As Buffy and the general made their way down the hallway, General Cordova filled Buffy in on the situation – as she saw it. Riley had had some important matter to attend to, and so had not gone with them.

“Hostile 17 has been giving us quite a bit of trouble lately,” Cordova explained. “As you saw for yourself.”

Buffy nodded grimly. She was still seeing it; she couldn’t get the images out of her head. Spike had been like a wild animal, running on pure rage and protective instinct. She had only seen him like that with one person before – with Drusilla. She thought of the vampire girl, her pitiful cries as the soldier had beaten her without mercy while she hung there, helpless.

*Vampire, Buffy,* she reminded herself. *Dangerous. Deadly. Animal. She almost killed a man.* But the girl’s screams still echoed in her ears.

The general went on, “How does this sound? One hour. Do whatever you like. Use your imagination.” The cruel smile on her lips sickened Buffy. The general’s smile faded as she added, “All that matters to me is that when you come out of that cell, he remembers his place. I want him to be aware again that he is beneath us. Just don’t kill him; that’s the only limit I’ll place on what you can do.”

Buffy noticed the ordering tone that the general’s words had automatically slipped into, and bristled at it; she was not under this woman – not yet. And for some reason, her words about Spike disturbed her deeply. If anyone had asked her, she would have said, “Yes, vampires are lower creatures than humans. Animals. Dust them all.”

Except Angel.

And Spike?

She hated to admit it, but Spike had always been different in her eyes. At least, since that temporary truce they had had three years before. It had been a surprise to her, one she still found difficulty accepting, that a vampire could love someone as much as Spike obviously had loved Drusilla. In fact, it was a thought she tried to avoid – a confusing, troubling thought that messed with her entire worldview.

But she was saved from that line of thought for the moment – but *only* the moment – because they had reached the door to the solitary confinement cell. There was one tiny window in the door, at eye-level. The sight that met Buffy’s eyes made her stomach twist with a sick, sad sort of feeling.

Against one wall, Spike sat on the cold floor, his knees drawn up to his chest defensively. After all, it was the only defense he had at the moment. His wrists were in tight restraints fastened to the wall above his head. He was blindfolded, and she could see from here that his body was trembling, with pain or cold, she couldn’t tell. Wait. Vampires didn’t get cold. She grimaced slightly. Not cold then. Again, Buffy felt very sick.

“Sensory deprivation,” General Cordova answered the unspoken question in her mind about the blindfold. “Very effective in breaking the will. Reminds them of their powerlessness – of who’s in charge.” She frowned in irritated reflection. “Hasn’t worked yet with this one, though.” She smiled conspiratorially at Buffy. “Perhaps you’ll be able to accomplish that.”

Buffy forced a smile to her lips and made herself reply, “Count on it.” Putting just the right sly note in her voice, she went on, “If I should see a reason to…would it be all right to take the restraints off?”

The general laughed. “Whatever you want, Ms. Summers. Just leave him the way you found him.” She smirked through the window at the helpless captive. “More or less.” The general glanced at her watch. “One hour,” she said as she unlocked the door. Then she smiled at Buffy. “I can tell we’re going to get along very well, Ms. Summers.”

And as she held up one hand for Buffy to wait and walked into the cell, her echoing words made Buffy feel sick again.


Spike heard the footsteps coming toward him, recognized them as hers, and steeled himself not to react, no matter what she did to him.

In an uncharacteristically gentle voice, the general said, “How are we doing, Hostile?” She reached down and touched his face, and he jerked away from her. Her hand suddenly hard, she gripped his chin and yanked his head back around.

There was nothing he could do to stop her, but he snarled, “Get your bloody hands off me!”

Her voice angry now, she said, “Still determined to be a fool, then, are you? Well, we’ll see how long that lasts.” Her voice softening, while taking on a menacing quality that made him feel scared in spite of himself, she went on, “I’ve got a surprise for you, Hostile. I’m going to go now and let you…enjoy it.” She released him suddenly, and he could hear her footsteps retreating.

“Where’s Diana?” he demanded. “What did you do with her?”

The footsteps stopped for a moment. He could hear the smile in her voice. “Would you like to know, Hostile?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

“Yes,” he whispered, fear for his childe softening his tone. When she said nothing, only waited, he finally swallowed back his pride, and added softly, “Please.”

She was silent for a moment, dragging out his shame, before she finally replied, “She’s alive. She’s with her master. That’s all you need to know.”

In truth it was more than he had wanted to know, and she knew it. She had only told him to torment him, and though he knew it, it tormented him still. He prepared himself to not show any fear as he waited for the general’s “surprise”.


The door opened and the general came out, smiling. Reaching into her pocket, she held something out to Buffy. Looking down, Buffy saw that it was the device the general had used earlier that had caused Spike so much pain. She really thought she might vomit. But she smiled and took the wretched implement of torture from the other woman’s hand.

“One hour,” the general reminded her, and walked down the hallway.

Buffy watched her until she was sure she was gone, then took a deep breath as she turned to face the door. *Here goes. Ok. Going in now.* She stood there, not moving. *Ok, Buffy. Harmless, tied-up, chipped vampire in there – can’t hurt you. Should not be scary. Why is it scary? Go. In. There.*

But all she could think about was the look in his eyes when he had looked at her in that horrible room. He couldn’t hurt her, no.

But he wanted to.

For some reason that was devastating to her. Those accusing, sharp blue eyes that saw right through her hypocrisies and demanded that she do her duty. Fight evil. God, if what she had seen in that room had not been evil, nothing was! But when those eyes had challenged her, dared her to step up and stop the brutality in front of her, what had she done? Stood there in silence and watched as he was viciously tortured for his attempt to do *her job*.

She knew why she had decided to do this. She had to make him understand. But how could she, when she no longer understood herself? Her self-disgust and shame almost made her simply turn and walk away. But that was not an option now. She had gotten herself into this, and now she had to follow through.

She opened the door and went in, closing it quietly behind her. She saw his body tense, his jaw lock, at the sound. Even with the blindfold, she recognized the expression on his face. He had no idea what to expect, but expected it to be bad, and he was trying not to show fear. Buffy suddenly wondered what words had passed between Spike and the general while she had waited in the hall.

She wanted to say something to allay his fears, but the thought that at the sound of her voice, a sneer of disgust might replace that look of barely concealed fear, froze her words in her throat. She was struck dumb, as she slowly approached him. She noticed with relief that whatever that device had done to him had not left a mark on him; he had a couple of bruises around his eyes from the general’s kick to his face, but appeared otherwise unharmed. She noted that perhaps the general’s giving her the device would turn out to be of the good; it would help to account for his lack of visible injuries from her “session” with him.

With gentle hands she reached for the straps that held his wrists. He flinched involuntarily when she touched him, and it sent a sharp stab of pain through her heart. The moment his wrists were freed, he tore the blindfold from his eyes and stumbled a few steps to the side, away from her, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He assumed a defensive stance, ready to fight her.

Then, his eyes began to focus, and then grew wide with shock. He stared at her for a moment – and her heart sank as she watched the contempt slowly take over his eyes.

“Slayer.” There was a world of disgust, rage – and betrayal – in the tone with which the single word was spoken.

“Spike,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes from him.

They stood in a silent face-off for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. *Scratch that,* Buffy thought, as Spike opened his mouth, fury in his eyes. He knew what to say. He had only been gearing up to say it. She steeled herself to take it like the Slayer she was…and not in the way where she punched him in the nose for saying it. In the way where she stood there and accepted the harsh words she knew he had the right to say.

“Why are you here?” he demanded coldly.

*To question you. To punish you. To rescue you.* Options floated through Buffy’s mind of how to answer his question, but the words that came out were, “I needed to see…” *you* “…to see if you were all right.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, but did nothing to abate the anger there. “Well, still *not* living, Slayer. No thanks to you,” he replied with a fake smile. “So you can get back on your bloody white horse of righteousness and ride off guilt-free now.”

Irritation slowly creeping through said guilt, in spite of her resolve to take it, Buffy shot back, “*God*, you’re a drama queen!”

“Dra -- *drama* queen?” he sputtered, turning on her with disbelieving fury in his eyes. Those arresting eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, and she took a couple of steps backward, in spite of the fact that she knew he couldn’t actually hurt her. Still backing her toward the wall, he said in a low, mocking voice, “Seems to me you’ve got quite the act going yourself, Slayer! All ‘protect the bloody helpless’ and ‘fight evil’ and all that rot!” He paused, with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression on his face, then looked at her and added, “Oh, right! Unless of course the evil is a soddin’ human and the helpless is a vampire! Because vampires *deserve* to be raped and tortured!” By the end he was almost shouting, and Buffy’s back was against the wall.

But Buffy was too stunned by his words to react. Her wide stricken green eyes focused on his, and for a moment he forgot himself and wanted to calm her, instead of to kill her.

*No!* he told himself sternly. *She bloody well deserves it!*

But then her eyes were looking over his shoulder for just the briefest instant, and suddenly she gripped his arms and whirled around, reversing their positions, slamming him painfully against the wall.

Anger flowing through him he instinctively tried to break her grip, and was rewarded with a good-sized jolt from his chip. He winced, fighting off a wave of nausea; he still had not recovered from the chip’s torture earlier. He looked up at her with furious eyes. “Oh so that’s the game now is it, Slayer? Throw me off my game with those puppy-dog eyes and…”

His voice broke off when he saw her raise her fist to strike, and his eyes met hers in disbelief. In spite of all she had done and failed to do today, he still had not quite believed that she would actually hit him, in the condition he was in. And for a moment he had thought he was getting through to her…

“Is he still there?” she hissed, her eyes wide and alert, her heart pounding so hard he could almost feel it.

“Huh?” He was confused.

“The window, Spike,” she replied in an overly patient voice, although through gritted teeth.

He glanced up and saw a curious face peering in the small window – a soldier. “Oh…right…yes.” He barely had time to wonder why she cared.

“Damn it,” she muttered as she brought her fist down into his face.

“Bloody hell!” His head was spinning and he saw stars as he righted himself, aided by her hand still on his arm. But – somehow – it felt like she had held back – didn’t hurt like a usual Slayer-punch, and he should know!

“You off *your* game a bit, Slayer?” he asked, mocking her.

“Not a bit,” she smiled dangerously, a warning gleam in her eyes. “Gone yet?”

He looked again. “Yeah, he’s gone.” He frowned at her as she released him. Gesturing toward the window, he asked, “What’s this, then?”

“I’m supposed to be beating the crap out of you,” she smirked in spite of her resolve to give him the respect he deserved after what he’d been through.

“Oh, are you, now, love?” he returned the smirk, understanding dawning in his eyes as he leaned toward her, forcing her to back off a bit, and then stepped away from the wall. “Undercover, are we?”

She nodded slowly, still holding his gaze. “I’m going to take these people down, Spike.” *I need you to know that.* “It might take time, but…”

“Oh, take your time, love,” he broke in sarcastically. “Take all the bloody time you need…meanwhile I’ll explain to Diana why…” His voice broke off, choked by tears.

Buffy was silent for a moment. “Why did they beat her?” she asked, keeping her voice level. By now she knew that Cordova’s story was a lie.

“Because she ran away,” he responded, bitterly, tears flowing down his face. “She ran away from the man who – who…”

“My God,” Buffy said softly. This was worse than she had thought. She looked back up at Spike’s hard yet tear-streaked face. “Is she – your lover?” she asked, not knowing why she was holding her breath while she waited for his answer.

He let out a silent laugh. “My childe,” he replied, not looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered. She paused before going on, “I came here to help, Spike. To stop this.” It was not quite true. She had come to save the humans the Initiative was turning, not the vampires they were abusing.

And when he turned those piercing eyes on her, she knew that he knew the truth. But she *wanted* to help him *now*, she realized, and was suddenly desperate for him to know that. She went to him, and he turned his back on her. She took his arm to turn him around, to make him face her. He tried to pull away from her, then winced in pain and gave in. She dropped his arm suddenly, taking a step back.

She frowned. “You can’t even resist at all…?” she asked.

“No, love!” he turned back to her, bitter accusation in his voice. “Because that would get in the way of their whole doin’-whatever-they-bloody-well-please-with-us thing, wouldn’t it?”

His scathing tone made her flinch. But it also made her angry and defensive. “Are you going to help me take these creeps down or not?” she demanded, then added before he could reply, “I’m *not* the one who did this to you, Spike!”

“No, that would be your ex-boyfriend and your new best friend!” he snarled. His words scalded her.

“You know what? Fine!” she snarled back, throwing her hands up in defeat and starting toward the door. “I’ll do this with or without you, Spike. I just thought *maybe* you’d want to help me, since…”

“With me.” His voice was so low that she didn’t catch the words at first.

When she turned back to look at him, she saw his decision in his eyes. The resentment, the bitter fury, the pain were all still there, but he was sure. “What?” she asked him.

“*With* me, Slayer,” he replied, pronouncing each word slowly, a blazing fury in his fathomless blue eyes, so dark at the moment that they were almost navy.

She nodded slowly, and he looked away again.

His head was turned so that his voice was muffled, but as she slowly walked back to him, she clearly heard his next words, and they chilled her to the bone.

“This place will burn!”