Made by Spikes Slayer2


Buffy’s every nerve was on edge as she watched Aaron reach the top of the stairs above her and look carefully around him for any threat. She was used to making the decisions, taking the lead in situations such as this, and it was simply terrifying to her to allow someone else to do that job.

But until she was certain that Aaron was not a dangerous assassin in Riley’s employ, she was not about to turn her back to him.

He gestured silently for the others to follow him up into the brightly lit hallway, and they filed up the stairs in impressive quiet. Buffy was relieved that no one made a sound as they made their way quickly down the hallway in the direction of the stairway leading back up to the cemetery.

She knew that Spike was right; the activity level in the complex would only have increased since their entrance, and though there were no soldiers in sight as they made their way down the hall, Buffy knew that they could not be too far away – and were most likely within hearing distance.

She wondered if Riley had arrived yet.

Once he did, and discovered his hostage missing, she knew that all hell would break loose.

She planned to have her little band safely out of harm’s way before it did.

At the base of the stairs, that hope was dashed, as an armed guard stepped out of the alcove in front of them, his weapon drawn and aimed at the group in general as he spoke into a handheld radio he held with his other hand.

“Target acquired,” he said in a calm, official sort of tone. “Preparing to contain. Backup requested.”

A staticky voice replied, “Roger that; we’re on our way.”

Buffy felt a sense of rising fear, her heartbeat quickening, as she realized that in a few moments the area would be swarming with soldiers. She only had those few moments to get the others out.

The soldier lowered the radio, putting it in a case attached to his belt, as he raised the weapon a bit higher. “Don’t…”

“Move – yeah,” Buffy interrupted in a tone of knowing boredom, rolling her eyes as she slipped in front of both Spike and Anya to face the soldier with Aaron. “I know. I’m getting *really* sick of hearing that! And really sick of the whole gun-in-my-face thing, too. You know, all your buddies succeeded in doing with that approach,” she went on, stepping toward the soldier with a menacing smile. “…is to make me really…*really*… pissed off!”

“Stop where you are!” the soldier ordered, his voice louder and sounding very nervous as he actually took a step backward away from her.

She smiled slowly. It was as she had hoped. Riley’s orders not to kill her still stood, or the frightened soldier would surely have fired as she advanced. The weapon in his hand was for all intents and purposes useless – unless he had the perception to turn it against the others, instead of the untouchable Slayer who was defending them.

Buffy did not intend to give him time to think of that idea.

She moved quickly toward him, her eyes narrowed in menace, hoping that she could take advantage of his fear and uncertainty to gain the upper hand and put him out of commission before the other soldiers could arrive.

He wisely – or foolishly, depending on one’s perspective – holstered his weapon and went into a fighting stance. He knew that he could not shoot this girl, no matter how bad things got. Riley had made it quite clear to his men the consequences that would result from taking his wife into custody in any condition other than alive.

So he would have to take his chances in hand-to-hand combat with her. She didn’t *look* that tough…

That was the soldier’s last thought before a lightning fast kick to his head knocked him out cold. Buffy wasted no time, waving her group on ahead of her toward the stairs.

The sound of numerous weapons being readied behind them stopped them in their tracks. Buffy turned quickly to see that they were surrounded on all sides by Riley’s men – except the exit to the stairs. She thought that they could possibly make it – but the chance that one of their bullets might be faster than one of her group made her hesitate.

Not to mention the fact that once actually *on* the stairs, they would be sitting ducks.

She considered going for her weapon, but was afraid that that might draw the ready fire of the men surrounding them – and she was the only one that they would not shoot to kill. They could still injure her badly enough to render her useless to the others.

And as for the vampire slave that Riley despised; the human girl who had seen too much and was eventually to be eliminated anyway; and the stranger to them who had placed himself in the same position as the girl simply by coming here at all – Buffy knew that the soldiers would not hesitate to shoot them, and they *would* be aiming to kill.

*I don’t know why we bothered picking up those guns,* she thought disgustedly. *Those things are almost never helpful.*

Her mind raced in the instant after she saw the perilous situation they now faced, trying to come up with a way to get the others out of this place. Suddenly, an idea began to dawn on her. She did not know if it was a particularly good one – in fact her more selfish side was quite sure that it was not – but it was all she had to offer at the moment.

Maybe she could get the attention of the soldiers off of those that they *could* shoot – by drawing it all onto the one they couldn’t – her. Give Riley’s men enough of a fight that they would have no effort left to spend on keeping her friends from escaping.

“Get them out of here,” she said, barely over a whisper, to Aaron, who was at her side, attentively awaiting instruction.

All doubts as to his loyalty had vanished. If he was going to turn on her, this would have been the perfect time to do it. And now, she was entrusting the lives of Anya and Spike, the defenseless ones in this situation, to him, while she took on the soldiers on her own.

Aaron’s eyes widened as he realized this. “No,” he said softly. “Let me stay and help you.”

“We can’t let Spike and Anya go up there alone,” she whispered back. “There might be more soldiers up there for all we know. Someone has to protect them,” she argued. “Besides – these guys won’t shoot me. Riley told them not to.”

Her back was turned to Spike, the sound of her voice flowing away from him as she spoke, so he did not hear the quiet exchange, which took only moments and went unnoticed by the soldiers as well. But when Aaron stepped back and pulled Anya toward the stairs, grabbing for his arm to pull him along to, just as Buffy went into action, throwing herself into battle against the enemy – everything fell into place.

Furiously Spike yanked away from the younger vamp with a snarl.

“Come on,” Aaron urged him. “We have to get out of here. She’ll be all right, but we have to go *now*!”

“No!” Spike snapped back, outraged and horrified at the idea of leaving Buffy here alone to fend for herself. “*Buffy*!”

He started toward her, but was pulled back by Aaron’s hand. “Go!” the younger vampire urged Anya, who started quickly up the stairs without hesitation. He turned back to Spike and said, “You can’t fight those guys! Don’t be an idiot, let’s go!”

Spike jerked free of him and snapped, “Get your bloody hands off me! Maybe *you’d* rather play the coward and let her face this alone! But I bloody well refuse to let her do that, even if it kills me!”

He started toward the fight again, relieved to see that Buffy seemed to be holding her own remarkably well. Already the floor was littered with soldiers who had fallen under the Slayer’s powerful assault.

This time when Aaron attempted to stop him, Spike whirled around, gripping the fledgling’s throat in an iron hand and slamming him into the wall of the alcove, moving in close in a menacing manner that he had not used in years. As Buffy had intended, the soldiers were so occupied with her that no one seemed to notice the smaller conflict taking place off to the side.

As Spike held Aaron pinned against the wall, struggling uselessly against the strong grip of the blonde vampire, every bit the master he had once been, the boy felt a chill of fear go down his spine at the deadly look in his elder’s eyes.

Spike’s voice was low, commanding, as he spoke softly. “Go with Anya. Be sure she gets home safely. But I am *not* leaving Buffy here alone. And if you touch me again, boy – I’ll teach you to have some respect for those who’ve seen a bit and know a bit more than you do.”

He paused with a careless shrug and a smirk that had not graced his face in far too long, but still felt so natural. “Of course,” he added. “you’ll find it a bit difficult to express your respect with your windpipe and the rest of your bloody throat ripped out entirely, won’t you, lad?”

Aaron swallowed hard against the powerful hand of the master vampire, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” he gasped out, barely able to draw breath to speak. “Okay…”

Spike released him immediately, and he stood there for a moment, rubbing his sore throat and staring at him in surprise and wonder, a new sense of respect in his dark eyes. After a long moment, he said simply, in a quiet voice, “Be careful,” and headed up the stairs after Anya.

Spike watched him go for only a moment before turning back toward his Slayer and the furious battle she was waging. He knew there was little he could do to help her, and that this battle could very well claim her life.

But if it did – it would claim his too.


“Julian.” Giles kept his voice calm and unthreatening, though he was the one feeling most threatened at the moment. “What are you doing?” He knew perfectly well what the boy’s intention was, based on what Buffy had told him, but thought that perhaps by forcing him to acknowledge it, he might shock the young vampire into stopping.

“I – I have to,” he replied in a trembling, haunted voice. “I – I don’t have any choice…I’m sorry, but…I have to!” There was a desperate, pleading note in his voice, as if hoping to somehow secure the understanding, the forgiveness, of the man he loved more than anyone.

Giles was still determined that there would be nothing requiring forgiveness.

“Julian,” he repeated his name softly, employing all the psychological knowledge he had gained over the years, attempting to re-establish the boy’s connection with him, to make the situation personal for him again. “You don’t have to do anything. You have a choice, Julian. You’re free.”

A bitter laugh was the response. “*Free*!” Julian repeated in a tone of disbelief, and terrible sadness, his harsh laughter fading into a soft sob. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.” As he spoke, he drew slowly nearer on trembling legs.

It was almost difficult for Giles to conceive of being afraid of the timid, fragile creature he had spent so much time rebuilding. Every subtle nuance of his movements, his voice, spoke clearly that Julian did not want to hurt him. He was simply terrified of the consequences of failure.

But regardless of his motives, his feelings, about what he was about to do – the fierce golden glow of his usually soft, dark eyes – the glistening fangs visible between his parted, trembling lips – said clearly that he *was* going to do it.

Unless Giles could stop him.

“I have to do it,” Julian said in a voice barely over a whisper, meeting Giles’ eyes for just a moment before he had to look away in shame – but not before the Watcher saw the utter anguish there, visible even in the amber eyes of the demon. “You don’t understand…I have to.”

“No,” Giles agreed quietly, congratulating himself on his calm, even tone, in spite of his rising fear. “I don’t understand, Julian. But I would like to. You’ve always been able to talk to me in the past, haven’t you? This shouldn’t be any different.” His tone was mild, filled with the same gentleness and affection he had always shown the boy. “Why do you have to do it?”

Julian’s eyes shot back up to Giles’ suddenly, wide and shocked, disbelieving that even now, even knowing what he was about to do, the older man’s first concern was him and his well being. He looked away again, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, shaking his head as he forced himself to take another step toward Giles.

“Because – if I don’t…they…you…you just don’t know what it’s like! What they’re doing to me! What they – they’ve been doing,” Julian tried to explain, his words coming out disjointed and his voice trembling so hard that it was difficult to understand him. “I just – if I don’t – I – I…”

“Julian,” Giles said, steeling himself and taking a slow, deliberate step toward the vampire, not surprised, and feeling guilty for the relief he felt when the boy flinched at the movement toward him. “Calm down, lad. It’s all right. Calm down and try to put it into words. All right?” Another cautious step toward him.

When Julian backed up a step, Giles breathed a heavy sigh of relief, feeling certain that he was going to be able to make the shaken, confused creature back down from his goal – and then, to talk to him and figure out what was going on, what coercion had brought him to this point, and help him overcome it.

Julian was breathing hard, choking back sobs as he backed away from Giles’ slow, cautious approach. “D-don’t,” he whimpered. “Don’t do this…I…I have to…”

“Whatever is happening to you, Julian…whatever they’re doing…we can stop them. I can help you,” Giles assured him softly but firmly, seeking his gaze with solemn, penetrating eyes of deep blue. “I want to help you, Julian. Let me,” he urged him gently.

“You can’t,” he whispered miserably, shaking his head, tears streaking his cruel, ridged face as his back hit the wall behind him. “You can’t help me…you can’t stop them…no matter what you do, you can’t stop them…”

“We *can* stop them, Julian. If you’ll talk to me…tell me what’s happening…we can stop them together,” Giles argued, edging nearer. Only a few yards separated them now. “It’s all right. It’s all right,” he repeated in a soothing voice, closing the remaining distance.

He stretched a gentle hand toward the tear-streaked face of the distraught young vampire, shorter than he was, and slightly built, even in his natural state as he was, not terribly intimidating – especially not in the emotional state that he was in – especially not when he flinched away from the gentle touch of the man who had saved his life and made such strides in healing his wounded spirit.

But the wound was still there.

“Julian,” Giles said in a hushed voice, barely over a whisper. “You should know I wouldn’t hurt you. Have I *ever* hurt you?”

With an anguished sob, Julian hung his head, shaking it slowly. “No,” he whispered.

“You can trust me. You know that,” Giles reassured him, placing a gentle but steady hand on his shoulder. He paused before adding, “And I trust you, Julian. In spite of everything – I know that you will do the right thing. I trust you.”

Stillness reigned in the room, the only sound the ragged pull of Julian’s shaky breathing. His head was turned away, his eyes closed, unable to face Giles for his shame. His body was tensed, his expression taut and strained, as if he were struggling with some inner debate – and he was.

Finally, his shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the wall for a moment, gasping in a shallow, shaking breath. Slowly he raised his head, turning it to look Giles in the eye.

“You shouldn’t,” was his whispered response. The defeat in his expression, his voice, alarmed the Watcher, who took an apprehensive step backward – too late.

The vampire seized his arm and spun him around, slamming him into the wall with violent force, reminding him too late that the frail, unassuming form of the boy he had been was a deception. He was as strong as any other vampire.

Pinning the older man against the wall, the young vampire closed his eyes, swallowing back a last sob of pain and shaking his head as he whispered, “You shouldn’t have trusted me.”

And with those words he lowered his fangs to the Watcher’s throat.