XXVII

“Thank God!”

The senior paramedic frowned at the woman shouting from the safety of her car as he rushed to the pale and bloodied man splayed out on the asphalt highway. Turning the victim’s head to the side, he swiped a finger through his mouth. “Airway’s clear, John, but he’s not breathing.”

“Check his pulse!” shouted a male onlooker from his BMW.

“Is he dead?” yelled another guy from a pick-up truck.

Victor ignored the onlookers like he always did. Morbid jerks.

“I can’t feel a pulse, Vic!”

“That’s not reliable anyway, John.” Victor shook his head. His partner had just passed his paramedic exams that year, and had finished his praxis only two weeks ago, but that was hardly an excuse for not knowing the basics. “Get the bag and mask. Commencing compressions. One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-”

“You want the defib?”

“O2, then defib! Five-and-”

“Right!”

Victor was methodical in his work. Calm and focused. “Seven-and-nine-and-ten-“

“Commencing rescue breaths!”

“Wait–“

“One one-thousand…. Two one thousand...”

Victor rolled his eyes. Things were not running smoothly. “Recommencing compressions. One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five-and-John, what are you–“

“Just trying to get some sats on him, Sir!”

“You worry about the bag and–“

“Holy shit! There’s no oxygen saturation reading. His fingers are ice cold!”

“He’s shutting down peripherally, you moron… and-twelve-and-thriteen-and-fourteen-and-fifteen-and-sixteen-and-seventeen-and-eighteen-and-get the AED ready-and-nineteen-and-“

“On it!”

“….and-twenty-nine-and-thirty. O2.”

“One one-thousand…. Two one thousand...”

In the few seconds it took John to administer oxygen, Victor had expertly applied the electric shock pads to the man’s chest and charged the AED.

“Shock?”

“No! We wait for the trace, remember?”

“Right!”

Victor shook his head again and watched for the rhythm.

“What’ve we got?”

Victor sighed. “Asystole.”

“Shit.”

“Recommencing compressions. One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five-and-get the bag and mask ready…“

John did as instructed and waited.

“….and-twenty-nine-and-thirty. O2.”

“One one-thousand…. Two one thousand...”

After five lots of compressions, Victor checked the rhythm again on the AED.

“Fuck Vic! He’s still in–”

“Asystole.”

Victor turned away from the automatic defibrillator.

“Shock him?”

“No!” Victor couldn’t believe his ears. “You never shock a flatline, you idiot!”

“Then what do we–“

“He’s gone. I’m calling it. 20:45.” Victor moved to stand up.

“Wait! If he’s flatlined, then what’s the harm in shocking him?”

“John, you shock VT and VF. Never a flatline. You’re supposed to know that!”

“Okay, but why don’t you shock a flatline?”

“You just don’t.”

“Hm. You don’t know why. I’m shocking him.”

“What? No! Don’t–“

But John had quickly taken his place by the AED.

“Clear!”

Victor stepped away from the dead man’s legs.

SHOCK

Spike’s eyes flew open as he sat up abruptly.

“Buffy!”

“Whoa!” John.

“Mother fucker!” yelled an onlooker.

Victor rushed back to the injured man’s side. “Oh my god! Sir!”

Spike ripped the pads from his chest and the probe off of his finger, as he looked frantically around the highway for signs of the truck.

Nothing.

“Oh god.” Spike felt like someone had carved out his insides. He whimpered her name. “Buffy.”

Victor put a gentle hand to the injured man’s chest. “Sir, please! You need to rest! You must have broken quite a few bones! You’re no doubt bleeding internally! You–“

“Sod off!” Spike pushed the man away as he jumped to his feet and was suddenly assaulted by a tsunami of pain. Ignoring it, he oriented himself towards the direction of his bike.

“I need help,” he muttered to himself.

“Yes, sir! You need–“

But Spike had disappeared down the highway, running at the fastest speed he could manage.

“Holy–”

“Shit,” Victor finished for his partner, as he stared dumbfounded down the highway at his patient fleeing the scene.

John folded his arms across his chest. “Never shock a flatline, my ass.”


* * * * *


“Left, Gina.”

“No. Right, Pip. And back a little.”

“No, forward–“ Mel chimed in from her position at the foot of the stairs.

“Pip–“

“Well I guess you ladies don’t need us anymore.” The furniture delivery guy shifted disbelieving eyes between the two Slayers as they easily maneuvered the new over-sized sofa across the common room floor. It had taken four guys – each of them twice Pipa’s size – to haul it in.

“Nah, we really don’t.”

“Gina!” Pipa whispered in admonishment. Pipa gave the deliverymen an apologetic smile. “Thanks so much for this, but I think we’ve got it from here.”

The deliveryman narrowed his eyes at them, before nodding to the other guys to follow him out.

Richard and his crew had already left for the day – having finished most of the renovation work in remarkable time. A few odds and ends still needed seeing to, but that wouldn’t require so large a crew.

“Looks like new down here.”

Gina looked up to see Sonny showered and dressed in workout gear and descending the stairs to meet Mel and Tori at the bottom.

“Morning, lazy.”

Sonny smirked at Gina.

“Hey Sonny!” Pipa echoed cheerfully. “Eventful night?”

Sonny looked questioningly at Gina, who shook her head no. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pipa shrugged. “Nothing. I just figured you must have been out late, and I thought we weren’t patrolling yet. You know, taking some time off to regroup.”

“I’ve had enough downtime, Pipa.”

Pipa frowned a little before regaining her good-natured expression. “Hungry?”

“No. Antsy. I feel like training. Gina?”

Gina raised her eyebrows.

“Feel like sparring?”

“Who’s sparring?” Stevie entered from the kitchen, Sally not far behind, and looking a little less mournful than yesterday.

“Sonny and Gina,” Mel replied. “Welcome to Thunderdome, baby.”

Gina smiled. “Yeah. I’m about to show Sonny how we throw down in Compton.”

“Please. I’ve seen how you ‘throw down’ Gina.”

“Yeah? Well I’ve picked up a thing or two from Spike’s master class in the art of the beat down the other day. Let’s see what you got, home girl.”

Sonny rolled her eyes and walked past the group towards the kitchen. “Fine. But I may grab an orange juice first, after all.”

Gina cracked up laughing. “Like that’ll help!”

“Ten bucks on Sonny,” Mel retorted.

Gina sucked her teeth. “Whatever.”


* * * * *


Spike coughed on the blood pooled in his throat as he ran, and desperately tried to ignore the pain lancing through his torso and hips. By his estimate, he’d broken half a dozen ribs and both sides of his pelvis. But he ran still.

The boardwalk couldn’t have come in to view sooner, and he wasted no time in getting to his bike. He hated to slow down to throw on his clothes and boots, but his chest was already an unsightly collage of cuts and bruises. He had no desire to advertise the extent of his injuries.

Once dressed, he was already on the move when he pulled out his phone.

“Spike?”

“Dawn!” He shuddered from the pain in shouting her name over the engine.

“Hey! What’s up? Are you with Buffy?”

He shut his eyes briefly in guilt. “No. She’s been snatched, Niblet. I don’t–“

“What?!”

He sighed shakily. “I don’t know by who, Dawn.”

“When did this happen? Where are you? Where did–“

“We were swimming at Venice Beach. She went to wash her hair and I swear to God, Dawn, I just turned away for a second–“

“Spike, it’s not your fault. Get that thought out of your mind. Just tell me–“

“The next minute I turn around and see her slumped over some bastard’s shoulder, and then an armored truck scoops them up.”

“Oh god, Spike– “

“We’ll get her back, Dawn, I promise.”

“But–“

“Just meet me at Slayer Central, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“What–“

But he had hung up as he hit full throttle on the freeway.


* * * * *


She was asleep. Not dead.

As Buffy slowly drifted back into consciousness, she knew that much at least. For one, there hadn’t been any dreams – no heart-tugging montages of Sunnydale or recaps of motivational speeches. And she felt different this time: more drugged than dragged back. Her muscles weren’t so much heavy as … weak.

Oh god. The only other time she’d felt this way was on the eve of her eighteenth birthday.

A fear, the likes of which she hadn’t known for decades, threatened to creep over her. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing slow, which had the added bonus of helping her calm her nerves. With her other senses, she tried to orient herself to her surroundings.

She could feel a cold slab against her back and metal shackles locked snugly around both wrists and ankles. Trapped.

There was no particular smell to the place, beyond the sea salt that still stuck to her skin and hair. She could hear a hum in the background, like an engine of some sort, but much noisier than a car. And her body shook lightly and continuously, with the occasional jolt from a bump…

A van. She was in a van. Or maybe a truck. Snatched. Drugged and plucked from the beach where she and–

“Spike!”

Her eyes flew open – as she abandoned the rouse of being unconscious.

“Try again.”

Turning her head sharply towards the voice, Buffy looked upon the face of her kidnapper. Black hair peeked through the folded skullcap on his head, and dark, liquid eyes sparkled with perverse amusement. Tanned and unshaven, he looked to be no more than thirty.

She could barely contain her fury when she spoke through clenched teeth. “What have you done with him?”

Her captor looked at her questioningly, before seeming to understand her meaning.

“Ah. Me? Not a thing. But I highly doubt your dead lover will be walking again for some time. My condolences.”

Buffy hurled her body towards the bastard with a growl, only to be flung back by the constraints at her wrists and ankles.

He laughed.

“I’m sorry, Miss Summers. It’s rude of me to laugh. But it’s a rare sight indeed to see the likes of you so… helpless.”

Any trace of fear she might have felt was now gone. Miss Summers had left the building, leaving a murderous Slayer in her wake. Weak, but in control.

She inspected her captor again. Though seated beside her, he couldn’t have been more than five foot nine or ten, and he wasn’t particularly built for a career in snatching Slayers. Hence the drugs, no doubt. His face was… perhaps vaguely familiar. But she couldn’t quite place it.

His accent was Scottish. Or Irish. Or maybe northern English. After years in Scotland and London, she still couldn’t tell the difference.

“You’re not going to ask me who I am, Miss Summers?”

She just stared.

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“Were we supposed to be having fun? Is this a joy ride we’re on? Cause I gotta say, so far it sucks.”

He looked at her with surprise. “So you really don’t recognize me?”

She looked away with disinterest, her mouth closed, her jaw set.

“Dude! How about now?” He’d adopted a different accent. Californian. A pothead-surfer imitation. She recognized it immediately.

She shut her eyes.

He laughed again. “That’s right.”

She turned to face him again with a stony expression.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk, Miss Summers, then I suppose I’ll have to. Or it’ll be a frightfully boring ride.” He was back to the Scottish-Irish-English accent.

“I’m John Reynolds of Los Angeles.” American accent. He extended a hand in greeting towards her shackled wrist, before pulling it back with a laugh.

“Oh wait, sorry. What am I saying? I’m Hugh Longueville of Essex.” Definitely English.

“No, wait. Did I say ‘Hugh’? I meant Ciaran. Ciaran O’Farrell is me name. Of Dublin.“ He was clearly amused with himself.

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “So you can do impressions. Good for you. Look out Hollywood. Here comes the next Meryl Streep.”

His expression soured. “I’ve got a better gig than Hollywood, Miss Summers. A pretty lucrative one, in fact. And one that enables me to utilize all of my many talents.”

“What? Drugging and kidnapping? Stalking and perving?”

“Perving? I believe the proper word is watching, Miss Summers.”

Buffy stiffened, as the realization of his words sank in.

“Don’t you just love a double entendre?” He was smiling again.

She whispered her reply, as if she’d rather not acknowledge the truth.

“You’re a watcher.”

He winked at her. And the action seemed to crack something inside her.

“You’re smarter than people give you credit for.”

She swallowed and spoke shakily. “The Council sent you?”

“But not that smart.”

She flinched slightly. “So you’re rogue?” She felt almost hopeful at the prospect.

He laughed again. “That’s a great word, ‘rogue’. But it doesn’t apply. Like I said, my work is incredibly lucrative, and my employers are decidedly more powerful and more important to the world, than your antiquated and now disconcertingly Americanized Council.”

Her face contorted in confusion. “So you’re not rogue?”

“I’m a former Watcher, but I’m no one-man show. I’m employed by a more formidable power now. And a more benevolent one. Sadly, no less American, though.”

She thought for a moment, before her mouth twisted into a grimace. “Initiative.”

He bent his head to the side. “You have a problem with that word?”

“Just a little one.”

Leaning back in his seat, he settled into a comfortable posture. “Perhaps I do as well. It’s a moronic name, for an equally moronic enterprise. Long defunct, thanks to you, as I understand it. No. As I said, I work for a benevolent power.

“I’m a bit too tired for twenty questions just now, Shaggy – what with all the drugs you pumped into me. Why don’t you just spit it out. You know you want to.”

“Oh, but, Buffy. Wouldn’t you rather know what it is we have planned for you?”

She blinked.

He grinned widely. “You’re going to save the world.”


* * * * *


“Fuckin’ hell.” Gina felt like she’d been hit in the gut – which she had, in fact, while sparring with Sonny earlier. She let her head fall back on the new common room sofa, as Pipa stood up to face Dawn.

“So what do we now?”

Dawn and Xander stood solemnly, facing the group of Slayers that had convened in the common room on their arrival. Gina looked back up at Dawn, who looked to Xander, as if she were too weary to answer herself.

“All we know is what Spike has told us,” Xander replied, with an easy, paternal calm. “He and Buffy were at Venice Beach–“

“Doing what?” Sonny interrupted.

Xander shrugged. “Swimming, I guess.”

“Vampires swim?” Rachel.

“Not really a time for tangents, Rachel,” Xander continued. He sighed. “Anyway, they were at the beach swimming, and apparently Buffy went off to wash her hair or something, and the next thing Spike sees is some guy with a gun carrying Buffy over his shoulder.”

“Dead?!” Pipa.

“Well that wouldn’t last,” Stevie injected.

Xander raised a hand to silence them. “Unconscious, anyway.”

“Well why the hell didn’t Spike snatch her back?” Mel challenged. “Bullets won’t hurt him!”

Dawn quickly came to his defense, albeit quietly. “He was probably too far away, guys.” She exhaled wearily before continuing. “Look, that’s all we know. Spike saw her being pulled into the back of a truck before it sped away.”

“What kind of truck?” Gina.

Dawn put a hand to her brow. “We don’t know.”

“Great,” Mel muttered. “There’s a lot to go on. What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

Dawn sighed. “We wait for–“

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Spike!” Dawn rushed to the door to let him in.

“Fuck!” Gina let escape. The sight of the vampire made more than one girl gasp. His face was covered in blood and he trudged into the room with an unnatural gait.

Dawn and Xander both put an arm around him in assistance.

“I’m fine!” he chided. But he didn’t push them away as they guided him towards a seat on the sofa.

“Spike, what happened?” Pipa.

“Where’s Buffy?”

“What do you know?”

“What kind of truck was it?”

“What do we do now?”

A chorus of questions assailed him from every corner. He dropped his head in his hands.

“Guys,” Dawn insisted. “Just give him a moment.”

The room fell into silence, the air thick with anticipation. Spike struggled to suppress the guilt that threatened to overpower him. It wouldn’t help him get her back.

Softly, and with gravity, he started speaking. “The kidnapper was about five foot ten, smallish stature, with a dark face mask. There was nothing unusual or distinctive about his clothes.”

No one spoke up. Though his head was still down, he could feel a multitude of eyes burning holes into his skull.

“It was an armored truck. Black. Nondescript. It took off down a back road, due north. I chased it for a few kilometers to an intersection where it had to slow.”

The memory of how close he’d been to reaching her was like a shackle around his heart.

“I would have caught up to the truck if it weren’t for a the second one.”

Pipa gasped. “A second one?”

“It hit me from the side,” he admitted shamefully. “I was out for… well, who knows how long.”

“Jesus, Spike, are you alright, man?” Gina.

He ignored the question. “When I came to, the trucks were long gone.”

Silence.

He felt Xander and Dawn take a seat on either side of him.

Dawn addressed the room. “Okay, let’s think. Who would want Buffy and why?” True to Summers’ form, she was all business-like and ready to problem-solve.

“Well, let’s back track,” Xander added. “Who would have an armored truck? You don’t just pick one of those up at the local used car dealer in Reseda.”

“He’s right,” Sonny interjected. “That’s military. Or government. Or some secret commando-type shit.”

“Or Council,” Mel volunteered.

Everyone looked at her with alarm – Dawn most of all.

“Willow would never–“

“The hell she wouldn’t,” Spike muttered bitterly. “That selfish, conniving b–“

“Watch it, Rory!” Xander.

Spike glared at the Whelp with impatience.

“Spike, this wasn’t Willow, “ Xander insisted. “It just wasn’t.”

But looking around the room, Spike wasn’t sure Harris had convinced anyone of that claim.

“This sounds more like the old Initiative to me,” Xander continued.

“The who?” Rachel.

Dawn answered. “It was a military-government-science project of some sort. Forty years ago now, when we were all still in Sunnydale.”

“And they kidnapped Slayers?” Stevie asked.

“No. There was only one Slayer then anyway. Or… well, two. Anyway, they kidnapped demons for experiments. They wanted to learn how to harness their power for military purposes.”

“So what happened with them?”

Dawn looked at Spike. “Lots of stuff. They kidnapped Spike for one, but he escaped.”

All eyes shifted to Spike, but he was only half listening to the conversation – too preoccupied with replaying the events that had led to her slipping out of his grasp.

“What did they do to Sp–“

“That’s not important, Pipa,” Dawn interrupted gently. “I shouldn’t have even brought it up. The gist of it is… the Initiative tried to create a super soldier out of all of these demon parts, but the soldier turned against the scientists in charge and went on a killing spree.”

Rachel grimaced. “Gross.”

“So how did it end?” It was the first time Sally had spoken.

Xander smiled sadly. “How does it always end? Buffy defeated the Big Bad, shut down the Initiative, and saved the day.”

“So it never re-banded then?” Pipa asked hopefully.

Xander shifted in his seat. “Well… it more or less changed shape and focus. The science arm of it died, but the military continued to hunt down demons, only to kill them rather than study them. They came to understand them as nothing more than animals – but, you know, really exotic ones. But still threats to society.”

“So they fought on our side,” Dawn explained.

“Like they do now,” Pipa offered. “We’ve all heard about the military killing demons. They stay out of our way; we stay out of theirs.”

Xander looked over to Dawn, who nodded for him to continue.

“Look… you guys are too young to know this, but we did have our problems with the military in the early days. Big problems in fact. Like, World War Z problems.”

“Zombies?!”

“Metaphor, Pipa.” Xander.

“What kind of problems?” Sonny asked warily.

“Too many to count, really. We were ‘Enemy Number One’ to them for a while. Then there was peace. And then… attempts at recruitment.”

Tori frowned. “Recruitment? You mean like a Slayer army unit?”

Xander nodded. “That, and more. It was all very Captain America. They wanted to learn about Slayer power – you know, your superior strength and speed. Your accelerated healing time. The idea was to extract from the studies the means to enhance human soldiers.”

“So back to the experiments,” Gina injected. “Like this Initiative.”

“Yeah,” Xander admitted. “But with cooperative subjects this time. The idea was official recruitment with remuneration and benefits. Slayers were given the opportunity to serve their country and their fellow man.”

“Don’t we do that already?” Mel.

Xander raised his hands in defense.

“So did they get any recruits?” Sonny asked.

Xander nodded.

And the room fell quiet again.

Dawn continued this time. “When we awoke the Potentials, there were a lot of Slayers, all with different agendas. Over the years, some were attracted to the offer. It was a chance to be a part of something more traditional, or more nationalistic, or more… I don’t know. Mainstream. Something you could tell your friends and family about. And the military paid a lot better than the Council did. Better hours too.”

“Are they still recruiting?” Gina asked.

Dawn shook her head. “I don’t think so. At least, not that we’re aware of. The Council frowned upon the activity.”

“Why?” Tori.

Dawn met Spike’s eyes briefly, before looking away. “Willow… she wanted the military to share with the Council the results of their scientific enquiries into Slayer power. They refused.”

Spike stood up abruptly, suppressing a wince from the pain, and started pacing a small stretch of floor, despite his discomfort.

“After that, Willow tried to dissuade other Slayers from joining them. Since we haven’t lost any from our ranks in years, we’d assumed they’d stopped recruiting.”

“Until now.” Sonny.

“But why now?” Pipa questioned. “And why kidnap Buffy?”

Spike stopped pacing. “Pet, in what bleeding dimension would Buffy ever consent to being recruited by a bunch of jarheads?”

“Okay,” Pipa conceded. “I see your point. But then why not try for other Slayers that might consent?”

Spike tilted his head back in disbelief. “Open your fucking eyes, Longstock. This isn’t just another Slayer they’ve snatched.”

Pipa blinked in confusion.

A weary sigh escaped his lips. “Hate to break it to you, ducks, but you’re not that special, you Slayers – despite my belief to the contrary for the bulk of two centuries. Slayers don’t do anything more remarkable than what any human can do. They run, they fight, they kick, they shag, they hit, they heal. They just do it all faster.”

Pipa furrowed her brow in thought.

Spike looked around the room at faces equal parts gloom and confusion. “Think about it, people. Buffy isn’t like any of you. That woman can do what no human has ever done before in the history of mankind.”

Half a dozen mouths dropped open with the realization.

“She doesn’t die.”


* * * * *


“Save the world?”

Shaggy nodded.

“And you think you need to kidnap a Slayer in order to go along with that plan?”

“I was led to believe that you wouldn’t come voluntarily.”

Buffy clenched her teeth. “By who?”

“You mean ‘whom’.”

“Whatever.”

“I told you, Miss Summers. I was a Watcher. It follows that I would have some knowledge of you. I studied you when I was still employed by the Council. There are volumes of information about you in the Council Library, you know. Your exploits, your personality traits, your particular skill sets. Your battles.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “The Penis Lady! You sent her?”

He laughed. “What’s funny, Miss Summers, is that I know exactly to whom you’re referring.”

“I take that as a ‘yes’, then.”

He shrugged. “Just a test. An easy one, too. I certainly didn’t think any harm would come to you.”

“And the Dragvloks?”

“Also. A more formidable test, of course. But your confrontation with the Dragvloks was inevitable. You destroyed their homeland if I’m not mistaken. I merely assisted them in exacting their vengeance. They’re not the brightest of species, you know.”

“You bastard!” Buffy struggled once more against her constraints. “Do you have any idea how many girls were lost in that battle?”

“A proper dozen, I believe.”

“And that means nothing to you.”

“They were Slayers, Miss Summers. Born to wage war against the forces of darkness and to die young in so doing. No Slayer has ever reached the age of thirty. Excluding present company, of course.”

A wave of nausea washed over her suddenly. She was an idiot. “That’s what this is about. My...” She hesitated to admit it out loud.

“Immortality. It’s the worst kept secret, Miss Summers, to anyone who knows anything about you.”

She searched his face, as if answers could be found there. “So what… you have a suicide mission to save the world and you need me to do it because I won’t stay dead?”

He smirked. “Of sorts.”

“Does it involve hurting anyone?”

“You’d be the only one at risk.”

“And it’s a mission for good?”

“As I’ve said. A mission for the salvation of humanity.”

“Then let me go! You didn’t need to kidnap me and hurt the man I lo–“

She swallowed and recomposed herself. “Look, whoever you’re working for, whatever their mission… if their goal is the same as mine, you don’t need to hold me captive. You’re gonna have to release me at some point anyway if you want my help.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps, not.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Wait. What are we saving the world from exactly?”

Shaggy smiled.

“You’re not going to tell me.”

He shook his head. “I think she’d kill me if I stole the pleasure from her.”


* * * * *


“Of course!” Xander pounded the sofa in frustration.

“We should have thought of this before, Xander,” Dawn acknowledged. “Someone like Buffy would be of interest to all sorts of nefarious people.”

Pipa took to twisting her shirt in her hands. “Oh dear.”

“Calm down, Pip.” Gina. “The question now is, how do we find out who and where these fuckers are?”

THUMP

Spike kicked the sofa with force – startling everyone – and almost fainted himself from the pain it sent through to his hip.

Dawn rushed to his side. “Spike, are you al–“

“I should have thought of it before.” He put his hands in his hair and pulled.

“Spike, stop it! What –?”

“The fucking license plate number. I read it. I know it.”

Xander stood up. “You know the–?”

“All the bloody time we’ve wasted talking and–“

“Spike, just tell–“

But he was already walking to the other end of the sofa where Sonny sat. “We need the ex.”

Gina snorted. “Fuck, Angelus. Since when do we need his sorry ass?”

Sonny flitted her eyes to Gina before returning to Spike.

“He means Max,” she muttered quietly.

“Of course!” Pipa. “He’s a cop. He could find the truck and send the cops–”

“No.” Spike kept his eyes on Sonny. “We don’t want the cops to go after it. We just want to know where the truck is headed. Who it belongs to.”

Sonny lowered her head. “Who’s got a phone?”

Spike pulled out his own.

No one uttered a word as Sonny called her brother.

….

“Max, it’s me.”

…

“Never mind that now. I need your help.”

…

“Max, just–“

…

“Buffy’s in trouble.”

….

“Will you just shut up and–“

….

“Kidnapped.”

…

“She was snatched at Venice Beach about an hour ago.”

…

“I don’t know. She was scooped up by a black, armored truck. We’ve got a license plate nu–“

…

Sonny looked up to Spike.

“7BVS199,” he whispered.

“7BVS199,” she repeated.

…

“Never mind who–“

…

“No! Max, we don’t want the cops involved. Just find out who owns the truck and where they are. This is Slayer business. We can’t risk losing her because the LAPD–“

….

“No. We don’t want you either. You’ll–“

…

Sonny hung up the phone and shoved it back towards Spike.

“Well?” Dawn.

"He’s putting out an APB on the truck now, with instructions to follow at a distance, but not pursue.”

“Thank god.” Pipa.

But Spike wasn’t the least bit pleased. “If it’s not too late.” He turned away from Sonny, hands on his hips and head down. “The bastards could be anywhere by now. If I had only–“

“Stop it, Spike.” Dawn walked over to face him. “We don’t need you beating yourself up any more than you already are. This isn’t your fault. These people were obviously after her. They were going to find a way to get to her sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but they hadn’t found a way until I’d gotten to town.”

Dawn sighed in exasperation. “Spike, please don’t–“

“We knew about them, Dawn.” He looked up at her guiltily.

Pause.

“What?”

“Buffy and I. We knew she was being followed. Being watched.”

“What the hell?!” Xander was in his face. “What exactly did you know?”

Spike shut his eyes. “There was a guy. In Santa Lucia. He’d been watching Buffy for some time. Years, maybe.”

“Jesus, Spike, you should’ve–“

“We’d only just discovered it ourselves.” Spike thought about mentioning Shaggy’s connection with the Dragvloks, but thought better of it in present company, still mourning as they were. “Buffy found his lair in Santa Lucia. There were pictures of her on the wall. Black-ops type equipment. Passports. Disguises. And…”

He looked at Dawn. “The Complete Library of the Watchers’ Council.”

Dawn put a hand to her stomach.

“Mother fuckers!” Gina.

Dawn shook her head. “No.”

Mel protested. “Like hell–“

“No,” Dawn insisted. “This wasn’t the Council. This wasn’t Willow.”

“She’s right,” Xander insisted. “If this guy had a Council Library, he didn’t get it from the Council. We’ll call Willow now–“

Spike grabbed Xander by the shirt, lifting him inches off the ground. “You call that bitch, and it’ll be the last call you make, Harris.”

“Spike, stop it!” Dawn’s tone brooked no room for argument. “No one is calling the Council.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at Dawn, lowering the Whelp slowly after she nodded in reassurance.

“But hon,” Xander protested. “Willow could help–“

“No, Xander. Spike’s right. We do this ourselves. For all we know someone in the Council is involved. It’s a big place. There could be a mole. We just don’t know.”

“Fine. So what do we do now, Spike?” Gina.

Spike looked around the room at the worried but determined faces of eight Slayers, and found a new resolve within. It’d been decades since he had any backup in a fight, aside from Buffy the past week. And in the whole of his unlife, he’d never been asked to actually lead a fight. He took an unneeded breath.

“We suit up, ladies. No pointy sticks either. Bring out the big guns.”

Gina nodded her approval, smiling slightly. “Amen to that.”


* * * * *


“This is Colletti.”

“Yes, Detective.”

“I need an APB out on a black armored truck. Model unknown. License plate number…” He looked at the ink on the back of his hand. “7BVS199.”

“What’ve we got, Sir?”

“Kidnapping. The victim is blond, approximately 5 feet 5 inches. Petite frame. Hazel eyes. I need the name under which the truck is registered and the owner’s address ASAP, and send all available cars on the lookout for the vehicle. Instructions: do not pursue. I repeat, do not pursue. It’s highly probable that the kidnappers will flee or harm the woman if they think they’re being followed.”

“Got it, Sir.”

“Call me back on this number with the registration details the moment we’ve got them.”

Max hung up the phone and leaned back in his car seat. Only a day ago he’d suffered the indignity of being reminded of how much he’d lost: the woman he loved and the only family he had left. But today, both were at risk of being torn from his life for good. Whatever it took to get Buffy back, Sonny was sure to be involved.

“Screw it.” He started the engine and turned the car around towards Sonny’s neighborhood. Sonny and Buffy may not want him involved, but they needed him.


* * * * *


He blindfolded her just before the truck stopped, then wheeled the trolley she was on into a building. She felt the cart turn down a series of corridors before it finally stopped where the air took on the scent of disinfectant.

“Take the blindfold off and leave us.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

With the blindfold removed, the harsh fluorescent light of the room pained her eyes, and Buffy had to squint to adjust.

The sound of a heavy door closing made her turn towards the exit, and a beautiful brunette in a lab coat came into view.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Hello, Miss Summers. You don’t mind if I call you, Buffy, do you?”

“Knock yourself out. Literally.”

The woman pursed her lips in displeasure. “I can understand your being upset by our bringing you here this way. It couldn’t be avoided however, as I highly doubt that you would’ve come voluntarily.”

“I’m starting to doubt that myself.”

“While our treatment of you thus far has been regrettable, it is hardly our modus operandi. On the contrary, we believe quite fervently in the adherence to ethical practice.”

“Clearly.”

“And given our philosophy, I feel compelled to be entirely truthful with you from the start about who we are, and why you are here. I hope that when you come to understand our goals, you’ll become more accepting of our methods, and of the role that you must play in our efforts.”

“Enough with the vagueness, lady. Please. Just tell me who you are and what the hell you want with me.”

The brunette pulled an imaginary hair back into place into her tightly held bun, before folding her arms in front of her.

“My name is Dr. Vivienne Berger. I’m a clinical geneticist and head of the pharmaceutical development division of Iduna, a bioengineering company contracted by the U.S. Government.”

Buffy widened her eyes in disbelief. “You work for a drug company?!”

“Not exactly. Iduna is much more than that. We are leaders in the advancement of biomedical technologies to address the multitude of maladies that afflict mankind. We work closely with the National Institutes of Health, the CDC, and the World Health Organization.”

“So you’re legit. And you’re telling me that all of these organizations approve of your kidnapping American citizens?”

“Of course not. We’re not in the practice of recruiting unwilling subjects. You’re the first and the last such subject. Unique. But you know that already.”

It was all becoming clear to Buffy, terrifyingly so. “You want to study me.”

Dr. Berger attempted a smile. “More than that, Buffy. We want to share you with the world. If we can come to understand the origin of your immortality and regeneration, imagine what we can do for humanity. We’re talking about the end of sickness. The end of aging. The very defeat of death.”

Silence.

“You’re an idiot.”

Dr. Berger flinched. “Excuse me?”

“You clearly don’t know much about me, or how I came to be this way. This isn’t natural, Dr. Berger. It’s magic. Something you’ll never understand.”

The doctor smirked. “You speak of magic, and I’m the idiot? What is magic but the manipulation of unseen forces? Magic is energy and physics. Is it magic that makes it rain? Or a science early man did not understand? Is it magic that enables modern man to live to be 110, when he once lived for half that length of time? No. It’s medicine. Magic is nothing more than science not yet understood.”

Buffy blinked. She wasn’t a witch. She didn’t understand magic any better now than she did when Willow had been floating pencils. She couldn’t deny that her friend had always spoken of magic in terms of energy.

“Fine. So it’s all science in the end. Let’s go back to how I ended up on a metal slab. How did you find out about me? Through the bastard who kidnapped me? How did you find him?”

“You’re the world’s worse kept secret, Buffy. The government has known about Slayers since the Initiative, around the turn of the century. Our understanding of Slayers then grew considerably during the period of military recruitment. We learned of your Council of Watchers and of Slayer strengths and weaknesses. Many of your colleagues who joined us were all too cooperative with our studies – most of those studies performed right here. They were consenting subjects, and were compensated handsomely.”

“And Shaggy?”

Dr. Berger furrowed her brow.

“My kidnapper.”

“Ah. He was a Watcher tasked by your Council to investigate the whereabouts of our subjects years after their recruitment. His investigations ultimately led him to me. It was he who educated us about your particular gifts. And he was thereafter tasked with observing you in the field. We wanted a better appreciation of your superior gifts, you see. He assured us that you were unlikely to cooperate with such tests in our laboratories. His observations were to conclude in a few months, but we were forced to expedite things when you discovered him.”

“And just how exactly did you get him to change sides in the first place?”

“He didn’t change sides, as I’ve been trying to explain to you. We both fight for humanity.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean. How did you get him to leave the Council?”

“It wasn’t difficult. He was simply offered the opportunity to have a significantly greater impact on the course of human history. Tell me, Buffy, honestly. How much good can one girl do the world by killing one demon at a time with a stick or a sword?”

“How dare–“

“Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to insult your efforts. There is undeniable good in what you do. But even after multiplying one Slayer by a thousand, a Slayer can only save one life at a time. Your work is noble, but your results are trivial.”

Buffy balked. “Do you have an idea how many apocalypti I’ve stopped?”

“Apocalypses?” Dr. Berger gave her a condescending look. “I think we’re entering the realm of myth now, Buffy.”

Buffy shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“My point–“

“I get your point, Dr. No. You think I’m more useful to the world as a lab rat than as a Slayer, assuming you can figure out a way to give all mankind my immortality.”

“That’s not exactly the aim. This planet can only sustain so many people, after all. The point is to progress our capability for the sustainment of life.”

Buffy shook her head. “It’ll never work. You’re deluding yourself. And you’re crapping all over your supposed ethics in the process.”

The doctor’s face turned stony. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Buffy. I really am.” Turning towards a mirror on the far wall, Dr. Berger nodded, as if signaling to someone behind the glass.

From the mirror, Buffy cast her eyes across the rest of the room, inspecting her surroundings for the first time. It was a hospital room, with machines and tools. No, an operating theatre. And by the head of her bed was an alarming contraption with a giant canister and tubes. She struggled against her shackles yet again, and with much less difficulty, though no more success.

She gasped quietly. The drugs. They were wearing off.

She could feel her normal strength rapidly returning to her muscles. If only they would leave her alone long enough for her to–

“Our studies of other Slayers have taught us what it would take to keep you bound, Buffy. Your restraints are ten times stronger than that needed for other Slayers.”

Buffy clenched both fists and growled, only to turn slack in her shackles at the sight of three men appearing at the door.

“What are you going to do me?!”

“Calm yourself, Buffy. They’ll be no observations of your resurrection process until we take preliminary samples. We’ll begin by taking some biopsies – skin, muscle and bone marrow.”

“What?” It was a croak, barely audible.

“You’ll be put to sleep for the procedure.” The doctor smiled. “After all, we do have ethics.”

“Please,” she whimpered.

“Wasted breath, Buffy. This really shouldn’t trouble you much.”

The three men wore white coats and approached her on all sides – one of them with a needle of some sort in his hand. Buffy wailed as he stuck the needle into her arm – not from the pain but from the intrusion. Shutting her eyes, she sobbed openly in the face of her demise.

She was asleep within seconds.