Spike halfway expected the door to be locked as he reached for the handle, trying his best to be perfectly silent. The knob turned easily in his hand, and slid open without a sound. He was grateful for his keen vampire senses in the pitch darkness that surrounded him.

Wherever they were keeping Buffy, he was certain that it was somewhere deep inside the facility, where whatever light was being used could not penetrate to here, on the main floor. He shuddered with the memory of the experimental laboratories, somewhere in the basement of the building. Could he find them again? he wondered. After all, when he had left the last time he had been there, he had been so out of his mind with pain from the surgery, sans pain-killers of any kind, that he had not been aware of anything but the pain for hours.

A new surge of determination hit him at the memory, at the thought of Buffy somewhere in this place, enduring the same treatment. He walked quickly and quietly down the dark hallways, twisting and turning, hoping he would be able to remember the way back, as he searched for some way downstairs. Finally he found an exit door leading into a stairwell.

*Red.*

*Yeah.*

*Are all the alarms cut? I’m ‘bout to go through a door marked ‘fire exit only’ and don’t fancy making it this far just to get caught by a bloody fire alarm!*

*Yeah. They’re off. Shouldn’t be a problem,* she responded.

With a deep breath, rueing the fact that he had to place so much trust in anyone, even if it was Willow, he opened the door, releasing the breath in relief when no alarms sounded. Still, he realized that from here on out he would have to be more cautious, when he saw that the hallway at the foot of the stairwell was brightly lit.

On silent, catlike footsteps he made his way to the door at the foot of the stairwell, peering cautiously out into the hall. It appeared to be deserted.

*The chip’s off. Right, Red?*

Her voice in his head sounded irritated. *Yes, Spike, the chip is off. Now could you quit calling me unless you need me, because every time you do I almost have a heart attack, ok?*

He fought the hysterical urge to laugh, out of sheer nervousness, and replied, *Right. Next time you hear my voice it’ll be an emergency.*

*Oh, that’s comforting!*

He smirked to himself, but did not reply. Taking another deep, steadying breath, he stepped out into the hallway. His enhanced hearing did not pick up any sound, and there was no sign of any life up and down the hallway. He made his way cautiously down the hall, glancing through the small windows into the rooms that lined it. All of them were dark.

He turned several corners, investigated several different hallways in this manner, with no luck. He was beginning to grow frustrated and impatient; he had used up ten minutes already just in searching, and still not found her. Just then, he heard voices coming from around the corner ahead of him. He hurriedly tried the doors nearest him, hoping to find one unlocked. Although he was capable of fighting now, it would be wisest to avoid detection for as long as possible. Once he had actually taken down a soldier or two, the chances of getting caught would increase, if they were missed right away.

Fortunately, after trying a couple of the doors unsuccessfully, he found one that opened under his hand, and slipped inside moments before a pair of soldiers rounded the corner and walked down the hallway.

“…wouldn’t have thought that she’d have turned out to be so screwed up,” one of them was saying. “I mean, what a complete waste of total hotness, ya know?” He nudged his buddy.

The other soldier laughed, a suggestive, sophomoric chuckle that made Spike want to hit him. “Yeah…well, she’s kind of a freak anyway from what I hear. She’s got like, super-powers or something, man. That’s what some of the guys were saying. Hey, man…maybe she was *one* of them! Ya think?”

By now, Spike was certain that they were talking about Buffy, and he listened closely, but nothing they said seemed useful. He wondered with irritation how the Initiative had gotten this far if this was all they had going for them. Young ignorant wankers with the mentality of drunken frat boys. But he realized immediately, this was *not* all, by a long shot. They had a driven, psychotic leader who happened to be incredibly intelligent to head the thing up, and every evil operation needed muscle. And muscle didn’t have to think, when she could think for them.

*Just give me five bloody minutes with her, and she’ll never think again!* he told himself, waiting for the soldiers to reach the end of the hall and turn the other corner so that he could leave again. This was wasting time.

He glanced around the room, tapping his foot unconsciously, impatient. Suddenly, across the darkened room, he saw a door. From under the door, a light shone out. When he looked at the door, he felt an odd tingling at the back of his neck, and he *knew*.

Slowly, cautiously, he crept across the room to the door, peering through the tiny window. He knew that he was surrounded by darkness and while he could see whoever was in the room, they would not be able to see him.

The sight that met his eyes made him gasp in horror and take a step back. Instantly he recovered his composure, pausing to be sure that his slip had not been heard. There was no sound, so he carefully looked back through the window, feeling his hatred for Cordova rising with every moment that he took in the cruel scene.

There, in the center of the room, lay Buffy. Strapped down to an operating table, she was completely naked, though it would have been impossible to make out any specific part of her body, because she was absolutely covered in her own blood. Even as he watched, Cordova was standing over her, and just removing a wicked-looking blade from a cut she had just made in her side. His fury rose in him as he saw Buffy’s body jerk with pain. But she did not cry out.

His first thought was, *My brave girl,* but then he realized that her mouth was open in a silent scream of pain; something was preventing her from making a sound.

Rage nearly overtook him in that moment, and he was about to rush through the door and teach Cordova a thing or two about screaming, when he saw her take out a two-way radio, an expression of annoyance on her face.

“Yes?” he could faintly hear her say through the door, and the impatience was clear in her voice.

He waited; it would not do to go in while she was talking to someone else; that would be an excellent way to get himself and Buffy, or the others waiting for them outside, caught. If whoever she was talking to got wise to what was going on before they could escape, all would be lost.

As she spoke to the person on the other end of the radio, he watched her sigh, and then go to a door on the other side of the room and walk through it, closing it tightly behind her.

This was his chance. He glanced down at the watch he never wore, only had to track the time for this specific mission. He had only ten minutes.

He hurried through the door and to Buffy’s side.

“Buffy! Buffy, love!” he whispered, and saw her jerk against her restraints at the sound of his voice. She was blindfolded, so he quickly removed it, and flinched at the expression in her eyes. Such stark, raw agony of mind and body that he almost felt it physically himself. Tears filled his eyes, and hers, as he looked at what that monster had done to his girl.

“Shh,” he whispered a gentle warning as he reached for the tight leather strap around her throat. “We need to be quiet, love, and I know anyone would want to scream, but you’ve got to be brave, all right, love?”

She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as he removed the gag, and the other bonds that held her.

One look had told him that there was no way that she would be walking out of this place, so he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, heedless of the blood that ran down to stain his duster. She clung to him desperately, silently sobbing against his chest, and he was so overcome that he did not move for a moment, just held her.

Just at that moment, the door on the other side of the room opened again and Cordova returned. She dropped the radio she had just turned off in shock at the sight of Hostile 17, holding her “experiment” in his arms – and then in spite of herself her eyes showed just a trace of fear at the cold fury that filled his eyes.

“Just a second, love,” he said to Buffy in a low growl that sent chills up the general’s spine. “Got to make one little stop first.” He went to set her on the table, and was in game face before he turned back around to face the general. He lunged for her, knocking her to the floor under him, before the stunned woman could even reach for her weapon.

Her head hit the base of the operating table hard when she fell, and she was obviously dizzied by the blow, but she still struggled for the pistol at her side. He had been here long enough to know that the gun she carried while at the Initiative did not hold ordinary shells, but rather wood-tipped bullets, specially designed for the uses of the Initiative. He caught her wrist in his hand and snapped it, granting a cruel smile to her scream of pain.

Then he took the weapon from her hand and smashed it across her face – knocking her unconscious.

*Bollocks!* he thought, annoyed. He had been looking forward to enjoying her agony as he killed her for all she had done to him and those he loved. *Oh, well,* he shrugged and leaned in for the killing bite.

Just at that moment, however, he felt an odd little humming sensation in his head, followed by a familiar jolt of pain. An instant later, he heard Willow’s voice in his head, *Spike! Get her out of there, now! They’ve got the chips up again!*

*Uh, yeah, I’m aware of that now, Red, thanks to the soddin’ migraine!* he griped, as the pain passed. After all, he had not actually bitten her yet when the chip turned back on. *A little warning would have been nice!*

*You got as much as I got, Spike,* she grumbled back, her mental voice sounding strained and anxious. *Sounds like more. Have you found her?*

*Yeah, we’re on our way out now,* he replied, scooping the brutalized Slayer up in his arms. As he pushed the door open, he heard the general moan in pain behind him, and knew she was coming back to consciousness.

He thought of the possibilities with a sort of sick feeling. He wondered where the manual controller to his chip was. As he tried to remember the way he had come, tried to force his frantic thoughts to cooperate, he realized that since he had escaped the general must not have been carrying it on her anymore – judging by the lack of excruciating, paralyzing agony that he would have been feeling by this point if she had it on her person.

His sensitive hearing picked up the sound of soldiers’ voices, growing steadily louder behind him; so the general was conscious enough by now to send out the troops, he thought grimly. They had to get out of there, now!

Another thought occurred to him as he wondered again about the manual controller – which Cordova would undoubtedly have in her possession at any moment now.

*Red,* he called again.

*Yeah?*

*Everything still dark upstairs?*

*Yeah, why?*

*I need you and Xander to meet me,* he told her, and explained to her where, at the top of the stairwell he had descended.

*Why?* she demanded, worried suspicion in her tone.

*Just do it, Red,* he snapped back. *I need your help, I can’t outrun these soldiers all the way to the van and carrying her, and I’m not letting them get her back!*

There was a pause before she replied, *Okay, we’ll be there.*

He finally saw the stairwell and felt a partial relief – only partial because they still had a ways to go upstairs to get back to the van. At least no one was on the upper level yet, so they might actually stand a chance.

When Willow saw Buffy, her mouth dropped open in shock and dismay, and her eyes welled with tears as she helped Xander to lift her into his arms.

“Go on,” Spike said, breathing hard. “I’ll meet you back at the mansion.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Willow demanded, alarmed. “You’re coming with us.”

“Can’t yet, Red. There’s a tracking sensor in my chip, remember? And we don’t have enough of a lead on them this time, they’re too close behind us. Cordova’s gonna be able to follow us, and as long as she stays within twenty miles of us, she won’t lose us.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Xander asked softly, and Spike was surprised to see actual concern on his face.

“I’m gonna double back, throw her off the trail, and go out another way, while you get her out of here! I’ll meet you back at the mansion,” he insisted.

Willow shook her head. “Spike…”

*No, Red,* he warned her in his mind, reading the look on her face and not wanting her to go on aloud.

She complied. *If she sets off your chip you won’t be going anywhere. You have to come with us.*

*If I go with you she’ll catch us. You have to get her out of here now.*

*I don’t want to leave you, and she wouldn’t either.*

*I don’t give a bloody damn what she wants, pet. Just get her to safety. Now!* he insisted, and the fire in his eyes was unyielding.

Without another word, she nodded slowly, and turned, pulling Xander toward the exit by the arm, helping him to support Buffy’s weight, as Spike turned and ran the opposite direction, took a turn down a second hallway and disappeared from her sight.


He ran through the hallways, looking for another exit, hoping against hope that she had not found the controller yet, that he would somehow be able to outrun them. The fact that he was still not in torturous pain was a good sign, he thought hopefully.

His hopes were dashed around the next corner, when he realized that he had run into a dead end. He turned to go back.

And there she was, not twenty feet away. Her head bleeding from a deep gash in her forehead where it had hit the table, her lip cut from the pistol-whipping he had given her. Smiling. She took a few slow, measured steps toward him.

“Hostile 17,” she smirked. “Welcome back.”

He glanced around hurriedly for some way of escape, saw none, and looked back at her with hate-filled eyes of blue steel.

As he watched she took the manual controller from her pocket, tossing it carelessly in her hand as her smile widened, still advancing on him. She was only a few feet away now.

“I bet you’re wondering why I haven’t set this off yet,” she mused, moving to stand right in his face.

He did not back up, against the wall, as he knew she had expected him to. He thought about attacking, but knew he would only be adding insult to his own injury, when the chip would drop him for the attempt. He steeled himself for whatever she was going to do.

Leaning in even closer, smiling cruelly, she answered her own question.

“I was waiting to see the look on your face.”

And that was the last thing he heard before searing, blinding, vicious agony shot through him, and his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, sinking into utter darkness.


A/N – Don’t hate me for doing this to our poor Spike.. :-( There is a reason for it, I promise…and besides, come on, is half an hour really enough time to make Cordova suffer? I think not. ;)