may seem senseless or silly and you may not understand, but try them anyway. The answers will come clear."

"At 190-over I shouldn't have to do any bloody aptitude tests," Spike grumbled as he picked up his pen, his wrist-cuffs clinking. "Didn't you do something like this in university once, Slayer? Sometime a year or so back?"

"Psychology 101." Buffy flipped open the stapled first sheets of the text, intending to skim through the photocopied articles. Some were newspaper clippings, others were magazine articles seemingly selected at random, spanning a large range of subjects from politics to pop-quizzes. The only thing they had in common was that single words had been highlighted throughout, peppering the paper with slashes of acid yellow . The Slayer frowned in confusion, and opened her mouth to ask Nikita what they were meant to do. She nearly yelled out from the unexpectedness of it when the agent nudged her ankle under the table.

The operatives had always taken care not to come within reach, much less be touched.

Spike's eyes narrowed as glances were exchanged. He started to speak but was forestalled when Nikita fixed freezing blue eyes on him. "Perhaps you would like to look at the questions first, Spike?"

He exchanged a wary glance with Buffy, then opened the question sheets.

The first sheet was blank except for a single line of text at the top.

READ THE HIGHLIGHTED WORDS IN ORDER. DO NOT SPEAK. EVERY WORD WE SAY IS BEING RECORDED.

What followed was short, concise and almost dry in its factualness. It was a story of horror.

The Apple fell from the Tree, and the Gates of the Garden clanged shut forever.

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