“She’s just beyond this door,” Spike said, stepping closer to the large iron door as he indicated it with his hand.

Buffy and Aaron both approached it behind him, and Buffy looked at it appraisingly. “You’re sure?” she asked him.

He nodded once, meeting her eyes with a serious look. There was a very strong chance, from what they had seen so far, that Anya was alone in this room. But that did not eliminate the chance that they may face conflict upon entering this room.

It didn’t matter to Buffy. If Anya was in that room, she was going in, regardless of the risk.

She shrugged. “Okay,” she said simply – the instant before she launched a powerful flying kick to the door that knocked it completely off its hinges and into the room, falling with a loud bang several yards from the doorway – quite an impressive feat, considering that both door and hinges were made of solid iron.

The single occupant of the tiny, dark room did not seem so much impressed as terrified by the violent, forceful action. A little yelp of surprised fear was clearly heard, over the echoes of the iron on the cold stone floor. In the darkness of the room, however, it was impossible to see anything – at least for Buffy. She imagined that the vampires were not having as much difficulty as she was.

“Anya?” she called softly, reaching into her pocket for her flashlight, shining it into the pitch black space around her, thinking as she did how terribly cruel it was to keep any living creature locked up in total darkness such as this. It was a deliberate attempt to terrorize, to break the will and spirit of the person they were keeping captive here.

Buffy wondered for the hundredth time how Riley and his men could even begin to think that they were any better than the “monsters” they enslaved.

Her angry train of thought was suddenly cut off, swallowed up in overwhelming relief, when the glow from her light fell on the dirty, bruised face of her best friend’s wife, wide-eyed and frightened, trying to see past the light that was in her face, able only to make out the vague outlines, but not to see the faces, of the intruders who had just entered her cell.

“Anya,” Buffy said softly. “It’s us. Are you okay?”

“Buffy?”

Anya was standing near the far wall, not bound in any way. Apparently the soldiers had not thought any further restraint necessary to hold the weak human girl. The expression on her face was one of disbelieving joy and relief, though she still could not see the face of her rescuers. “Oh my God! Buffy! Buffy, I’m so – so glad…”

Then, behind Buffy, Aaron turned on his own flashlight, illuminating the Slayer in a flood of light and revealing her to Anya’s sight.

Her emotions overwhelmed her in that moment, and her happy declaration was cut off as she burst into tears, unexpectedly stepping toward the Slayer without hesitation and burying her face in her shoulder as she threw her arms around her, sobbing with relief, and the release of the terror of the past few hours.

Buffy felt her own throat constrict with the tears that welled in her eyes, as she returned the girl’s desperate, trembling embrace, as she did, leading her toward the door and the dim light of the hallway.

“It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s okay, Anya, we’re here now. We’re gonna get you home, okay?”

Anya cried for a few moments in the faint light from the torches in the hallway, clinging to the Slayer, who noticed with some surprise that she was finding it less and less difficult to be tender and comforting, to let her emotions and affections show.

*Just another positive effect of Spike-influence in my life,* she thought with warm gratitude.

After a few moments, Anya managed to regain her composure, looking hopefully up into Buffy’s eyes. “Xander?” she whispered, the name a question.

“He wanted to come,” Buffy explained in a gentle, apologetic voice. “I wouldn’t let him. He was really determined – he wanted so bad to come and rescue you – but I insisted that he stay home. I’m sorry. I know you must want to see him so bad, but I told him he needs to stay safe for you. *Both* of you,” she smiled sympathetically. “So you can blame me…”

“*Blame* you?” Anya laughed in tearful disbelief. “Buffy -- *thank* you!” she whispered. Her gratitude was clear in her voice, her eyes, and Buffy knew that she saw the wisdom of Buffy’s decision, and was just glad that Xander had been kept out of harm’s way.

“Come on,” Buffy said. “We need to get out of here. Are you hurt, Anya?”

Anya shook her head. “No. Their leader – he told them not to…” Her voice trailed off, and a shudder went through her as she thought back on her ordeal, but there was a flash of anger and indignation in her eyes as well. “If I had my powers back,” she began in a dark tone, “Not one of them would even *have* their worthless penises right about now. Not to mention their entrails and vital organs.”

“Good,” Buffy said, a bit distractedly, then frowned when she realized what Anya had said, looking just a little sick. “That – you’re okay,” she clarified slowly. “It’s good that you’re okay. But – we really need to go now,” she urged her, pushing her gently ahead of her down the hallway.

The little group rallied momentarily near one of the torches, taking stock of their situation.

“Here,” Buffy said as she held out one of the pistols she was now carrying for Anya to take it.

She took it without hesitation, putting it into the waistband of her jeans. If she couldn’t have the powers of a thousand-year old vengeance demon, then bullets would have to do. But she did not intend to be caught defenseless again.

Buffy turned to look at Aaron, hesitating for only a moment before she took out another gun and held it out to him as well. “Try not to vamp out unless you have to if we run into any soldiers up there,” she instructed him. “It’s best if they think you’re human as long as possible. Otherwise you’ll be a prime target.”

He nodded slowly, accepting her wise advice, relieved that she had apparently decided that he was trustworthy.

“Okay,” she addressed them all. “We’re just gonna get up there and get out as fast as we can. That’s – pretty much all the plan we’ve got,” she admitted with a grimace. “Do whatever you have to, to defend yourself, if we run into trouble. But we got down here without too much problem, so…”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna be a bit harder getting out, love,” Spike cautioned her quietly. “Finn’s on his way here, if he’s not here already. By the time we get up there, the place might be a bit more active than it was when we came in.”

Buffy nodded grimly, realizing that he was right. What he did not mention, though she knew he was thinking of it, was the trail of bodies – most living, but some not – that they had left along the way. There was a strong chance that their presence was already known to the entire complex. And if that was the case, getting out could prove to be very difficult indeed.

There was nothing for it. They had no choice but to simply face whatever came at them, and do their best to get past it.

“Aaron,” Buffy said in a voice of quiet authority. “Take the lead. Anya – stay between us, you’ll be safer that way. Spike, bring up the rear with me.”

Aaron nodded his agreement, though she knew that it was obvious to him that she still did not fully trust him enough to allow him to watch their backs. The Slayer’s personality was such that she would certainly have rather led the way, and was only giving that position to him so that she would be able to keep an eye on him.

Still, he went along with it without protest, as they approached the stairs, stopping briefly at the bottom.

“Okay,” Buffy said softly, as Aaron stepped slowly, deliberately, onto the first step. “Here goes everything.”


“Giles – where did Mara and Julian go?” Willow asked the Watcher, an anxious note to her voice.

He was more than a little distracted, his thoughts consumed and torn between Buffy’s current dilemma in Riley’s underground training center, and the new worry she had introduced to him of whether or not one of his own inner circle was actually a traitor.

Giles looked away from the laptop screen, which he had not really been focused on anyway. He was trying to keep an eye on it, just to be sure that Buffy and the others got out all right, but he knew very well that, realistically speaking, there was very little he could actually do to help if they *did* get into trouble.

If the Slayer could not handle it, there was little chance that he would be able to – and especially from such a distance.

His attention drawn by Willow’s question, Giles glanced around the living room with a puzzled frown. Aside from the two of them, the room was completely empty. Xander was sleeping upstairs, and Tara had gone upstairs to check on him and be sure he was all right – but the two vampires were unaccounted for.

“Well, that’s odd,” he mused, trying to keep the uneasiness he felt out of his voice, furious with himself even for feeling it. Despite his best intentions, Buffy’s suspicions were having an effect on him. He did not want to distrust any one of his little makeshift family – but he simply couldn’t help wondering…

“Where do you suppose they might have gone?” he asked quietly, not really expecting an answer.

“They heard what Buffy said. They’re probably pretty upset,” Willow suggested, making no effort to hide her own fears. “Unless – Giles, do you think maybe – do you think Buffy might be right? I mean…”

“No,” Giles said shortly, but without anger. “I trust them completely, Willow. There is no way that either Julian or Mara would do anything to hurt me, or anyone I care about. I know them.”

As the Watcher stood up and went to look for the vampires in question, Willow could do nothing but desperately hope that his trust was well placed.


Giles walked into the den, the room that he and Julian had been sharing since they had been staying here, and was relieved to see the young male vampire sitting at the desk, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

“Julian…there you are,” he said quietly, keeping his voice even and as casual as possible. “I was concerned about you. Are you all right?”

As he spoke, he stepped cautiously toward the desk, further concerned when the vampire did not move or respond in any way. As he drew nearer to him, he felt his worries deepen when he realized that Julian was shaking violently, gasping for breath in what appeared to be an attempt to keep from crying.

All of his personal fears faded instantly at the sight of his youngest charge’s emotional condition. He closed the rest of the distance between them quickly, reaching the desk and placing a gentle, steady hand on Julian’s quaking shoulder.

“Julian – what is it?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

He just shook his head, choking back a genuine sob now. After a moment, he whispered, “I can’t…I just…I can’t…”

Seeing that he was not going to be able to bring himself to tell him outright what was wrong, Giles patiently crouched down beside the traumatized creature, trying to catch his eye. They had been through scenes like this one many times in the past few months.

Some event, or casual, unintentional misstep by someone around him, or even a simple word, would trigger a painful memory or fear in the abused, violated former slave, and he would not be able to bring himself to talk about it, unwilling or unable to put into words the pain he was feeling.

Giles knew that Buffy’s accusations, and her suggestion of how he should deal with Julian and Mara, had probably shaken the young vampire badly. He knew she had meant nothing but to protect him, but at the moment he wanted very much to wring his Slayer’s neck for putting Julian through this, however unintentionally.

“Julian,” he repeated softly. “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt you, or lock you up, or do anything to harm you. You have my word. I trust you, no matter what. Do you understand?”

His soft, soothing tone and words seemed to have a calming effect, as the sobs that shook Julian’s body slowly faded, his unnecessary breath hitching slightly in his throat as he struggled to regain his control.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Giles assured him gently. “I understand. I know this is upsetting for you, and I must admit, I *am* rather – curious – as to why Riley’s records would show what they did. But I am jumping to no conclusions. We can talk about this, and figure out what is going on – but I promise you, we will do it as equals. You are not a slave anymore, Julian.”

Something about his words struck a chord with the vampire, who suddenly pulled away from his hand on his shoulder as if it burned him, turning and looking up at him through wide, stricken eyes, full of tears and confusion and a terrible fear that Giles could not explain.

“Yes,” he argued in a whisper, shaking his head slightly. “Yes, I am.”

Giles frowned, troubled by the statement beyond measure. “No,” he insisted, reaching toward Julian again. “You’re not.”

Before he could touch him, the young vampire was out of his chair and rushing toward the door, apparently intent on escaping this uncomfortable and deeply personal conversation.

“Julian!” Giles’ voice held a firm note in it as he turned toward him, but made no move to stop him. “Wait.”

The vampire froze with his head bowed, his back turned to his savior and protector, his hand on the doorknob – waiting, as he had been instructed.

“Just talk to me, Julian,” Giles gently urged him. “It’s all right. Just tell me what this is about. Don’t go running off like this. I must admit, your behavior is worrying me.”

Julian was utterly silent, unmoving, for a long moment. Giles saw his hand tighten on the doorknob, then pull back a bit, then move back to it again – caught in the throes of indecision. Stay – or go. Then, slowly, he very deliberately locked the door, then removed his hand from the doorknob, the decision made in an instant.

Stay.

“I’m sorry,” Julian repeated in a meek voice that was slightly muffled, before turning slowly to face Giles – his face transformed, his eyes glowing golden, his true nature revealed as he stepped slowly toward the Watcher. The emotion in his voice was genuine, but no comfort to the unarmed older man, as the vampire slowly advanced on him, his movements unable to be defined as anything but stalking.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated in a raspy whisper. “But you’re wrong. I *am* a slave – and I have to do this. I have no choice.”