We will remember them…
By Lilachigh


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Laurence Binyon





Chapter Thirty:

Another Way




William the Bloody threw himself against the bars of the cage, vamping out, snarling in anger and frustration as the Slayer stood there, obviously on friendly terms with his captors. He knew he should never have trusted the bitch; she was the sodding Slayer!

He roared his rage, furious with her and even angrier at himself: letting her persuade him that they could work together, that in the future they were some sort of colleagues. She’d lied, right from the first time he’d laid eyes on her! God, if Liam ever found out, he’d never be able to hold his head up again! Bitch! His fangs ached to sink into her neck as another wave of fury shame and something very like disappointment washed over him.

Buffy stood and watched him impassively, fighting to betray no more emotion on her face than mere curiosity. She knew exactly what Spike was thinking and knowing that she couldn’t blame him tore at her like the fangs she could see so clearly wanted to do.

She fought back the overwhelming desire to tell him she hadn’t betrayed him, was not part of this disgusting experiment to turn German soldiers into vampires who would fight for the Third Reich, but she knew she couldn’t. There was no way that the young American doctor and his German wife could know that she and Spike were acquainted. Jeez, if they even knew he was English….

She pointed at Spike and turning to Dr Walsh, said, “Interesting, I think this one is…is…” She hesitated for a split second. What languages did Spike speak? Her mind fled back in memory and forward in time to a Thanksgiving dinner, to Spike being chained in Giles’ bathtub and hearing him and her Watcher talking, in quite friendly tones, about things they had learnt in school in England.

“….Latin! He knows Latin, I mean, he’s Italian, from Italy. I recognise the type.”

Doctor Walsh peered at the vampire. Admittedly it was hard to tell, through the yellow eyes and fangs, but he supposed there was an Italian touch to the brown curls. “He hasn’t said a word in any language yet,” he commented. “But an Italian vampire is OK with me. Should be happy to serve the Third Reich. We have a strong young sergeant just waiting for this one to turn him.”

Buffy stepped up to the bars, her face as close as she could get without touching. “You’re Italian, aren’t you, vampire? You don’t speak any English, do you?”

Her gaze never left Spike’s and slowly the golden rage faded and he vamped back into human face, a shudder running through his body, making his teeth chatter as his fangs vanished. What the hell did the bloody bint mean? Latin? Italian? He was no more a sodding Itie than she was. English and proud of it, him. He’d tell them, he’d show her…

Buffy’s fingers touched his where they were still gripping the bars. “Yes, definitely Italian. Can’t speak English, can you, vamp? See, he doesn’t understand me!”

Spike blinked. Her fingers were now rubbing softly across his clenched knuckles and for all the passion and desire he and Dru had experienced through the years, he knew he had never felt a touch as tender as this. And suddenly he understood; of course they mustn’t know he was English! She might have betrayed him, but the Slayer was still thinking on her feet. Why she waned to protect him, he couldn’t even imagine. She probably had an even nastier fate lined up for him, but in the meantime, if it saved him from whatever these doctors were planning then - “Non capisco!” he muttered hoarsely.

“Well, I don’t know much Italian myself, but it’s obvious what he means. OK, vamp, calm down, we’ll find someone to explain everything to you,” Dr Walsh said cheerfully. “Now, Miss Summers, if you’ll come back into the main laboratory with me, my wife is about to start another experiment. Perhaps you’d care to help her remove the top of the vamp’s skull? They tend to wriggle about when the saw cuts through – ”

“Jeez, I hate to miss that, but I…I have to write up my notes for Dr Baxter!” Buffy edged towards a door she’d noticed that she reckoned led back into the long corridor lined with vamp cages.

Dr Walsh frowned. “I do hope he won’t be delayed for much longer. My father returns from Germany tomorrow and I know he wants to start on making our vampire recruits straight away. Even ten or twenty will be an incredible help to the war effort and once that has been achieved, my wife and I can continue out work, trying to find a way to control vampires and demons once and for all. Dr Baxter’s help in that will be invaluable.”

“And I’m sure he can’t wait,” Buffy gushed, pushing the picture of Spike feeding off the dead American professor out of her mind. “By the way, what happens to the vamps once they’ve turned the soldiers?”

Dr Walsh scratched his chin. “If they succeed in making a viable warrior, then we’ll keep them so they can repeat the process. We’ve no way of knowing how many humans a vamp can turn in one day, for instance. It’s all extremely interesting. Of course, if their – what shall I call them – progeny? – fail to accept our rules and regulations, then we’ll terminate them.”

Buffy pushed the door open. “Yes, of course. I remember now that was Dr Baxter’s opinion, too. Well – ” A piercing scream echoed through the laboratories – “Jeez, your wife is all sawy girl today, isn’t she? Don’t let me keep you, Dr Walsh. I expect she’d be glad of a helping hand. I’ll see you tomorrow. It’ll be fun. Please don’t bother to see me out. I know how busy you are.”

Dr Walsh smiled vaguely, obviously distracted by the screams and yells coming from the big laboratory behind him. He shook Buffy’s hand and vanished back into the hell his wife was causing, the door closing behind him with a loud click. Buffy waited a heart beat until she was certain he wasn’t returning, then ran across the room to Spike’s cage. “Spike! Spike!”

“Non capisco.”

“He’s gone. Are you OK?” she whispered, feeling sure she could shout and no one would hear her above the dreadful sounds coming from the main laboratory.

Spike rolled over from where he was lying, curled up on the filthy floor and stood up. “Oh, never better, Slayer. Captured by a load of wanker doctors, just about to have my bloody head cut open, so I can serve Herr Hitler and oh yes, betrayed by the one person in France I thought I could half trust. OK, last part is my mistake. Won’t do that again in a hurry.”

Buffy ignored his moaning. In fact, she was only too glad to hear him complaining. His injuries couldn’t be that bad if he had the energy to whine like a hurt puppy. She was only too well aware that when Spike was badly injured, he said nothing and no one could ever make him speak. “You should have had more sense than to get captured,” she snapped, pulling at the bars of the cage. “I thought you were going to find your girlfriend?”

Spike shrugged. There was no way he was going to tell the Slayer about his plans or his change of mind.

“And they’re not going to operate on you: they want you to turn German soldiers so the Nazis have their own private vamp army.”

Spike cursed. “That’s exactly what I wanted to do! But little Miss Prissy Knickers didn’t want a vampire army roaming around Europe, did you? Well, eat your heart out, Slayer. Seems to me that’s exactly what you’re going to get. And at least I get to have some lunch!”

“Stop thinking about your stomach! If you imagine for one moment that I’m going to let you turn German soldiers – ” She tugged on the bars. “Anyway, why are you here? And why do you know who I am? Didn’t you eat your part of the charm!” She gritted her teeth and felt all her Slayer strength flow down her arms into her fingers. And the bars moved slightly.

Spike leant against the cage wall and watched her disdainfully. “Must have forgot. So why are you poncing about being friends with Mr and Mrs Jekyll? Thought you wanted to get home.”

Buffy paused in her efforts. There was an odd note in his voice. If she hadn’t known it was impossible, she would have said his feelings were hurt in some stupid way.

“I do, and I am going back soon, but don’t you see, this must be why I was sent to France. Rescuing Joy was just an excuse to get me here – my mission is to stop the vampire army they want to build.”

“Good luck with that, then, Slayer. Just get me out of this cage and I’ll be off, then we’ll both be happy.”

Buffy stepped back, hands on hips. “Listen, if you want out, then you give me some help.”

Spike’s eyes gleamed. “Not strong enough to bend a couple of bars, pet? Thought Slayers were tougher than that. Perhaps it’s just a legend, a myth. Reckon you could take me in a fair fight?”

“One day, Spike – ” she stopped, remembering just where and how their last fair fight had ended up. She took a deep breath to calm down. “Look, you don’t have to like me – “

“Don’t!”

“Good. And I have no feelings for you except disgust – ”

Inside her jacket pocket, Henry, the witch’s toad she was carrying, woke up from a really nice sleep in disgust. Henry hated liars; they gave him indigestion.

“But if we work together, just this once, I can get you out of here. Of course, if you want to stand around like – like – Xander at a wiccan convention – then OK, but – ”

Spike sighed. He hadn’t a single bloody idea what the hell the American girl was talking about, and he no longer trusted her as far as he could throw her, but getting out of the cage before Mrs Monster Maker came to collect him sounded like a very good idea. He grabbed hold of one of the bars the Slayer had been trying to move and as she pushed one way, he put all his strength into moving his.

Working together, the two forced the bars apart, a fraction a second until there was enough space for Spike to slide through, cursing as the iron rubbed against the cuts and bruises on his chest. He glared at Buffy and was about to speak when another agonising scream echoed through the walls, rising to a crescendo then abruptly stopping. Buffy knew what that meant. Another vamp had been staked. From the other cages around the room, hisses and growls sounded from vamps, their owners lying in the dark shadows.

Spike growled deep in his throat as he vamped out, then back again. “What the bloody hell’s going on, Slayer? That isn’t a vamp turning a soldier boy.”

“No, that’s the Walsh family fun time!”

“What?”

“They’re trying to find a way of putting electrical thingies inside vamps’ brains so they can control them.” She bit her lip, wondering what he would say if she told him one day one of he doctor’s children would have perfected the technique and Spike would be chipped, made harmless to humans.

“That’s sick!” Spike vamped out and turned with long strides towards the door that led through into the big laboratory.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

He turned and grinned at her but there was no warmth in his eyes. “What do you think, Slayer? I’m going to show those creeps exactly what it’s like, being turned. Hey, they might even enjoy the experience.”

“No! Spike, you can’t turn the Walshes.”

“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow at her and moved towards the door. “Who’s going to stop me? You? OK, if you’re that prissy about it, I’ll just kill the bastards.”

She stared at him, thoughts roaring through her mind. These Walshes had to be the parents of the Professor Walsh who would run the Initiative in Sunnydale. But she hadn’t been born yet, so Spike couldn’t kill her parents! If he did, then everything would change and he wouldn’t be chipped, wouldn’t get closer to the Scoobies, wouldn’t become – well, whatever it was he had become! But she couldn’t tell him any of that.

“Yes, me, I’ll stop you! I know what they’re doing is totally wrong, but you mustn’t kill them or turn them. There has to be another way to end these experiments. Believe me – trust me!”

“Trust you? I’d rather trust old Adolf!”

Buffy refused to let her eyes fill with tears. “OK, don’t trust me, but no matter what you think, we have to find another way.”

Spike glared at her; she was small, deceptively thin and even if she had released him, he still believed she’d betrayed him to the Germans: he couldn’t understand why he didn’t just push her aside, sweep through the door and kill everything in sight.

Suddenly he grinned and this time the warmth was back in his eyes. That was the trouble with being bloody English, he decided. You had to fight for the under-dog every time. And on this occasion, the Slayer was definitely that.

“So, Slayer, you and me against the mad doctors and a few hundred Nazis? Seems like good odds.” He tilted his head, his ears picking up a faint noise. “Right, now’s the time for your big plan, Buffy Summers. One of the doctors is just about to walk through that door!”

tbc