Willow’s fingers flew across the keyboard, her gaze intent as she located the controls she needed to shut down the Initiative’s systems.

“Ok,” Buffy said, really thinking out loud. “So we shut down the chips. Then we try again to contact Spike and tell him what’s going on.”

Willow grimaced slightly as she looked up at her friend. “And hope he’s still capable of fighting his way out of there.”

“We’ll know when we talk to him,” Buffy replied quietly, her expression calm and serious, but her eyes frightened. “As soon as we know for sure that he’s out of there -- *not* before…” she said firmly. “we hit the panic button and lock the place down.”

Sitting listening as the girls discussed the plan they had come up with while he was busy with Spike’s children, Xander hated to bring up the very real possibility that he knew had to be filling Buffy’s thoughts already, but they had to think about it.

“What if he’s *not* able to fight his way out? What if she’s hurt him bad enough…” His voice trailed off.

Buffy’s eyes flashed with barely controlled fury as she met his eyes. “Then we go in. We find them…and I take the bitch down.”

The pure hatred and malice in her tone sent a chill down his spine. He shuddered to think of being on the receiving end of her rage. “Um, Buffy?” he said, only half joking. “All the ‘I hate Spike’ crap I’ve been spouting lately? Just. Kidding. Ok?”

That brought a half-smile to the Slayer’s lips. “Seriously,” she sighed. “That woman better hope that he can get out on his own, because if I ever see her again, she’s dead. I swear, I’ll kill her.”

“Buffy,” Xander said softly, seeking out her eyes with his own soft brown ones. “Really. I’m sorry about everything these past few weeks. I’ve been kind of – kind of…”

“Stupid?”

“A jerk?”

Buffy and Willow spoke at the same time, then cracked up in spite of the seriousness of the situation at Xander’s outraged face. Then he smiled sheepishly and said, “Um, all of the above. I thought he was playing you…just using you to get out…but after what he did for you…” His voice trailed off, as he looked away, shaking his head slightly.

“I know,” Buffy whispered. “I can’t believe he did it.” Her tone changed as she assured them, “And I’m still gonna kick his butt for doing it.” Yet again her voice changed, growing soft, as she added, “But not until he’s safe.” She looked to Willow with a purposeful determination.

“It’s time, Will. Shut the chips down.”


Spike tried to think about Buffy, safe in the mansion and healing now, he was sure. And Diana, and Darian, safe as well thanks to her efforts. He tried to focus on anything that would help to strengthen his resolve against the agony Cordova was still inflicting on his ravaged body.

It was impossible.

She had grown bored with the cigarette when it had proven to be useless, not eliciting the response she desired. Well, she rather enjoyed the muffled cries of pain that he struggled to hold back, but simply couldn’t. But the lack of any actual verbal response from the trembling, gasping blonde vampire on the table– answers to her questions, or begging for mercy would have kept it interesting; she wasn’t choosy – made her tire of that particular game.

Still, the soft moans that nothing else so far had managed to bring about were encouraging to her. So she graduated from the cigarette to the lighter itself.

“Nice,” she smiled appreciatively at it, flicking it a couple of times near his face, gratified when he flinched away from her hand, his startlingly blue eyes wide with fear that he was no longer able to even attempt to hide.

“You know,” she said softly, crouching down so that her face was inches from his, one deceptively gentle hand running through his hair in a mockery of comfort that nevertheless made him feel like crying. “This doesn’t have to be so hard, Hostile. All you have to do is tell me where she is. Please,” she sneered, her voice still gentle, almost sympathetic. “Like she even cares. All that time you were here…she never tried to get you out. Never even looked for you. For a whole year. And now you’d go through so much to protect her!”

Suddenly, her fingers in his hair hardened painfully, tightening her grip as she continued close to his ear in that same soft voice, “Tell me where she is.”

He let out a shaky breath that turned into a derisive laugh. “Yeah. And that’ll make it so much easier on me, won’t it?” he whispered, his voice weak but still mocking. “Instead of torturing me for information, once you get what you want, you’ll just do it for bloody kicks. I’ve spent a year getting to know you, you bloody bitch! Don’t think I won’t see through you now! I tell you what you want to know…and you kill me. That’s the way this little game is played, innit, love?”

A cruel smile coming over her lips, but a vicious rage in her eyes, she stood up straight. “I’ll show you how the game is played, Hostile,” she retorted.

And with a quick motion she held the open flame from the lighter against his bare stomach. Because of the way she had begun by menacing him with the lighter, he had expected it to be his face. The searing intensity of the flame against his tender, already bruised flesh caught him by surprise, and he released an anguished moan of agony.

She smiled with pleasure and held it there a moment longer before finally removing it. She leaned close again to whisper in a conspiriatorial voice, “I think I’m winning, Hostile. What do you think?”


“Is it working? Are they down yet?” Buffy asked impatiently, bouncing up and down on her heels as she anxiously watched over Willow’s shoulder.

“Almost,” Willow muttered, focused on what she was doing. “Just…one…second…”

With a final click of her mouse, she sat back with a satisfied, if tentative smile on her face. “That’s it. Chips should be down now.”

Buffy frowned anxiously, though the news was good. She was not used to having to sit by the sidelines and wait, not having any control over the outcome. She wanted to rush in, metaphorical guns blazing, and rescue him. But reality told her that if she tried she would be more likely to just get both of them killed, in the condition she was in.

So as Willow stepped away from the computer and sat down cross-legged on the floor, attempting once again to contact Spike, all she could do was stand there and wait.

It was up to Spike now.


He shuddered and gasped for breath in sheer agony as her brutal torture continued. He could tell by the sadistic glee in her eyes that she knew she had finally hit on something that could get to him. But, how could she help knowing? His back arched in agony and he strained uselessly against his bonds, using up every effort his body had left on just. Not. Screaming.

An evil smile came over her face as she removed the lighter from what was quite possibly the last unburned place that had been left on his battered abdomen. “I think I’m through playing, Hostile,” she said in a chillingly quiet, malicious tone. “Time to get serious.”

And she slowly, deliberately, lowered her hand which held the lighter, making sure that he saw exactly what she was doing. “Are you ready to talk?”

Panic seized him. *No! No! No!* he screamed on the inside, for the first time actually struggling with the impulse to cry out, “Yes! I’ll talk! Just *don’t*! Don’t do *that*!”

Reacting instinctively in defensive panic, as her hand edged closer, he used what little leverage he had to bring his knee up against her arm sharply, knocking the lighter from her hand.

“Shit!” she hissed, as in fumbling to keep her hold on the lighter she managed to burn her hand on it before it fell to the floor. Her eyes shot daggers at him as she moved to the head of the table to deliver a hard backhand slap across his face. “You little idiot! You’re gonna pay for that!” she promised, bending down to find the lighter on the floor where she had dropped it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Spike knew that now, now he was really in for it. Now it wouldn’t matter if he told her everything, he was going to die in agony at her hand. But those thoughts took a backseat to the startling realization he had just had.

He had hurt her. He had knocked her arm back with his knee. That was resistance. And he had caused her to burn herself on the lighter. He had hurt her.

And he had felt no pain.

His eyes widened with a growing hope. Could it really be true? *Red!* he thought wildly. Had the little witch shut down his chip again? She must have. Otherwise he would have felt at least a little pain upon resisting his captor.

His mind raced wildly with the possibilities, options as to how to use this fact to his advantage. The tight bonds that held him, the painful wounds which weakened him, were discouraging. Being suddenly chip-less was meaningless if he couldn’t move to fight back.

A vindictive smirk on her face, Cordova rose with the lighter in hand and moved toward him again, bringing the flame quickly closer to his vulnerable, exposed body.

“Wait!” he gasped suddenly. “Wait, please!”

Her hand froze inches from contact, as she looked up at his face in amazement. Could it be? Had she actually finally broken his resistance?

“Wait for what, Hostile?” she asked coldly, quietly, not moving the lighter any closer, but not taking it away either.

He could feel the heat from the lighter on his skin, though the flame did not touch him. *Bloody hell! God, I hope this works!* he thought desperately, knowing that if it didn’t, if it was somehow a fluke and his chip was still functional, he was going to end up breaking down and begging her to kill him before she would finish venting her rage over what he was about to do.

“I – I’ll tell you…I’ll tell you where she is…just…just please don’t,” he whispered weakly.

A slow smile crept across her lips. Just because she enjoyed the feeling of power his submission gave her, she edged the flame just slightly closer to him, her eyes hardening, relishing his (very genuine) gasp of terror at the intensifying heat.

“I’m listening,” she said softly.

He launched into a rambling, very confusing description of the route to the mansion, which also happened to be absolutely false, secretly smiling at the growing confusion on her face.

“Ok, start again,” she said, frowning slightly. “Where exactly is this place?”

He sighed as if wearied by the effort, and said timidly, cautiously, “Maybe – maybe I’d better – show you? It – it might be easier.”

Suspicion appeared in her dark eyes, and he cringed as the lighter moved even closer to him. “What are you playing at, Hostile?” she asked coldly.

A chill went down his spine and he swallowed back a sick wave of fear at the realization that he was terrifyingly close to being found out. “N-nothing!” he insisted, and the trembling fear in his voice was not difficult. “I swear it! I just – I just don’t know if you could find it, and – and I wouldn’t want you to try and – and think I was lying when you couldn’t find it.”

She smiled. What could he do to her, anyway? It wasn’t like he could actually escape, or do anything to harm her. If he tried to run, she would drop him with the chip before he made it two steps. It couldn’t hurt to let him try to do as he offered. And if he turned out to be lying to her, trying to put one over on her, she could always pay him back for it later. Her smile widened in pleasure at the thought.

“All right,” she relented, finally closing the lighter and putting it in her pocket. “But you’d better be telling me the truth, Hostile. If you’re lying, I’ll be most displeased.”

He shuddered with a combination of the chill her words provoked, and utter relief at the removal of the lighter.

“I’m glad to see you’ve finally come to see reason,” she smirked as she went to untie the bonds at his ankles.

He turned his head away, in what appeared to be shame and defeat at his inability to hold out against her. That was why, when she moved to the head of the table to untie his wrists, she missed the secret, sly smile that crossed his perfect lips.

As he felt the restraints that had tormented him for hours suddenly loosed, he held back an evil chuckle as he thought to himself,

*Welcome to hell, bitch.*