A/N: Thanks to our wonderful beta, Immortal_Beloved :) *hugs*




*Stupid, stupid…I’m going to get caught. I just know it! If Mr. Giles finds me…*

Andrew unlocked the door to his apartment with shaking hands, glancing anxiously up and down the hallway for any sign of the elder Watcher he had managed to successfully avoid for the past few days. As he slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind him, Andrew breathed a sigh of relief to be once more out of sight in the privacy of his own room.

Not that this was really a safe place at all.

As he walked through the empty living room toward his bedroom where he thought he was most likely to find the item he sought, Andrew’s worries formed a disjointed, panicked, and completely unhelpful monologue in his mind.

*This is the first place he’ll look for you…which means…he’s…probably already looked here, so…maybe it *is* safe…except it’s probably not, which means you should just grab the stupid cell phone you so stupidly left behind before he finds it and finds Buffy’s number on it and decides that you know too much to be allowed to live! Where is it? I was sure I left it…come on, Andrew, just find the stupid freaking phone and get…*

“Hello, Andrew.”

Andrew spun around at the sound of the one voice he had most hoped *not* to hear, jumping and nearly stumbling backward across his bed as he found himself face to face with Rupert Giles. The older man was leaning casually against the doorframe, idly tossing Andrew’s cell phone in his hand in a gesture that seemed strangely out of character for the usually proper English gentleman.

Until Andrew remembered that Mr. Giles also had another persona…a darker, more dangerous aspect of his personality with which Andrew had only come into contact in stories.

Ripper.

In that moment, Andrew felt the odd impulse to introduce himself to the stranger that Mr. Giles seemed to have become with a simple shift in posture and tone. Aware that doing so would be strange and off-putting, Andrew tried to regain his composure and answer Mr. Giles in a normal manner.

“Um…hi, Mr. Giles. Wh-what…what’s up? I mean…can I…can I help you with… something, or…um…”

“I believe this is what you’re looking for, yes?” Giles suggested, holding up the cell phone in his hand, his tone unsettlingly casual and even, not so much as acknowledging Andrew’s stammered words.

When Andrew’s eyes focused on the cell phone, he suddenly noticed that it was damaged, nearly crushed, even, perhaps by the powerful fist of a very angry, prone-to-violence, ex-demon worshipper.

He swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze from the tiny piece of twisted metal, unable to stop the unbidden comparisons that filled his mind between the strength and durability of that metal and, oh, say…his skull.

“Um…yeah…y-yes, thank you, Mr. Giles. Um…I was just looking for that, thanks…” Andrew’s rambling, shaky words were cut off abruptly as the Watcher practically threw the mangled phone at him, and the boy fumbled to catch it before it fell to the floor.

“I was looking for you, in fact, Andrew, a little while ago. I actually have been for the past two days, but you seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth for some strange, unknown reason. While I was waiting for you to return to your apartment, your telephone rang, and I’ll confess I took the liberty of answering it,” Giles explained in a cold, painfully civil tone of voice, his ice blue eyes narrowed and piercing over a frightening smile. “You’d never imagine who I found on the other line.”

Andrew felt his heart drop, his throat going dry as he suddenly found that he could not meet the Watcher’s eyes. “Um…no, probably not,” he agreed shakily, taking a step backward, only to find that his bed kept him from placing any additional distance between himself and Giles, who was appearing far more intimidating than usual at the moment. “Wouldn’t have a clue…since I…um, wasn’t there to see who called, so that…um…kind of usually leads to…not knowing…who called, and…”

“It was Xander, Andrew. Now why would Xander be calling you in the first place? We’re all aware of how annoying most people find you, and Xander is far less tolerant than most,” Giles pointed out flatly. “And most especially, why would Xander be calling you from Buffy’s private line in Scotland?”

“I, um…really don’t know,” Andrew stammered, his voice coming out higher than usual as Giles took a couple of slow, casual steps closer to him. Warily edging along the foot of his bed, the boy cast a longing glance toward the bedroom door. “Did…did he say what he wanted?”

A knowing smile crossed the older man’s face as he very deliberately moved directly into the path Andrew had been hoping to take. “He said, in fact, much more than that, Andrew. It seems you’ve been making up stories again, haven’t you?”

“Stories? Um…no, that’s not really my thing anymore, remember? I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to telling stories…”

“Everyone knows that you have a propensity for lying, Andrew. It’s no use arguing an already established point. However, you’ve no idea the amount of damage you might have done with your lies this time. Now, I’ve spared you the embarrassment of admitting what you’ve done yourself,” the Watcher interrupted, a severe note to his voice. “So you needn’t contact Buffy or Xander again. I’ve informed Xander to have Buffy head back to Scotland on the next available flight.” He paused, taking a breath before continuing, “What’s in Ireland, Andrew?” Giles’ voice was deceptively mild, and Andrew knew that he was trying to figure out just how much he knew.

He also knew that it would be in his own best interest not to let Giles do so.

“Huh? I d-don’t understand; what are you t-talking about?”

“Well, you must have had *some* reason for sending Buffy there, didn’t you?” Giles pressed, the humor gradually fading from his eyes, replaced by a slowly smoldering anger as he closed a bit more of the distance separating him from Andrew. “Surely not mere coincidence, was it?”

“Coincidence?” Andrew echoed, simply stalling for time. “Um…I don’t quite…don’t get…”

“Andrew,” Giles cut him off patiently, a polite smile on his lips as he continued quite calmly, “I’m afraid that if you lie to me even one more time, I may have a difficult time restraining my temper.”

Andrew fell silent, again looking away from the fierce, piercing gaze of the larger, older, and far more powerful man standing in front of him. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, or what to think or to do…or if he was even going to make it out of this encounter alive.

“Um…okay…”

“I’m not quite sure what you had hoped to accomplish, Andrew,” Giles went on. “But you’ve failed. You will not contact Buffy or Xander or anyone in the Scotland group again. And you will make no additional attempts to interfere with my decisions on matters that are of no concern to you. Is that clear?”

Andrew nodded hurriedly, the finality of Giles’ tone causing him to wonder with a wild hope if it was possible that he was actually going to get out of this with no more than a simple warning. “Yes, Sir,” he replied humbly. “I’ll just…um…get out of your way…”

As he spoke, he edged nearer to the door, hoping to slip past Giles the very moment that the conversation ended.

Unfortunately…Giles had other ideas.

Without warning, he caught Andrew by the collar and slammed him forcefully against the wall beside the doorway, leaning in close as the boy let out a frightened yelp of protest.

“We’re in *your* bloody apartment, you daft little pillock. And do shut up, Andrew. I’m already on the verge of hurting you for the simple satisfaction of it. Not that you haven’t given me more than sufficient reason to do so anyway. If you’ve an ounce of intelligence, boy, you’ll keep silent and listen,” Giles advised Andrew, his calm, almost pleasant tone in direct contrast to the violence of his actions.

Andrew nodded slowly, his heart pounding with fear. He knew that Giles had a dark, dangerous past and was fully capable of violence if angered enough; and, at the moment, he seemed quite angry enough. They were alone in Andrew’s little apartment, and no one would hear him if he called out for help -- not that anyone would have believed him over Giles, anyway.

He was pretty much screwed.

“As I said before,” Giles instructed quietly, calmly, still holding the young man up against the wall, smiling coolly into his wide, terrified eyes. “You will make no further attempt to contact Buffy, or anyone else for that matter, on this subject. If you do, if she’s in any way drawn back into this ugly matter, I’ll hold you personally responsible, Andrew, and I swear to you that you will be unbelievably sorry that you defied me. Do you understand?”

Andrew nodded again, his breath coming fast and shallow as he struggled to maintain control of his rising fears.

“For that matter,” Giles went on, “if my efforts to rectify the consequences of your foolish interference in any way fail, again, I will hold you responsible, and you will experience a side of my personality which I‘d just as soon not bring forth again. And I assure you, my boy, that is not something that you wish to happen.”

Without waiting for a response, Giles abruptly released him with a slight shove back into the wall, backing off a step or two as he added, “And I’m quite sure that it’s not necessary even to say so, but I’m sure you know enough to keep this conversation…confidential, yes?”

Andrew nodded, swallowing hard as he replied in a whisper, “Y-yes, Sir.”

As Giles simply walked away, leaving him alone in his apartment, Andrew hoped against hope that Buffy would manage to get to Spike before Xander got to her, because he was afraid that he had used up the last of his courage when it came to defying Mr. Giles, especially in light of the terrifying conversation they had just had.

*Come on, Buffy,* he thought desperately. *You’re his last hope!*

************************************

“His injuries are healing up quite nicely, Mr. Rayne. In fact I’d say he’s fully functional at this point, at least as far as your purposes are concerned.”

Spike suppressed a shudder at the dark implications of the words spoken by the doctor who had just finished examining him. He tried not to think about what “purposes” he was referring to, but knew that sooner or later, there would be no avoiding the truth of what was happening to him.

Apparently, sooner.

He had been subjected to a rather invasive medical examination, forced to disrobe in front of both the doctor and Ethan Rayne, who simply observed impassively while the doctor inspected the remaining signs of Spike’s previous injuries with no trace of compassion or sympathy.

For once, Spike found that he would have preferred normal, more slowly paced human healing to his supernatural healing powers, which only served to bring his miserable fate that much closer to him, that much sooner.

Less than twenty-four hours away, in fact.

As the doctor left the room, Spike made no move to put his clothes back on until Rayne instructed him to do so. His conditioning during his previous time of slavery had shredded any sense of pride or dignity he might have once had, leaving him painfully accustomed to the idea of others’ inspecting and studying him like some sort of prized, valuable -- but completely expendable -- commodity.

“Tomorrow,” Rayne informed Spike quietly with a cool, satisfied smile. “Tomorrow, you will begin your service here. As for today…enjoy it. It’s the last free time you’re likely to have for a while.” His smile turned cruel as he added slyly, “I’ve already amassed quite the client list for you, Spike. There’s a waiting list months long by this point.” He fell silent as he rose and headed for the door, stopping in the doorway to add with a smirk, “Enjoy your evening.”

Spike shuddered at the unwelcome thoughts and images that filled his mind with Rayne’s words. A sense of overwhelming despair came over him, though a single thought, a single word, echoed through his mind in a weak but clear attempt to fight it back.

*Buffy…*

She was here.

And Spike did not know quite what to make of that startling knowledge.

She had been quite obviously stunned to see him in the woods the night before, so he was clearly not in any way a part of her reason for being here. Had she been sent by the Council to put a stop to Ethan Rayne’s illegal activities? And if so, what would that mean for him, exactly? What did the new Slayers and Watchers intend to do with Rayne’s non-human victims?

By now, Buffy surely had to be aware of the low status to which he had been reduced. Melinda had been with her, and if Buffy had not known before last night about Siron and all that had happened to Spike at his hands, she had to know by now. Spike’s face flushed with humiliation at the thought of Buffy’s learning of the horrific degradation through which he had been, but he tried not to think about it as he put his clothes back on and headed out of the examination room where he had been left…alone.

Unguarded.

His thoughts began to take a new, dangerous turn as he wondered again what Buffy was here to do, and when she intended to do it.

His original hope to preserve, if only in her memory, his status as sacrificing hero had faded away with the painful knowledge that, by now, she already knew of his slavery. Yes, he had panicked the night before, unwilling to face her as his past was revealed; but now, what reason was there to hide?

What good would it possibly do?

If Buffy and the other Slayers intended to raid the compound, it would in no way benefit him to be found hiding inside it. All that would serve to do would be to prove him an even greater weakling and coward than Buffy had to already think him.

Perhaps it was too late to spare his last shred of pride and dignity.

But maybe…just maybe…it was not too late to help his Slayer one more time.

Spike’s mental debate continued throughout the afternoon as he wrestled with the question of how to handle his secret knowledge of the Slayer’s presence on Rayne’s property. He vacillated between simply staying put and allowing Buffy to do what she was so very good at on her own, and doing what he could to reach out to her, to help her, to make her battle easier in any way he could…

…just as he had always done.

Throughout the afternoon, Spike remained undecided.

But when sunset came, he found himself slipping out the front door of the compound into the gathering darkness…in search of the Slayer he believed already lost to him.