“Okay. So – the idea is to get into the *secret* training center – somehow – and get some kind of rock solid evidence against Riley and his organization – somehow – without getting caught, and – and here’s the most important part – get *out* with said evidence, and get it to the knowledge of the general public before Riley puts out a hit on each and every one of us to silence us. Is that basically the plan?” Anya asked, her tone matter-of-fact.

Buffy stared at her for a long moment, slightly annoyed. Trust Anya to find all the reasons why the plan *wouldn’t* work. But then, she reminded herself, they really did not have much of a plan at this point. And it was actually a good thing to have someone on the team who would notice things like that. Better to find the glitches now, when they could still be fixed, than once they were in the training center, surrounded by the enemy.

“Basically,” she replied slowly, flatly. “It’s still in the planning stages.” Her voice was only a little defensive.

“Okay,” Xander broke in, his voice calm and patient, expertly easing the slight tension that had arisen between the love of his youth and the love of his life. “So let’s tackle the glitches – one at a time. Getting in. How are we gonna figure out how to get into the training center?”

“There has to be some sort of code, or key, or something that the soldiers use to get in.” Buffy glanced up at Mara and Julian, the nearest that they had to experts on the training centers. “Are you sure you never saw *anything*? When the soldiers were coming and going, you never saw them swipe a card, or use a key, or *anything*?”

She was trying hard not to sound impatient; she really was.

Both looked apologetic and a bit uncomfortable, but were obviously unable to provide any more information on th issue than they already had.

“They weren’t allowed to look at the soldiers, love,” Spike reminded her softly, a gentle sympathy in his low voice.

Buffy’s eyes immediately went to him, but his own were focused on the table top, his mouth set against revealing some emotion – anger? Fear? Pain? Buffy could only guess. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she felt a sick feeling beginning in the pit of her stomach.

How did Spike know about the rules at the training facility? He had been sound asleep when she had been discussing it with Tara and Willow, and she did not think that he had taken the opportunity to talk to the other vampires about it – she did not think he had left her side long enough.

She stared at him until his uncertain look at her reminded her that she *was* staring, and she forced herself to turn her attention back to the meeting, making a mental note to talk to him about it later.

"Okay...so we're basically going into this completely blind -- aren't we?" Willow pointed out with a little grimace.

"Not necessarily," Xander countered, raising a finger in a gesture to wait, his eyes widening as an idea occurred to him. "We have someone here who probably still has access to Riley's house..." He looked up at Buffy with a sly smile. "Weren't you still needing to go back to get some of your stuff from the mansion?"

Buffy stared at him for a moment, her thoughtful frown fading into a slow smile as she realized what he was saying. "Yes, I *do* still need to get my stuff. Riley can't say anything about that, can he? Anyway, I can go when I'm pretty sure he's not gonna be there, and take a look around while I'm there...see if I can find anything. Good idea, Xander."

Giles nodded with a small smile. "It just might be the best lead we have at the moment."

“Okay. Then that’s step number one. I’ll go back to the house this afternoon. Riley’s always at work until late, so I should have a few good hours to look around. The house should be empty except for his slaves.” She shrugged, a bitter, sarcastic smile rising to her lips. “And if any of Riley’s little whores get in my way – hey, I’ve got my Slayer duty, don’t I?”

She was caught off guard by the stunned silence that met her flippant comment. Her friends were staring at her, aghast. Giles cleared his throat, looking away, before taking off his glasses and reaching for his handkerchief. She glanced around the room quickly, bewildered.

“*What*?” she demanded.

Julian’s eyes were downcast, and he swallowed hard, his mouth working with emotion, and as she looked at him, Buffy began to understand with a sick feeling in her throat just why they had reacted as they had. She opened her mouth to apologize, a sense of shame washing over her at her thoughtless words.

“You think they *want* to be there?” Mara suddenly spoke up in a quiet, trembling voice, her dark eyes flashing with fury and glistening with tears. “They’re *not* whores, they’re *victims*! They have no choice! How can you call a *rape* victim a whore?” she demanded, her pain-filled voice resounding clearly in the silence.

Buffy had no response, faced with the startling truth that that was indeed what she had just done. She had never thought of it like that, her personal involvement in the situation only allowing her to see Riley’s slaves as rivals for his affections – not as victims of his twisted, sadistic desires. She simply stared down at the table, her own eyes welling with tears of shame.

Giles replaced his glasses on his face and cleared his throat again, drawing the attention of the group. “Buffy is the Slayer,” he said in a voice of quiet authority. “She has been chosen to vanquish evil – vampires in particular – and has spent most of her youth doing just that. She is now just coming to terms with the recent – changes – in our society, and – what they mean in regards to her position.” He looked at Mara, his eyes speaking volumes as he went on, “You can’t expect her entire mindset to change overnight…”

“Yeah, but in the mean time,” Aaron broke in. “how do we know whose side she’s gonna take when it comes down to it?” His tone was heated, his eyes full of alarm, but he did not seem to hold the anger at Buffy that Mara did.

“Oh, please!” Spike spoke up angrily, startling everyone with his vehemence. “She’s bloody well on *our* side, you git! Why do you think we’re *here* in the first place, having this whole soddin’ discussion? Because *she* called this meeting, because she wants to help!”

“Yeah – as long as it’s someone she knows and likes!” Mara countered. “If it’s just a random vampire, or one she *doesn’t* like, then she doesn’t care about helping *them*!”

“They were *sleeping* with her soddin’ *husband*!” Spike nearly shouted, over-pronouncing the words in a patronizing way that was infuriating to the female vampire. “I’d wager she’d like to shove a stake through the heart of a human woman what done that, too!”

Suddenly Mara stood to her feet, glaring at Buffy as she snapped in a trembling voice, “Then she should start with me! Cause I’ve slept with her *husband*, and it was absolutely against my will, and I hated every moment of it, and hate *him* with everything in me, but this freaking chip in my head means I couldn’t fight him off! But if that makes me a whore in her eyes, then that makes her a heartless, self-righteous monster in mine!”

Silence fell over the room again, even Spike’s passionate defenses of Buffy shot down by Mara’s stunning words. No one knew what to say, how to ease the tension that had arisen in the room – so no one said anything.

Finally, Buffy spoke, her voice soft and clear in the stillness. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I’m sorry, Mara. For what Riley did to you. For what everyone else who works for him has ever done to you. And whether you believe it or not, I *do* want to help. I want to stop Riley from ever hurting anyone again – human or vampire. If I’ve insulted you – I’m sorry. But – Giles is right. This is all so – so new to me. I’m dealing as fast and as well as I can, and if that’s not good enough…”

Her voice broke off, as her tears fell to streak her face. She swallowed hard, sniffing and wiping at her eyes before she looked up to meet the furious vampiress’s eyes firmly. “I’m going to bring the slave trade down. Any of you who *want* to help me – I want your help. I need it. But I’m doing this with or without it.”

She paused. “I’m going to go to Riley’s house this afternoon and find whatever I can to help us get into the training center.” She stopped, looking down again before she looked up and around the room at all of them, a controlled anger smoldering in her eyes. “I’m going to go get ready. So that when you guys go on talking about me like I’m not here – I’ll actually *be* not here.”

With that, she turned and headed for the door. Giles and several of her friends began to speak at once, trying to stop her, but it was Spike’s voice that made her halt, just inside the door to the dining room.

“*Buffy*.”

She did not respond, just stood there, waiting for him to speak, her back still turned to them all. She braced herself for the argument, the plea to stay that she expected to hear.

“I’m going with you.” She was surprised, and pleased in spite of her feelings of the moment, to hear the firm determination in his voice. “To the mansion,” he clarified, just in case. “You don’t need to go alone. I’m going with you.” She had not heard him speak with such surety in a very long time.

It was a shame that she was going to have to shut him down.

She turned to face him, her expression gentle but firm. “No, you’re not,” she told him. “It’s too dangerous. If I happen to run into Riley…”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he finished for her, meeting her eyes with his own full of concern and conviction. “I want to go with you, Buffy.”

“Spike – no,” she said in a tone that was right on the edge between patience and irritation, and left no room for argument either way.

And without another word, she turned again and left the room.

But before she did, Spike could clearly see the trembling of her lower lip, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall. She had left at that precise moment, not to keep him from having the chance to argue his case further, but to keep them all from seeing the complete and utter breakdown of the Slayer.

He sat there for a moment, staring after her, indecisive. Buffy was clearly hurting and embarrassed, and wanting to be alone. But was that what she *needed*? He knew that, as she had said, she was dealing with a lot of changes, all at once – and deep down, he knew that what she really needed was a friend to talk to.

The part of his mind that was accustomed to slavery and doing only as he was told, told him to just stay there and wait for her to return; she had not asked for his presence, and it was not his place to intrude. But the part of him that was clinging to the promise of friendship she had offered him, and wanted to be there for her in this situation and all others, told him to go after her, get her to talk to him about this.

In the end – friend-Spike won.

He rose from the table without a word to any of the others and walked out into the living room. She was not there, so he headed up the stairs, checking the bathroom, but seeing no sign of her.

He found her in the bedroom – slamming her fist repeatedly into a pillow on the bed. As he stopped in the doorway, the battered fabric gave way and a cloud of feathers engulfed the seething Slayer. The scene gave him only a moment’s trepidation before he stepped into the room.

Mostly – it was just funny.

She turned her resentful glare on him, but he was only a little afraid. Most of his fears of her hurting him had faded away after the tenderness of the past few days. She was trembling with rage and pain as she stared back down at the demolished pillow.

“I figured it was better the pillow than Mara’s face,” she muttered by way of explanation, with a listless shrug as she wiped furiously at the tears that were still determined to fall.

“Not her fault,” he reminded her softly, moving cautiously toward her, his eyes focused on the mangled pillow as well.

Buffy was silent for a long moment, and he glanced up at her, wondering if he had angered her. Finally she spoke softly, slowly, “I’m trying. I’m really trying, Spike.”

There was a pleading note in her achingly broken voice, and he found himself instinctively going to her. As she watched him approach, the Slayer dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs, and he put his arms around her comfortingly. Any anxiety he felt about the gesture faded away when she turned and clung to him, sobbing out her confusion and frustration against his chest.

After a long moment, she looked up at him through red, tearful eyes. “It’s all just so confusing! I’m the Slayer! I’m supposed to fight evil – except I can hardly tell what that is anymore! I mean – I know Riley’s organization is evil – but – does that mean that vampires aren’t?”

He could not take offense at her honest question. The poor girl was having her very foundation shaken out from under her; she could hardly be expected to choose every word carefully in the process just to avoid offending anyone.

As she had proven so well downstairs in the dining room, he thought with a grimace.

The truth was, he had no answer for her question. Vampires by nature *were* evil. But – chipped and unable to harm humans – he knew that he himself had changed. He no longer had the *desire* to harm most humans – Riley and his soldiers being the exception. He had learned that it was possible for vampires to change.

So where did that leave the Slayer?

For the moment – in his arms.

“It’s all right, love,” he murmured softly, gazing down into the sparkling green eyes searching his for reassurance. “You’ve just gotta work it all out for yourself, in your own mind. It’ll be all right.”

As she continued to stare up into his eyes, he watched her expression change, realization and affection rising in her eyes. “*You’re* not evil,” she said softly. “You can’t be.” She paused. “Not and love the way you do.”

He looked away, suddenly self-conscious, as her hand rose to gently stroke down his cheek.

“Spike,” she said softly, earnestly, “please look at me.” The “please” meant the world to him, though she didn’t know it, and he raised his eyes to meet hers again, uncertain, but revealing the depth of his feeling for her.

“I was – thinking about this – last night,” Buffy began, her voice halting but her eyes never leaving his. “And – and I can’t treat you like a slave. Not anymore. You – you’re so much more than that to me.”

He felt a familiar hope rising in him, but could not bring himself to ask the question her words inspired.

*What *am* I to you?*

“I want to set you free, Spike,” Buffy said, her tone soft but decisive. “I would – officially – if I could without leaving you at the mercy of anyone who wanted to claim you. So – officially,” she repeated, speaking slowly as she tried to make her thoughts clear to him. “you’ll be legally mine, until we can end this slavery for good. But – I want you to know that -- *I* see you as free, Spike. You don’t have to ask my permission; you don’t have to agree with me or do everything I say – unless we’re in a situation where it’d be dangerous not to – because anyone outside this house right now has got to still think you’re a slave.” She paused. “But I want you to know that to me – you’re not some – some lesser creature. You’re not beneath me. You’re a *person*, Spike – and one I’m glad to call my friend.”

He swallowed hard, tears rising to his own eyes at the words he had never expected to hear. He was silent for so long that Buffy became concerned.

“Spike?” she whispered, trying to catch his eye. “Are you all right?”

He did not respond for a moment. “It’s just a – a bloody lot to process, love,” he said in a voice barely over a whisper. “You – you want me to – to be *free*.” The word was spoken with a sort of awe, as if the concept was so out of reach to him by this point as to be completely foreign. “To make my own choices. Be – my own man.”

She nodded slowly, feeling choked, an ache in her chest at the fact that he even had to wonder. “Yes, Spike. That’s exactly what I want.”

She searched his downcast eyes as best she could, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. And she was surprised – though she realized a moment later that she shouldn’t have been – to see a certain level of fear and insecurity mingled with the hope in his eyes.

When he raised those crystal blue eyes to meet hers, she instantly knew the cause of it – and how to remedy it.

“But – Spike,” she went on, hesitantly, a tender plea in her voice. “I – I know I can’t promise you anything. I’m too mixed up right now to be sure of much of anything. But – I *am* sure of this. I want you to still be – mine. If you want to be.”

It was clear to him that what she was talking about had nothing to do with slavery.

He could see in her eyes, hear in her voice, the emotion she could not yet put words to – and it filled his heart with an overwhelming joy. The smile that spread across his face made him positively glow, Buffy with awe as he whispered his response.

“Always.”

His eyes wide with amazement at what was happening between them, he cautiously leaned toward her, his eyes moving between her lips and her eyes until he captured her lips tenderly with his won. She responded immediately to the soft but intense pressure of his tongue against her lips, granting the entrance he sought, relishing the welcome invasion as he cautiously took the lead in the tender moment building between them.

He did not pull back until they were both breathless and gasping. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment in stunned amazement, scarcely able to believe the need and desire he saw there, mingled with a tenderness and longing that was beginning to reveal itself, with or without her consent.

After a little pause, as they both began to recover from the intensity of the kiss, he said softly, “My own decisions. My own choices.”

The words were a question, a request for her to re-affirm what she had already said. She nodded. “Yes. You’re free to make your own choices.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his eyes down. Suddenly he looked back up at her, with an expression of determination that she knew would not be denied in his blue eyes, and a little smirk of triumph on his lips.

“Right, then. I’m going with you!”