XXVIII

Weapons Room, Slayer Central, 11:00 p.m.

“Hello, beautiful.“

In another situation, the sight of the short, silver mace with a ruby-studded skull for its head might have made Spike smile. But he was as serious as a Saharan sunrise right now.

As he ghosted his fingers along its spikes, a drop of blood arose from the pad of his fingertip at the slightest touch of a point.

“This’ll do me just fine.”

Grabbing the mace, he swung it lightly in his hand to appreciate its weight and balance, before scanning the wall for more weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sonny grabbing a crossbow.

“Stick to conceal-ables, pet,” he said sternly.

She frowned in protest before ultimately nodding and picking up a tomahawk instead.

“Spike?” Gina raised a bastinada in the air for his inspection.

He nodded. “Now we're talking.”

The other girls selected similarly small but deadly weapons. Xander and Dawn stood at the doorway watching the group.

“Uh, guys?” Xander injected.

Spike and the girls stopped abruptly and looked to the older man in the doorway.

“I’m all for weapons, here. I mean, they come in handy. But these aren’t demons we’re looking to slay. We’re talking about rescuing Buffy from human 'Initiative types', right?”

Spike clenched his jaw. “And?”

Xander raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I’m just thinking that the most important part of our plan shouldn't be weaponry, but... you know, the actual plan.”

Silence.

Xander persisted. “I mean, once we find out where Buffy is, how do we get to her? How do we infiltrate?"

Spike's face was expressionless. "We wait for the ex's call. When we know who the hell has got her and where, we'll plan. For now, we get ourselves sorted."

Xander sighed. "Fine, but do we really need maces and billy clubs to confront a bunch of lab coats?"

"I could get guns."

"Gina!" Pipa admonished.

She shrugged. "What? Yeah, they're for punks normally, but how's a gun worse than a tomahawk? With the folks we're probably dealing with, they'd both get the job done. And Xander's right. We may not always be at close range to do damage."

Xander sighed. "Gina, that was so very much not my point regarding weapons."

Spike stepped forward. "Then what was your point?"

And up went his hands again. "I don't know! Or, I do. The point was the plan - you know, that thing we don't have. This isn't the tenth century. We're not going to war with barbarian hordes. We don’t even know where we’re going yet, Spike, so we can't possibly know what we'll need."

Spike slackened his grip on the chain-link of his mace, causing it to dangle dangerously at his side. "I know whoever took Buffy needs to see the pointy end of this."

Xander looked down, defeated.

Spike continued. "The rest is just details."

"Um..."

Spike looked over at Pipa, toying with a twelve-inch blade. "But isn't that kind of where the devil is, Spike?"

Spike smiled slightly at the petite, ash-blond. "I'm the bleeding devil now, pet."

Pipa blinked. "Oh."

Spike scanned the group of girls. "And you're Hell's bloody Angels, ladies. So get your asses in gear. We need to be ready for anything."

He didn't give Harris a second look as he secured his grip on the mace and marched back towards the wall of the world's deadliest toys.

Not once did he let himself flinch from the agonizing pain in his hips.

* * * * *

Iduna Headquarters, Operating Room 3, 11:00 p.m.

The demon's claw would have torn out her lungs if Spike's sudden arrival hadn't startled the monster. She wanted to scream for him to hurry, but the scaly arm down her throat prevented her.

It didn't matter though.

He knew. And he was there, tearing the demon away before it succeeded in choking her from the inside.

Buffy gagged and gasped for air once free of it.

"Sp-"

She could barely make out the beginning of his name, her throat was so raw.

"The endotracheal tube is out now, Buffy."

That wasn't Spike.

"How do you feel?"

And that wasn't compassion she was hearing either.

Opening her eyes, Buffy oriented herself quickly. White coats. Fluorescent lights. Mad scientist.

And shackles.

But none of that disturbed her as much as the thought of her having been unconscious and... Oh god. Naked. They had somehow removed her clothes and had gowned her while she'd been out.

"Buffy?"

Buffy ignored her. She really wished the bad guys didn't talk so damn much. She could feel a fury begin to boil in her blood, but ignored that too as she assessed her body for missing pieces. She could feel a wound on the outside of her right thigh, long and into muscle. But there was another at her left hip which felt even deeper. There was a boring sort of pain to it - unlike any she'd ever felt before, but not excruciating. And there was a similar kind of pain over her left shin.

Biopsies.

Buffy bit down on her bottom lip until it bled. The taste of her own blood was strangely soothing. She swiped her tongue over her teeth to make sure they were all there.

"Buffy. I'd like to know if you're in any pain."

There was a stinging pain to the surface of her stomach too, she noticed suddenly, as if they'd taken some skin. Ugh. There'd been a demon that did that once. To Willow, when she'd been invisible. A Gnarl it was called... It was decades ago, but she still remembered how it would paralyze its victims to eat their skin, strip by strip, like little biopsies for food.

Until Buffy killed it to death.

She really felt like killing something to death right now. Balling her hands into fists, she flexed her arms unconsciously against her shackles and discovered that something else had changed too.

Her eyes widened imperceptibly with the realization. Aside from a bit of post-anesthetic grogginess, whatever drugs they'd given her in the truck had worn off completely. She felt as strong as she'd ever been.

No. Stronger.

Her heart shuddered but didn’t sink.
That inevitably meant that the world had lost one or more Slayers somewhere since she'd been snatched. That would normally sadden her more than it did now. Despite her unnatural longevity - or perhaps because of it - her instinct for self-preservation only intensified. Lying naked in shackles, and after bits of her had been taken, she took the strength those Slayers gave her with relief.

"You know, you achieve nothing by your stubborn silence, Buffy."

Buffy answered her finally, with a new sense of power. "You're right, Dr. Berger. If it means you keep talking."

Dr. Berger's mouth twitched from the insult. "So tell me. Are you in pain?"

"Do you care?"

The doctor folded her arms. "Yes. For the sake of ethical practice, and for your psychological comfort, you were put to sleep for the procedure, but we did not administer any analgesia."

"Any what?"

"Pain killers. I was interested in gauging your pain tolerance."

Buffy scoffed.

"I see what you're thinking, but my intention was not to distress you. Our research shows that over the decades you've suffered unspeakable wounds at the hands of your opponents, and yet you've always found the strength and resolve to defeat them in the end. This leads me to conclude that your ability to tolerate pain is as remarkable as your other abilities."

Silence.

Buffy chuckled.

Dr. Berger frowned, leading Buffy's amusement to evolve into full-throated laughter.

The doctor repositioned her glasses. "Clearly, I've missed something."

Buffy would have held her stomach if she wasn't restrained.

"Enough."

But Buffy didn't stop, though her laughter settled down to something light and easy.

Dr. Berger turned sharply to leave the room.

"Don't you get it?" Buffy spoke to her back.

Dr. Berger stopped without turning around.

"You said it yourself, you moron. I always defeat them in the end."

Slowly, Dr. Berger looked back, her face now settled into something cruel. "Prepare the apheresis machine."

Buffy narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Huh?"

The unexpected sound of footsteps at the head of her bed alerted Buffy to the presence of someone else in the room.

"So soon? And at this hour?" It was a man’s voice.

It was Dr. Berger's chance to smile. "Why not? You get paid overtime, Sam. Miss Summers is clearly unaffected by the previous procedure. The more samples we have at our disposal at the earliest opportunity, the better. The sooner we sample, the sooner we can proceed with our observation of her resurrection and... other tests. You can go home and get some rest after the apheresis. We'll have a busy day tomorrow."

Buffy had no idea what an afro-seesus machine was, but she was positive that it had nothing to do with a change in hairstyle. She refused to give Dr. Berger the pleasure of her ignorance though.

"Bring it on, Dr. Doolittle."

Dr. Berger knit her brow.

’Yeah, okay. That was lame’, Buffy decided.

The doctor disappeared, leaving at least one sidekick in the room. Buffy needed to know if there were more.

"So I guess it's just you and me now, Pinky."

A very young-looking blond in a lab coat stepped into view on her right side and smiled.

"Hello again, Miss Summers."

"Oh. You were the one that put this needle in my arm. Where's your partner in crime? There were two of you."

A middle-aged man appeared on her left from somewhere beyond the head of her bed. He didn't smile.

"Ah. Tweedle Dum. Any chance your resident hostage could get a drink of water in between torture sessions? My throat is killing me from that demon claw you shoved down my throat."

The two men exchanged looks, the blond one pursing his lips in disapproval. "My apologies, Miss Summers. You must be thirsty."

"Sam-"

But Sam interrupted him. "If we're going to do this now, it's best she be given some fluid first. It's the least we would do for any other patient."

The older one scowled. "She's got a drip, Sam."

"And her throat is dry. Get her some juice." Sam's tone was authoritative, which made Buffy conclude that he was in charge, despite his age.

The older man looked away, before leaving the room in a huff.

Buffy smiled internally.

And then there was one.


* * * * *

The sound of a pounding at the door startled everyone at Slayer Central, as they gathered into the common room with their weapons of choice.

"Great," Sonny exhaled wearily.

"You mean-?"

"Yeah, Gina. You know how he is. He couldn't just call us with the intel. Not with Buffy in danger."

Spike tensed his jaw in thought. "Can't see what difference it makes how the ex gives us the information we need, just as long as he stays out of our way."

"If he's here, good luck keeping him out of it," Sonny warned.

The pounding persisted.

Xander sighed. "We'll why don't we invite the guy in, before we tell him to butt out? There's a plan."

The ex was clearly a gentleman. As Xander let him in, Max promptly shook the older man's hand. "Mr. Harris."

"Max, come on, man. It's Xander. Don't make me feel so geriatric."

Max managed a smile through a face full of fret. "Xander. It's been a long time. Forgive my being abrupt, but-"

Max noticed Sonny in the distance, stepping closer towards the door.

"Sonny, how are you?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm not the one who's been snatched, Max."

"I know, but-"

"I'm f-"

"Hate to break up the family reunion here, pet, but Buffy doesn't have time for this." Spike walked past Sonny, hands on his hips, to stand face to face with Max, though the cop was a full head taller. "What do you know?"

Affronted, Max looked to Sonny. "Who's this g-?"

"I’m Spike. You’re Max. And now we've dispensed with the 'how dos you dos'. So start talking. Who's got her and where?"

Still unsettled, Max sputtered his reply. "I'm sorry, Sonny, who is this person and wh-?"

Dawn stepped up. "Max, please. Just tell us what you know. It's Buffy."

Looking at Dawn, the cop relented. "Dawn, God. I'm so sorry. You must be worried sick with-"

"Max," Dawn whispered urgently.

The ex nodded once, then gravely looked around the room. "I don't know what you can do about any of this without police help."

"Jesus, Max!" Harris blurted. "The suspense is killing Buffy."

"Iduna," Max hurried in reply. “We traced the truck to a bioengineering company called Iduna."

Dawn put a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes.

Harris put an arm around her.

Max addressed the larger group. "I checked out the website on the way over here. Apparently, it's a highly respected company with strong ties to government and the major health organizations. They've made some of the most important advances in human health in the last twenty years."

Gina snorted. "Whoopdee fuckin' do."

"What is that?" The ex's eyes were on Gina's hands.

Xander put a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. "It's a bastinada," he muttered.

Max scrunched up his face. "A what?"

Xander shook his head. "Never mind."

Max stepped closer to the pile of weapons on the common room sofa. "What are all these weird weapons?"

"Really, Max. Don't ask," Xander said wearily.

"No, wait a minute. Just what do you people plan on doing with this - this stuff?"

"What the hell do you mean by 'you people'?"

"Calm down, Gina. He means Slayers."

Gina glared at her fellow Slayer. "Yeah, I got that, Stevie."

"Max, back to Iduna. Please." Dawn was the only one betraying her anxiety.

He nodded, still distracted by their weapons cache. "Of course. But this part you're not going to like."

"Were we supposed to like the first part?" Stevie snarked.

Max thinned his lips to hold his tongue, then took a moment to settle himself. "From what they advertise, Iduna is a also leader in the ethical use of human subjects, particularly in the study of blood-born pathogens that alter the course of the human life cycle."

"Let me guess," Dawn replied sullenly. "Blood born pathogens is a euphemism."

"Ew." Tori. "You mean like for herpes?"

Gina grimaced. "What have you been doin' nights, girl?"

"What?" Tori protested.

"So they study vampires," Pipa interjected, retraining everyone's focus.

"And now Slayers," Tori added.

A hush fell over the room.

Spike could feel what little blood he had left start to simmer.

Pipa broke the silence. "So we're talking mad scientists, after all. We figured as much, right?"

"Yeah," Sonny replied. "Only not mad. Respected and legitimate."

Hands still on mangled hips, Spike approached Max again and spoke icily. "Where are they and what kind of security have they got?"

Max narrowed his yes, only answering after a pleading look from Dawn. "All I've got is an address. It's not like I had time to do reconnaissance myself, and I told the patrol car who spotted the truck not to pursue. He followed the truck at a distance as far as a mile from a compound on the furthest outskirts of Sierra Madre."

"Sierra Madre?" Sonny echoed. "That makes sense, it being out of the way like that."

"It's basically in the wilderness," Pipa added.

"Well the patrolman said it looked to be a pretty expansive compound, but he couldn't get close to see more without arising suspicion. He was pretty sure he'd been spotted anyway. But I managed to pull up real-time satellite images on my own computer in the car."

"And?" Gina.

"It's a circular building, like a doughnut, about 500 yards in diameter, and with only four exits, if you can believe it."

"I can believe it," Xander interrupted. "Security is a lot easier with only a few ways in and out."

Max continued. "Security does seem to be a priority there. Close-up images showed wire fencing surrounding the place, no doubt electric, and armed guards at each entrance."

"Just eight guards?" Gina questioned with disbelief.

"Plus a watch tower in the center of the doughnut."

Xander exhaled audibly. "Okay. So now we arrive at that pesky point of needing a plan."

"That's why you need me," Max asserted. "If there's evidence of kidnapping, this falls under police jurisdiction. The police can hold a mainstream organization like this criminally accountable for their-"

"No."

Spike had no experience in being so readily heeded, but he wasn't surprised to have silenced the room. After all, they'd automatically turned to him to lead this operation.

But Max hadn't. "Look, I don't know who you are to Sonny or to Bu-"

"You're right," Spike continued. "We do need you. But only you. A company as powerful and no doubt as rich as this one would have politicians and cops in their back pockets. Buffy's not getting out of that place unless we take her out."

Max shook his head in frustration, "But-"

"So here's the plan," Spike interrupted.

And only one man had the stage.


* * * * *

Buffy quickly tested the strength of her shackles while the doctor's back was turned.

"So Sam. It's Sam, right?"

"Yes."

"I knew a Sam. She was a girl, though. Or, a woman, I mean."

"Um... okay."

Tilting and twisting her head back, Buffy could just see Sam busily engaged in something medically sinister at a table full of instruments. Inhaling deeply, she pushed her wrists up against her shackles, but couldn’t muster enough power to weaken the iron at her wrists.

"So, Sam."

"Yes, Buffy."

"Mind telling me what you have planned for me? What's this afro thing about anyway?"

Sam let slip a chuckle, and Buffy used the distraction to push against her shackles once more.

"Apheresis," he replied, his back still turned. "You needn't worry. It's very safe. It's the same procedure used with plasma donors."

"Oh. So I'm just giving plasma? Correction. So you're just stealing plasma from me?"

Silence.

Bingo. Buffy suspected Doogie Howser here wasn't entirely comfortable with kidnapping. He looked to be turning around to reply, so Buffy rested her arms at her sides.

Approaching her left side, Sam looked mildly regretful. "The procedure involves inserting a needle into your arm and withdrawing whole blood into a machine."

"You've already got a needle in my arm."

"No. That's an intravenous line. A short, blunt piece of plastic through which we deliver drugs and fluids. We only used a needle to gain entry into the vein. Plasma apheresis will require a larger gauge needle to remain in the vein during the procedure."

"Great. Who doesn't love needles?"

He smiled slightly. "Yes. Well, the machine you see by your head draws blood from the vein and spins out the plasma into the bag there. The rest of the blood, your red blood cells, gets returned to your body."

"You pump the red cells back in?"

He nodded.

"Does it hurt?" She was more curious than worried.

"Not at all. Or, only mildly." He added hurriedly, "Uh, very mildly."

Buffy eyed him suspiciously. "So you don't want my red blood cells to study?"

Sam looked down briefly. "Uh... no, we do. This preliminary procedure however, enables us to examine the concentration and nature of your various immunoglobulins, plus or minus any other plasma proteins that might contribute to your healing abilities. The average human body will replace lost plasma in a couple of days, so the loss will not adversely influence other studies in the near future."

She could hear Spike's rumbling baritone in her ears. 'It's always the blood.' "So you plan on taking my whole blood later." It wasn't a question.

Sam nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Buffy's mouth fell open. "Oh my god. You're going to drain me, aren't you?"

He turned away quickly, and Buffy wasted no time in silently thrusting against her shackles again.

"I shouldn't say anymore."

She thrust again and spoke to his back. "Why the hell not? I'm going to find out anyway when you do it!"

His back still turned, Sam lowered his head. "Dr. Berger felt that a complete draining would be the most reliable way to simulate your previous deaths and reincarnations."

"Why? I've never been drained by a vampire!" But then Angel suddenly came to mind. "Okay, maybe once," she grumbled. "But it didn't kill me." Now annoyed on top of furious, Buffy channeled her emotions into further pulling against her shackles.

Sam turned back around. "Dr. Berger is aware that your previous deaths were largely caused by what would normally be fatal wounds. That would lead us to believe that you’ve been able to reincarnate after deaths by blood loss. A clinical draining would be the most humane way of simulating those previous experiences. We would be loathe to employ any other means of cessation of life for our first attempt."

Buffy's eyes widened comically. "First?"

Sam looked away quickly once again, before gently grasping her left arm in his hands. Only then did she notice the needle and tourniquet in his hands.

"What-?"

"It's just the needle for the blood draw, Buffy, as I explained."

His hands were shaking slightly, and Buffy pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Ow."

He looked up at her in annoyance.

It was just the tourniquet, but still.

"Where's my juice?" she whined.

Sam stopped momentarily, distracted by the question. "Yes, Robert should have returned."

"My throat is killing me here, Pinky."

He searched her face with skepticism.

She tried again. "I thought you guys were supposed to uphold the highest ethical standards or whatever. You can't even give your tortured guinea pigs some juice?"

Sam exhaled slowly. "I'll set up the machine, get things started, and then I'll go see about a drink for you."

Buffy did a Snoopy Dance internally and gave him a winning smile. "Thanks, Sam."

His face softened. "Just don't try anything while I'm gone, okay?"

"Like what? Yodeling? I'm shackled to the table for god's sake! What-"

"Still. There are two armed guards outside, down the hall. I know you're indestructible, but I don't want to see you harmed unnecessarily."

Buffy gave him a look of disbelief.

"I realize that must sound silly to you."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Just let me set things up."

Despite her tourniquet antics, Buffy didn't flinch when the enormous needle went into her arm, and watched with some interest as he connected the needle with tubing to the afro machine.

"So how long will this process take?"

"Over an hour. We're taking out a liter, which is more than we would normally withdraw from someone your size. You can't be more than 130 pounds."

"Hey! Maybe in my forties, buster, but only when I was working in France. Have you tasted their cheeses?"

She'd made him chuckle again.

Humph. She'd definitely be winning him over before her escape was complete.

"Alright, Buffy. You're good to go. If you were feeling cooperative, you might assist us by squeezing this foam in your fist every few minutes or so, to encourage flow, but not when the red blood cells are returned."

She glared again with incredulity. "Too bad I'm not feeling cooperative, then. I'm kinda saving that fist for Dr. Berger's front teeth."

Hastily, Sam spun around and left, failing to hide the amusement from his face.

Idiot. He thought she was kidding.

* * * * *

Sierra Madre, 12:30 a.m.

Max drove quietly for a long stretch of highway, casting his eyes occasionally at the Slayer called Mel. He hadn't really spent much time with Slayers other than Buffy and Sonny, and neither of them had really talked to him much about their work.

"So Melanie..."

"It's just Mel." She didn't shift her gaze from out the passenger side window.

"If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

Unbelievable. A girl that young had no business fighting monsters, and with such primitive weapons no less. It just wasn't right. Correction. It was insane. She should've been planning for her senior prom. Sonny had missed her senior prom, he recalled. He'd even offered to escort her, though he could see now how that might've been weird.

"So when did you become a Slay-"

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"How about we go over the plan again."

"You mean Spike's plan."

"Yeah. Also known as The Plan."

"Who is that guy anyway?"

She didn't answer.

"Is he someone's boyfriend?"

"He's the man with the plan, Max. That's all that matters."

Max sighed. He really should be used to cagey women and their secret clubs by now. But why that guy got to be in the club, he was dying to know.

"He looks pretty old to be dating anyone but Bu-"

"Max. The plan."

He sucked his teeth. "Right. Okay. I drive up with my lights flashing and ask to speak to the person in charge at this hour."

"And?"

He exhaled dramatically. "I know what to do, Mel. It's my badge on the line here, so I won't be mucking it up."

She looked at him finally. "No one asked for you to risk your badge, you know."

"You're wrong. Spike did. Remember?"

"Yeah, but only after you showed up when Sonny told you not to, and only after you insisted that it should be a police matter."

"Regardless, I'm involved, and of my own free will."

"Great." She returned to her vigil out the passenger side window. "You're role is fairly critical, so... thanks."

He'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the gesture. "So you know your role in this too, right?"

She didn't answer.

"Mel. This is only going to work if you stay in the car. You're not a cop, you've got no badge, and we could both get busted if you don't follow the plan."

"Yeah. No worries."

Max nodded once to reassure himself.

Up ahead, he could see the edge of the compound coming into view. The building was surrounded by several acres of eucalypts, obscuring much of the structure.

"Grab the siren light out of the glove compartment, would you?"

Mel did as he asked. "Can I put it on?" She sounded very much like a girl of her age should sound for a moment, and he smiled in remembrance of a young Sonny excited when he'd gotten his first patrol car.

"Sure. But no sound."

"Why not?" She whined.

"A little too much attention. With watch guards in the tower, they'll see the lights."

"Humph." Rolling down her window, Mel sat inside the window frame and positioned the light on the roof.

"Careful up there!" he shouted, but it did little good. She stayed sitting in the window much longer than necessary.

Once back in the car, she turned serious. "Okay, Max. Time for you to do your thing."

As they drove to the main gate of the compound, a guard stepped out of a control booth, gun holstered. Max slowed the car to a stop at the gate and rolled down his window.

Max tried to sound both friendly and authoritative. "Good evening."

"Good evening, officer," replied the security guard. Peeking his head through the driver side window, he noticed the woman dressed in a black skirt and white blouse. "Ma'am - er uh, officer."

Mel nodded curtly.

"Can I help you with something this evening, officers?"

Max was the picture of calm, though he felt anything but. "I hope so." Pulling out his badge, he opened it for the security guard's inspection. "I'm looking for the driver of an Iduna-registered armored truck, license plate number 7BVS99. He's wanted for questioning, as is the truck."

The security guard raised an eyebrow.

Max stammered. "Uh... that is... the truck is wanted for... uh... inspection."

“Detective Colletti, is it? What’s this about anyway?"

"Were you the driver of that particular truck this evening?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. No, sir, I was not."

"Then I'm sure you can understand that I'm not at liberty to say more."

The guard looked behind him at the building, as if it would give him answers. "Well, uh, I'm sure you understand, I'mma need to check with the bosses upstairs."

"Of course. Happy to wait."

The guard disappeared into his control booth.

"Bingo," Mel chimed.

"Shhh! Stay in character," he whispered.

The two must have been waiting a good five minutes before the guard returned, opened the gate and waved them through.

"Just head straight down this road towards the main entrance. Keep the trees on either side of you and don't turn to circumnavigate the circle. Someone will greet you at the entrance."

Nodding, Max did as instructed.

"Who do you think they'll send out?" Mel whispered.

"At this hour? I can't imagine anyone too important is still here."

"All the better for us then. Of course, seeing as they've only just taken Buffy, it's possible that the scientists are still around."

A sudden nausea overwhelmed him at the thought. "I'd rather not think about that."

As he drove the car down the tree-lined road, another security guard came into view in front of two guards on either side of the main doors. The head guard walked slowly to meet the car outside of the entrance.

A middle-aged man, he approached with an easy confidence not typical of security guards when dealing with cops.

"Detective Colletti, I'm Walter Bridgeman, head of security this evening. I understand you want to speak with the individual who this evening drove an Iduna-registered truck, LP 7BVS99?"

Shit. This guy sounded like a retired cop. Max hoped to god that he wasn't. "Yes, that's correct."

"This can't wait until normal business hours, Detective? All of our drivers have returned their vehicles some time ago and most have gone home."

"I wish it could, Mr. Bridgeman. But... Well, I'm afraid it can't. I'm not at liberty to say more."

The security guard remained silent and stared.

"Can you tell me the name of the person who was driving that truck this evening, Mr. Bridgeman?"

Pause.

Bridgeman did as his junior, and looked back to the building for answers. "If you'll excuse me, Detective, I'll need to speak to the bosses inside about this. I'm not in a position to help you."

Stonewalled.

Max replied with not entirely feigned tedium. "Very well. I can wait."

The head of security disappeared into the building.

Max blew out a breath. "Well at least we're working our way up the food chain."

"That means they're taking this seriously," Mel replied. "They may just give us what we want in the end."

"Yeah. Or Spike's master plan falls apart, and god knows what they'll do to Buffy in the meantime."

"So what's the deal with you and Sonny?"

Max looked at the Slayer. "Trying to change the subject?"

Mel countered. "Are you?"

He looked away.

"I mean, you guys seem to care about each other a lot, or you wouldn't get so emotional when you're around each other. Did you have a falling out or something, or did you just never get along?"

"Then Sonny's never spoke of it," he mumbled, mainly to himself.

"Not to me anyway."

"But we're such good friends, Melanie, that I'll share our family secrets with you?"

Mel's face fell into a scowl. "Fine. Excuse me for taking an interest."

Max sighed. "Mel-"

"Forget-."

"She blames me for our father's death." He looked away.

Silence.

"Oh. Look, man, I'm sorry-"

"And she blames herself too."

Mel didn't reply.

"And I blame myself ... and this whole Slayer nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," she insisted.

"Yeah, well, it destroys as many lives as it saves, Mel. I know Sonny and my lives would be a hell of a lot different if there were no Slayers and vampires in the world."

"Fine. But they exist. So-"

"And our dad would be alive right now," he added angrily.

A quiet melancholy settled in the car. He couldn't believe he'd revealed so much to her. It must have been the stress of the situation and the risk he was taking with his career.

That seemed to silence her however, and Max was all too happy to maintain the silence.

"Max, someone's coming."

Looking up, Max saw a man in casual clothes approaching the car. He couldn't have been more than thirty, and yet looked even more self-possessed than the head of security.

"Good evening, Detective. I understand you wanted to speak with me."

Max was visibly startled. He hadn't expected the driver himself to appear. Looking briefly to Mel, he instructed her to stay put with a glance before stepping out of the vehicle.

“Were you the driver of the truck, license plate number 7BVS99, this evening?”

The man was calm. "I was."

Shit.

“And we're you driving the vehicle when it hit a pedestrian on Beachside Drive at around 9:00 pm this evening?"

Pause.

"I'm afraid I was. A blond gentleman, I believe."

Max swallowed uneasily. The driver was being far too open about his crime. "So you're admitting to a hit and run?"

"I'm admitting to no such thing, Detective. The gentleman was running barefoot down the highway. He was bound to be hit by someone at some stage. I stopped my vehicle to inquire about his injuries. I even offered to take him to the hospital."

"But you didn't call the police?"

The driver smiled with his eyes, clearly non-distressed by the questioning. "The gentleman insisted that he was well, and pleaded with me not to involve the authorities. I imagined he must have been known to you."

"I see." Spike had debriefed Max before they'd left for Iduna about the details of the hit and run, so he knew the driver had done no such thing.

"Tell me. How is the gentleman?" the driver asked with mock concern.

Max thought carefully and quickly about his reply. Anything he said would have to be verifiable by a call to the police department. "I couldn't tell you. The man fled the scene before the police had arrived. I have the details of the incident from multiple witnesses to the event."

"Well then he must not have been very injured, and for that, I'm relieved."

This guy was good. Max would give him that. And there was no way in hell he was just a truck driver.

"Is there anything more, Detective?"

"Yes, sir. A great deal more. While the gentleman may not be here to press charges, I'm afraid you need to come with us to the department for further questioning. And we'll be needing the vehicle for inspection. Your claim to have inquired about the man's wellbeing doesn't fit with any of multiple witness reports."

Pause.

"I see." But he still looked unperturbed.

"You may come freely, or in cuffs. Your choice."

The driver laughed, "Very well, Detective. I think I'll choose freely, then."

It was official. Max hated the guy. "And the truck? We'll be needing it brought out. My colleague will drive it to the department."

The driver casually leaned forward to search the car, spotting Mel in the passenger seat. Squinting his eyes, he studied her for some time.

Max grew impatient. "Sir, the truck."

The driver straightened slowly, wearing an impish grin, while pulling out a cell phone. "Yeah. I need a truck, license plate number 7BVS99. Have it brought out front for confiscation by the LAPD. I'll see that it's returned promptly."

Hanging up, the driver extended his arms. "I'm all yours, Detective. The truck will be out momentarily."

Dumbstruck by the smoothness of the evening's proceedings, Max could only nod. After an awkward pause, he turned to open the back seat door and signaled for Mel to get out. The driver followed without protest and settled himself comfortably inside.

"Am I not to meet your lovely colleague, Detective?"

Max just frowned as he closed the back door.

"Detective?"

Max turned around.

The driver grinned widely. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Max furrowed his brow.

"You forgot to ask me my name."

Shit. He was an idiot to have forgotten something so fundamental - no doubt because for their purposes, it didn't really matter.

"I hadn't forgot, sir. We'll be asking you plenty of questions back at the station. But now that you mention-"

"Reynolds. John Reynolds at your service."

But the name meant nothing to Max.

* * * * *

The Pump and Plug Station, Sierra Madre

A car and a bike sat vacant along the side of the abandoned fuel station, their occupants all scattered about the isolated establishment. Spike paced the full stretch of asphalt relentlessly, flicking consecutive fags into the bushes nearby, and scanning the main road for headlights at every pivot. He'd smoked a full pack of Camels before he was distracted in his routine.

"Are you putting those things out properly?" Stevie challenged.

Spike stopped to glare.

"Well, you're not supposed to smoke at a gas station," Pipa offered in support. “Though I don’t think there’s any gas left in these machines.”

"Yeah?" Spike asked. "And little girls aren't supposed to spend their nights killing things, but you don't see me complaining about it."

"Pacing isn't gonna get them here any faster," Tori added. "That's my best friend risking her life on that mission. You don't see me pulling my hair out."

"Get off his ass, Tori," Gina chided. "Mel's safe with Max. Buffy ain't."

"We don't know that," Tori countered. "Who knows what could've happened."

"What do you think could have happened?" Rachel worried.

"Killed. Kidnapped. Hijacked." Sally.

"Okay guys, time out," Pipa injected anxiously. "How about we think positively about the situation? Mel and Max haven't been gone that long. If all goes to plan, we could be seeing the end of this nightmare before it’s barely begun."

"And if it doesn't go to plan?" Tori asked.

"Well, then we-"

"Hide!" Spike shouted at the sight of headlights in the distance. "Now!"

After a few gasps, the girls did just that - alongside the building, behind old fuel pumps, and in the nearby bushes. Spike chose to back himself behind the van for a better view as Max's car slowed to a stop outside the old convenience store.

There was little time to indulge in relief that the plan had worked so far, as Spike could see Max turn to speak to someone in the back seat. Spike assumed he was lying to the driver about having to take a leak.

Bouncing on his toes with energy, Spike had the patience of a new fledge for a feed. The moment Max headed for the toilets, he was crouching towards the back door of the car.

With supernatural speed, Spike thrust open the back door, threw its passenger on to the asphalt, kicked him fiercely in the head and pinned the bastard's face under his boot.

"Hey!" Max protested, turning around with feigned outrage, and hastening back towards the car. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Who the hell are you?"

"Back off, pig!" Spike shouted, his foot pressing harder into the man's cheek, though the man was too dazed to move. "Or I'll crack his neck like a twig."

Max pulled out his gun as planned. "Stop right there! I'm a cop on police business here! Whatever you want with this man, you're not getting it!"

Spike never let his eyes off their catch. "Now that's where you're wrong, mate, cause you're gonna have to shoot me between the eyes before I let this piece of shite from under my boot."

"Sir, you don't want to make me do that! Because I-"

With significantly less speed, Tori approached Max from behind and punched him in the temple, causing him to collapse on to the asphalt.

But Spike knew it hadn't been so bad a blow.

The remainder of the girls appeared from various positions - splitting up to carry Max to the back of the building and to surround the hostage from all sides.

Spike smiled gleefully at the mush of face under his boot, and into the one dazed but startled eye that he could see. "Looks like your escort is out for the count, mate. You're stuck with us now, and we don't give a rat's ass about your rights. Now I'm gonna lift my boot off your mug in a minute so we can chat properly, but before I do, you get a warning. You're surrounded. Try anything, and Hell's Angels will carve you up for vamp food. Got it?"

The man blinked in recognition.

"Alright then. Let's see what the cat dragged in."

Lifting his boot, Spike kicked the man over onto his back to see his face.

His stomach dropped.

"Bloody hell."

He didn't need a wig of dreadlocks to tell him what every sense in his body was now screaming.

His respect for Buffy's ex grew reluctantly.

Shaggy.

* * * * *

Iduna, 1:00 a.m.

Buffy tried to ignore the sight of the afro-machine as it slowly sucked and churned her blood like a mechanical vampire. She focused her efforts instead on the more pressing matter of her shackles and looked down both her sides to inspect them.

The shackles consisted of wide iron bracelets attached to the table by a short, thick chain. She could lift her wrists no more than a few inches from the table. She'd been blindly pulling against the bracelets before, not really thinking about their construction. Only now did she see that the chain link should be her target, being the weakest point. Using her elbows as a fulcrum, and thereby recruiting the muscles in her upper arm, she fisted her right hand and slowly flexed at the elbow in a biceps curl.

Groaning from the effort, she winced at the noise. But when she looked down her right side again, a smile spread across her face at the sight of the chain, slightly stretched.

'Okay, Buffy. Just a few more of those.'

Taking deep, controlled breaths, Buffy kept her eyes closed and tried to focus all of her power into her right arm. As she pulled her wrist up against the tension, the sudden snap of the chain sent her fist flying towards her breast.

She looked anxiously at the door, as she rubbed soothing circles into her breast. Funny how a punch in the boob always hurt more than anything else.

After three disciplined attempts, she freed her left arm as well, and now found both arms free, albeit adorned with swinging chains. Bolting upright with the thrill of success, Buffy contemplated her options. She could pull out the needles on either arm, but once they were out, she could no longer pretend that she was bound.

And there was still the matter of the shackles on her legs.

She shifted her eyes back and forth from her legs to the afro machine.

Legs first, she decided.

Though her legs were stronger than her arms, she lacked the leverage from so short a chain link to use the strength in her thighs for the task, so she opted to try breaking each chain with her hands. There was just enough chain to squeeze four fingers around it. Sitting up with knees bent, she pulled at her right chain with a groan.

It only took one pull to yank the chain from the table.

Bonds ten times the strength of a Slayer, Dr. Berger had said. Thank God for dumb villains, she decided. Buffy was no ordinary Slayer. The good doctor was supposed to know that.

Two tugs at her left ankle chain, and Buffy was free of her metal bed – though still burdened by her shackles. Conscious of the time that had passed, she hastily untaped the line on her right arm and pulled the needle out slowly. Inspecting the line, she realized Sam had been right. They'd put a tiny plastic tube into her right arm, not a needle. Still, the instant it came out, the wound started to bleed.

Buffy looked behind her towards the table of medical devices, thinking it might have some gauze and tape, but then remembered the needle in her left arm still connected to the afro machine.

"Shit!"

The sound of the door's electronic lock forced her hand. It took her less than a second to decide to play the captive again. Throwing herself back on to the table, she hoped to god that Sam didn't inspect the integrity of her chains before she could figure out the next step in her escape.

He was already talking when he walked through the door, pushing it closed with his foot. But his eyes were solely focused on not spilling the drinks in his hands.

"I wasn't sure what kind of juice you liked, so I've brought apple and –"

Pause.

Buffy's heart pounded furiously as she followed his eyes to her right arm.

"What happened here?"

She swallowed.

"The plastic tubing fell out," she replied simply.

Still holding the juice, Sam stared dumbly. "I can see that. The question is how?"

Buffy raised her left hand, still connected to the afro machine, to show him the machine was still going. "I just turned to the side to check out the afro machine better, and the plastic thingy got yanked out."

Silence.

Sam's face was a mask of displeasure. Buffy searched his eyes furiously before she realized her error.

The chain.

She wasn't supposed to be able to lift her left arm.

Shit.

"Shit." Buffy.

"Help!" Sam.

It all happened at once.

Buffy was off the table when Sam's cups hit the floor - no thought for the needle that was dragged out in the process. He'd barely made two steps towards the door before she had his arms pinned painfully behind him.

"H-!"

"Shout again, and I'll rip your arms out," she warned icily. "I think you know that I can."

He shut his mouth instantly.

Buffy tried to ignore the blood oozing from her arm. It was nothing compared to old battled wounds of course, but just the thought of the needle holes somehow creeped her out more.

Sam risked a question. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing painful if you cooperate. I'm not the bad guy here."

He swallowed audibly.

"Buffy, you can't get out of here. There are armed guards down the hall, and at all the exits. Maybe you can't stay dead for very long, but they could put you down fairly easily."

Buffy paused to consider his words.

"I hate guns," she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

"Buffy, I understand how you must feel."

She rolled her eyes behind him. "I’m pretty sure you don’t, Doogie. Now shut up while I think–"

CLICK

"Shit!" Buffy.

"Someone's com-"

"Got that, Braniac." Quickly, Buffy forced Sam behind the door just as Dr. Berger walked through it, her high heels clacking against the cold, stone floor.

"Sam, Ms. Summers will–”

The clacking stopped.

Buffy was sorry she couldn't see Berger’s face. It would’ve been a small victory though, and she had bigger fish to fry.

Buffy blinked.

Bingo. The corners of her mouth curved upwards slowly. She loved when those moments of perfect clarity came. Sam wasn’t a bad catch in her escape plan, but he was a Nemo compared to the Moby Dick that had just walked in.

With a flick of the wrist, Buffy rammed Sam’s forehead into the wall and knocked him out cold. Stepping out from behind the door, she greeted Berger cheerfully.

“What’s up, Doc?”

Startled, Berger swung around and stiffened – her jaw dropping slowly like a rusted drawbridge. “Secur-!”

Buffy’s fist met Berger’s teeth before she could finish, and sent her flying in the air and over the bed.

The next moment, two security guards sprinted into the room, guns out. Buffy lunged low to tackle them both around the legs – the three landing in a heap in front of the door.

Before they even thought to re-aim their guns, Buffy had a tuft of hair in each hand, and rammed both heads against the tiles. They were out in an instant.

Buffy frowned with some sympathy. “Humans.”

Berger’s drawn out groan from the other side of the room refocused her. The doctor was standing up slowly, blood running down her chin to stain her crisp white coat.

Fisting the shirts of both guards in each hand, Buffy threw them behind the door to join Sam.

“Listen, Buffy.” The tremble in her voice was unmistakable. “I realize that you must be very angry right–”

Buffy turned around slowly to face her abductor, and the sight of her made Berger take two steps back.

Barefoot and half naked, with blood oozing from her arms and broken shackles on every limb, Buffy must have looked like the stuff of nightmares.

“Oh my god,” Berger whimpered. “What are you going to do me?”

Buffy wrapped her bloodied fingers around the chain link at her wrists and glared mischievously.

“What you wanted, Dr. Berger. I’m gonna show you what a Slayer is really made of.”

* * * * *

The Pump and Plug Fuel Station, Sierra Madre

“Agh!”

“How many times are you gonna kick the guy, Spike?” Mel had just arrived with the truck to find Spike wailing on their captive with his boot.

Reeling from the pain it was causing his own body, Spike relented. “I reckon that’s enough.”

Shaggy took advantage of the reprieve to cough up a mouthful of blood.

“You can start talking any time, mate,” Spike uttered bitterly.

Shaggy looked around at the group of Slayers, before returning to Spike, but said nothing.

Spike clenched his jaw. “Oh. So you like being kicked to death, then?”

Silence.

Suddenly Spike was in game face and lying on top of the wounded man, pinning Shaggy’s wrists at his sides. “How about being sucked dry? You like that too?”

“Spike!” Pipa.

He ignored her.

But Shaggy was defiant. “You won’t drink me, vampire. You need me, don’t you?”

Pause.

A small smile of victory began to spread across Shaggy’s face.

“Agh!”

Spike buried his fangs into the flesh of Shaggy’s neck and drank with abandon, feeling slightly mournful that he couldn’t see the bastard’s face.

“Oh my god!” Pipa shouted.

“Stay out of this, Pip!” Gina.

“But–“

Spike withdrew the next moment, blood dripping off his fangs in a twisted smile. He’d needed the blood so badly he was almost delirious from the taste.

His voice was eerily seductive when he spoke. “I could drain you three times over, mate, and still be hungry.”

“Please!” Shaggy whimpered.

Spike grinned widely. “If you insist.” He dove in again.

“Agh!”

“Spike, man,” Gina whispered anxiously.

But Spike paid her no mind either, and drew out his blood meal with relish. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank so freely of a human in an act of pure, unadulterated malice. He’d meant what he said. He could drain the bastard dry and suck the marrow out of his bones and still not have had enough to heal fully. But he could feel the blood already lessening the pain in his hips.

“Please! Stop!” Shaggy begged.

Spike withdrew instantly, letting the blood drip from his mouth onto Shaggy’s face.

“Alright then. Since you asked so nicely.”

Shaggy blinked in confusion.

Still lying on top of his food, Spike folded his arms under his chin. “You feelin’ a bit more cooperative now, then?”

Begrudgingly, Shaggy shook his head.

Pipa exhaled an exaggerated sigh of relief.

His face melting back into human form, Spike pushed himself back on to his feet less painfully, pulling the bleeding man with him one-handed. Throwing Shaggy against the back seat door, he grabbed his smokes and lit up casually.

Everyone looked to be waiting for Shaggy to speak.

“She’s in the OR.”

Spike’s head shot up, and more than one girl gasped.

“Already?” Sonny asked with disbelief.

With a roar, Spike lunged for Shaggy again and would have thrown him across the lot had the girls not circled him.

“Spike, man, stop!” Gina insisted.

“Let him go,” Sonny demanded.

Livid, but not completely without sense, Spike threw the bastard violently over the trunk.

“What are they doing to her?” Tori asked.

Clutching his stomach, Shaggy slid himself off the trunk on to his feet. “She was being prepped for biopsies when I left her.”

“Oh my god.” Rachel.

Spike dropped his head, hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure what all they’re planning to do tonight.”

“Is she sedated or something?” Sally asked. “Cause she wouldn’t submit to that.”

“Chained,” Shaggy explained. “We’ve got irons ten times stronger than a Slayer can break.”

“She’s not any Slayer, though,” Gina injected.

“You don’t say?” He mocked. “The chains will hold her. And anyway, she was drugged first. With a combination sedative and muscle relaxant. Similar to the Cruciamentum drug, though I don’t suppose any of you know what that is anymore. It should last several hours before requiring re-administration.”

Spike turned on his heels and took to pacing again, though well within earshot.

“So she’s weakened and chained,” Sonny echoed. “How do we get to her?”

The ex-Watcher started laughing, which only made him cough on his own blood. “You don’t, Slayer.”

“What?” Rachel.

“She’s in a secure facility with armed guards at every entrance. There are video cameras in all the corridors. There’s no way you’re even getting past the front gate. And even if you could, the last time I checked, Slayers that aren’t called Buffy Summers don’t survive bullet wounds to the chest. If you go in there, sweetie, you’re not leaving.”

The group exchanged nervous glances.

Shaggy was seeming less and less fearful about his situation. “Come to think of it, that wouldn’t be a bad ending to this little scenario. I’m sure Iduna would find a pack of Slayers and a centuries old Master vampire very useful in their research. I, for one, have always been curious about the sexual physiology of male vampires. We could devise some very interesting experiments–”

Gasps.

Sonny and Gina were ready for Spike when he lunged again for the hostage – not so much holding him back as standing between him and his target.

Spike obliged them and stepped back, re-focusing his attention on the plan. He was almost businesslike when he addressed Shaggy again. “How many security are there at this time of night?”

No reply.

Spike let his eyes turn gold and growled.

“Ten. Two at each of the four exits, and two in the watchtower. Eleven then. There’s one at the outside gate. All armed. Like I said, you go in, vampire, you’re not getting out. But you’re not even getting in, so it’s a moot point.”

Gina stepped up, her arms crossed and hips cocked. “See that’s where you’re wrong, brotha’. What the hell do you think we kidnapped you for?”

Shaggy blinked.

“And the cop?” he asked.

Sonny looked nervously at Spike.

“He’s out for the count, mate,” Spike answered calmly. “We’ll see to it that he wakes up on the other side of town.”

Shaggy shifted his eyes across the group again. “You’re not getting my cooperation.”

Spike tilted his head to the side with a half smile.

Shaggy swallowed. “Fine. It’s not like it’ll work anyway. Like I said, I’ll just have delivered a prize group of research subjects. I may even get a bonus.”

Spike glowered at the man as he turned around to make a call, a fresh storm of emotion swirling inside of him: fury at what the lab coats had done to her, guilt at what he’d allowed to happen, surprise that their plan was working so smoothly, and delight that he might soon have her in his arms again. The only person who’d be as happy as he was at the prospect of their reunion was waiting back at Slayer Central.

He dialed her number.

“Spike?”

“Hey Niblet. We’ve got the driver and the truck.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Sod that poof. Thank the ex. He did alright.”

“He’s a great guy, Max.”

Spike didn’t reply.

“So the plan goes – er, as planned?” Dawn asked.

“Yeah. I reckon it’s too risky to wait until daylight. We hit ‘em now.”

“And Max?”

“Out back.” Spike stepped out of earshot. “He’ll meet up with you and Harris once we’ve cleared this place. The driver still doesn’t know he was in on the job.”

“Good. I would hate for him to lose his badge for helping us. Especially when he’s only doing his job – albeit, you know, illegally.”

“Sorry Niblet, but Max is the least of my worries, right now, much as I appreciate what he’s done.”

“I know. God only knows what they might have done to her already.”

Spike shut his eyes momentarily and pressed his lips firmly together. He’d let Buffy tell Dawn about what had happened to her.

“Gotta go, Niblet. We’ve got work to do.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Spike. Or – you know, unconscious. I’m not really advocating killing hu–“

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back, Dawn. I won’t apologize for it either.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Gotta go.”

“Bye, Spike.”

Spike walked back to the group with a new resolve. “Alright, Angels. Let’s go be heroes. Sonny.”

Sonny stepped up.

“You’re up front with shitface. He’s driving, but make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Got it.”

Gina, Tori, Mel, Rachel and Longstock. You’re in the back with me.”

Nodding, the girls made their way to the truck.

“Stevie. Sally. You know what to do. Stay back with the bike for about ten minutes, then follow. Make sure you’re not seen when you get there.”

“No problem.” The girls headed towards the bike.

Spike walked towards the truck then stopped abruptly.

“Wait.” Jogging awkwardly towards his bike, he lifted the lid of the back box and pulled out his ruby-studded mace.

Stevie looked at him incredulously – no doubt because after a proper plan had been formulated, they’d decided to leave the deadlier weapons at home.

But Spike was unapologetic. Wrapping pale, slender fingers around the chain link in his grip, he raised the skull head to the light to behold its many rubies sparkle.

“Like I said. Whoever took Buffy needs to see the pointy end of this.”