Spike relished the surge of strength he felt flowing from her body to his, her blood flavored by a terror that was sweet to his taste. He had wanted to do this for a long, long time.

He stopped long before draining her, however, when an unbidden image appeared in his mind – Buffy’s tearful, stricken face, accusing eyes burning into him in his bedroom, as he and his childe stood over the broken body of Riley Finn. He drew back from his victim, confusion and annoyance mingled in his eyes.

She moaned with pain at the jarring impact as he dropped her head back down onto the table. Cautiously she opened terror-filled eyes, wondering at the cause of her reprieve, and how brief it would be.

He rose up from the table, cursing as he slammed his fist down on it beside her, causing her to jump against her restraints.

“Why should this even be a bloody *issue* for me?” he muttered. He pointed an accusing finger at her as he said, louder, insistent, “You deserve this!”

Her mind was racing, desperately searching for a way out of this. She was amazed that the vampire had actually stopped his attack on her. Against all her learning and experience with vampires, he seemed to be having a sudden attack of conscience, debating whether or not to take her life.

Now was not the moment to question, she realized. Now was the time to grab onto whatever slim hope she saw extended, and hold on for all she was worth. Keeping her voice soft, calm and cautious, she said, “Who are you to decide? You’ve done as much wrong as I have…possibly more. If you were blameless, perhaps you could be my judge…but you, *William*,” she said, pointedly emphasizing the name, her voice rising in strength as she met his eyes firmly, “are not one to talk to *me* about guilt – or to *decide* my guilt.”

He stood there for a moment, digesting her words, and she was just relieved that he did not immediately fall on her again for daring to speak. He did not look up for a moment, deep in thought.

Then, his cold blue eyes rose to meet hers, and her feeling of relief vanished.

“You’re absolutely right, love,” he said in a soft, thoughtful voice. “I’m not in any position to judge you.”

He slowly moved to untie her wrists and ankles. She lay there in stunned disbelief. This could not be happening! Was he really releasing her? She thought quickly about her options, and realized that they were still very few. He knew what he was doing. He had drained just enough blood from her that she was weak and dizzy – even loosed, still helpless. And he was looking stronger from the meal he had had. The trembling of his pain-wracked body had ceased, and if he was still in pain, he wasn’t showing it. He moved with an easy, predatory grace that was frightening to behold.

The moment the restraints were off, he gripped the back of her neck and pulled her up to a sitting position, growling low in her ear, “Now you’re going to be a good little girl and not try anything. Right, love?”

His voice and cool touch chilled her blood, and she nodded quickly, swallowing back her fear. “What are you going to do?” she asked in a tremulous voice, cringing at the helplessness and fear in her very small-sounding voice.

“Not a bloody thing, love!” he laughed, an odd note of surprise in the sound. “That’s the beauty of it! But you’re going to come take a little walk with me, pet.” He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She swayed a little, unsteady from the blood loss, and his hand under her elbow supported her for a moment. She was surprised by the odd, almost considerate gesture.

“Can you walk, or shall I carry you?” he asked with a mocking lilt to his voice.

“I can walk!” she snapped, her pride having taken a severe beating in the past few hours.

He let out a soft chuckle as he held up a hand in mock surrender. “Just trying to be helpful,” he laughed.

This sudden light-hearted, almost friendly air he had about him was terribly unsettling to her. She wondered fearfully what was behind it as she was led firmly but not painfully out of the laboratory and down the hallway.

Just what was this vampire planning to do with her?


Buffy paced restlessly through the kitchen, her eyes flashing with anger born of impatience and fear, her whole body rigid and trembling with nervous tension. Willow sat at the table, dozing with her head in her arms, resting on the table. Xander sat at the table as well, his eyes following Buffy’s frenetic movements. The two vampire children sat on the floor, against the wall, not because they had to, but just to keep some distance between themselves and the increasingly agitated Slayer, who appeared to be rapidly reaching full-on slay-mode.

“Hey, Buff?” Xander said mildly, concern in his eyes. “You might wanna sit down. I think you’re scaring the vampires.” He paused, reflecting. “Which in most cases would be a good thing, but here – not so much.”

Buffy looked startled, as if she had not been aware of her own actions. Then her defensive face came on, as she slumped down into a chair beside him and huffed, “They scare easy.”

“Ok, number one, you would too,” Xander pointed out, causing her to feel a pang of guilt. And just how wonky was that, *Xander* calling *her* on her treatment of the vampires? she thought with a hint of a smile. “And two,” Xander went on, counting off his points on his fingers, “You’re scaring *me*. He told Will he was ok, Buffy. I’m sure he can get out of there okay now that the chip’s down. Don’t worry.”

“Xander, he gave himself up willingly for me before. Will told him I’m still hurt. What if he just said he was okay to keep me from going up there and getting hurt again?” she pointed out.

Xander gave a little sideways nod in reluctant acknowledgment of the possibility. “Or it’s possible,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes with his own steady gaze, “that he’s just taking advantage of his new chiplessness to work about a year’s worth of personal issues.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, because she and Willow had not mentioned their suspicions as to what was keeping Spike to Xander, for fear of his reaction; but more because there was no anger, no accusation in his tone.

Looking down at the table with a sigh, Buffy said wearily, “Probably.” She paused before going on. “And what am I supposed to do about it? I mean, he practically asked me to be his conscience, Xander! I can’t let him just think this is okay. But – in a way – I sort of think…” She hesitated, not wanting to say what she was thinking, a little ashamed of it.

Xander nodded, already knowing. “Buffy, I know this Cordova is a person, needs to be brought to justice, all that,” he began slowly, his voice quiet and serious for once. “But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since we brought you out of there. Mostly about what she did to you – and how Spike sacrificed himself to get you out. Then I got to thinking – about all the stuff she must have done to *him* over the past year – about him having to just stand by and watch his – his *kids*, basically – be tortured, raped, abused…” He paused. “If he kills her,” he went on slowly, deliberately. “it won’t be because of the evil in him. It will be because of the *humanity* in him.”

Buffy stared at her friend, amazed by the transformation that had taken place in his thinking. She nodded slowly. “It’s not right,” she agreed softly. “but it’s no more than anyone else would do.”

She frowned then, thinking again. “But seriously, Xander…what if he’s not as okay as he wants me to think? What if he needs our help?” She stood up suddenly, a determined expression that was very familiar to Xander on her face.

“Wake up, Will,” she said, shaking her friend’s shoulder gently.

“What are we doing?” Xander asked her as he stood up as well, though he really already knew the answer.

“I’m not gonna leave him there to maybe make it out, maybe not,” Buffy replied, fire in her eyes. “That’s not what he did for me. That stupid chip had him crippled more than I am now. We’re going in.”


Without even having to think about it, Spike quickly punched in the clearance code for the hall on which his children were housed. The doors on this hall, as well as one main door at the end of it, were all controlled electronically by the control panel directly outside. Cordova gave him a look of surprise as he unlocked the main door, then entered the code to unlock all the individual doors as well.

He shrugged and smiled coolly, “You pay attention, you learn things. Basic life lesson.” Something in his smile suggested that he did not expect her to live long enough to use the wisdom he had just imparted.

“What are we here for?” she asked nervously, pulling slightly against his cool fingers on her arm.

His grip held firm, as he smiled into her eyes and replied softly, “Justice.”

When the main door opened, he pulled the reluctant general inside. A few heads up and down the hall were cautiously peeking out their doors, curious as to why the doors had unlocked, but no one had entered their rooms. A little hum of surprised murmuring began at the sight of their sire, very obviously in command of the hated and feared general.

“Get the others,” Spike ordered the few nearest to him, who immediately began knocking on doors up and down the hall. Within minutes, all of Spike’s children were assembled around them – about a dozen or so vampires, all young, frightened, having known nothing but slavery and abuse since their turning. A dozen pairs of uncertain eyes turned on the only one in this place they trusted, the only one who saw them as more than mere possessions to be used.

“What’s going on?” one of them ventured, hesitant to speak in front of the general, even as helpless as she now appeared, bruised, bleeding and captive. Speaking without permission was not permitted, and these prisoners had been trained well to obedience.

“We’ve had a bit of a change in management, lads,” Spike informed them. “The chips are turned off. For good. You’re free,” he explained to the stunned group before him, who could hardly comprehend the idea, they had been slaves for so long.

He shoved Cordova toward them, his first violence toward her since they had left her lab/torture chamber. “She can’t hurt you anymore,” he declared, his words louder as he addressed them with victory in his voice. “She’s tortured you and enslaved you – but it’s over now. Look at her. Now *she’s* the prisoner.”

Her hate-filled eyes rose to meet his with venomous rage and defiance, and her breath caught in her throat at the triumphant vindication she saw there.

Still meeting her gaze, but speaking to his children, Spike went on, “She told me earlier that I’m not fit to judge her. Well, she’s bloody right. I’ve done as much as she has to regret. But she’s no longer in conrol here; *I* am. And I say that you – her innocent victims – the ones whose lives she stole for her own gain -- *you* decide her fate.”

Her eyes widened with the realization of what he was doing, and he smiled.

Speaking to her now, he continued, “They had families – homes – lives – and you saw fit to take it away from them. Now let’s see what they feel is fitting to do with *your* life.”

Terror rose in her eyes as she looked from him to his children – who were just beginning to realize the impact of what was happening here. They were finally free – and their tormentor was a prisoner in their hands!

A low rumbling growl began to sound, though she couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from. One of them ventured close enough to shove her backward, and as she staggered a few steps, a delighted smile took over his face when he felt no pain. He looked around at his brothers in awe and wonder, as slow smiles began to form on their faces as well.

Cordova, panicked, stepped backward, but by now they had circled her, and there was no open way of escape. Spike silently stepped back, out of the circle, a soft smile of satisfaction on his face, as he turned to head for the door.

“Wait!” she almost screamed as one of the vampires now stalking her lunged toward her, then feinted back – toying with her. Her wild, panicked eyes found him, and she cried out, “You can’t do this! You can’t do this to me!”

He stopped, half-turning to look her in the eyes and reply softly, “I didn’t do this to you, love. You did. If you can’t take the heat – shouldna built the bloody kitchen.”

And with that, he turned and walked slowly away, as the sounds of vicious, primal snarls and terrified desperate screams filled the space behind him.