A/N: Thanks to our wonderful beta, Tamakin, for her work on this chapter :)



Spike spun around in a panic, tearing free of the heavy hand on his shoulder – only to suddenly remember that such an action was worthy of the most severe punishment. He had been away from his master for only a few short days, and had already become unaccustomed to his rules.

Too soon, apparently.

Siron was here.

*Can’t be here, can’t be, he’s dead, I killed him…but…but he *is*! He’s here…here to hurt…here to break…no, no, *no*!*

Spike’s mind raced with confusion, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, smelling, hearing, and always coming back to the same impossible conclusion. The fact that the demon master was dead, that Spike had killed him with his own hands, did not seem particularly relevant given the situation. Spike’s every sense told him that his cruel former master was standing before him now, his huge fists clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed in menace.

*You should be on your knees, Spike…*

The words had barely registered with him when he had first heard them, so overwhelming had been his shock. Now, however, Spike’s mind brought them back to him, and his eyes went wide in panic as he fell immediately to his knees, terrified and able only to think of one thing – somehow finding a way to appease Siron before it was too late.

It was likely too late already.

“Pathetic little fool,” the demon sneered, advancing slowly on the kneeling, trembling vampire. “We’ve talked about pulling away from me – haven’t we, Spike? You’re *mine*, you disgusting little nothing! I’ll do whatever I want with you, and you will *not* resist me! Is that clear, Spike?”

Siron’s voice was low and calm, and infinitely terrifying, as he loomed over his frightened victim, glaring down at him in menace. Spike struggled to force his mouth to respond, to form the answer he knew was required of him, but his throat was too dry to swallow, much less speak, and all he could do was remain there on his knees, stricken silent with panic, staring up at his tormentor.

“You will answer me when I speak to you!” Siron snarled, taking a step forward and drawing back his meaty fist in preparation to strike.

Spike flinched back against the wall behind him, fighting the impulse to raise his arm to block the impending blow, well aware that doing so would only result in worse punishment. He cringed as Siron’s powerful fist flew toward his face, but dared not move away…

…but the blow never fell.

There was a cracking sound, like ice breaking, and the image of Siron before him literally shattered, falling away in a thousand tiny pieces, which shimmered momentarily before dissipating like mist in the air.

Spike blinked in confusion at the spot where the demon had been, looking around the room in bewilderment to find it the same sparse room where Ethan Rayne had left him to meet his first customer. There was no sign of Siron, or the oppressive darkness that had surrounded him a few moments earlier – only Mordrin, standing across the room from him, looking annoyed as he was approached by a small humanoid-looking demon who had just burst through the door.

*A trick…all a trick,* Spike reminded himself over and over, struggling to regain his composure as the pieces fell together, and he realized exactly what had happened. *It was just an illusion…all fake…and that…that Mordrin bloke…lost his focus when that other one came in the door…let the illusion fall…that’s all, wasn’t real…wasn’t ever real at all…*

Despite the fact that mentally, he knew that was what had happened, Spike’s shattered heart and spirit had a hard time accepting that the vivid, utterly realistic images he had just seen had not been real at all. Siron’s voice still echoed in his ears, sneering vicious words of menace and degradation.

He fought off a fresh tremor of fear, attempting instead to focus on the scene taking place across the room from him, where Mordrin stood listening impatiently to the smaller demon, who was speaking to him in hushed, hurried tones. Spike tried to focus on what was being said, if only as a distraction from his current harrowing thoughts.

Before he could, however, Ethan Rayne followed the demon through the door, protesting with indignation, “What do you think you’re doing?” He turned to address Mordrin directly, his tone apologetic, as he added, “I tried to tell him you weren’t to be disturbed. I’m terribly sorry, my friend…”

“What’s this I hear about your current lack of security around the premises?” Mordrin cut him off sharply, a warning edge to his voice.

Ethan blinked at him in surprise, before shaking his head and replying, confused, “I…I beg your pardon?”

“My aide here informs me that he’s just inspected your perimeter, as usual, and found that you’re lacking any sort of security whatsoever,” Mordrin clarified, irritation obvious in his voice. “That is completely unacceptable. I am a well known man, Ethan, and always at risk of attack by my enemies. I simply can’t stay here if you don’t have the proper protective measures in place…”

Spike frowned, confused by the conversation, as Rayne objected hotly, “That’s quite simply not true, Mordrin! I have all the usual security measures in place, I assure you! There are guards at every entrance and exit, and magical barriers in place to prevent our detection! You are in no danger here, I…”

“You’re not going to appease me with lies,” Mordrin snapped, gesturing for his aide to follow him as he headed imperiously toward the door. “Let me know when you’ve straightened out this…*situation*…and perhaps at that point I’ll *consider* returning to your establishment. I regret to tell you, but I am quite dissatisfied with this particular visit.”

“Mordrin…wait!” Ethan objected, following him a few steps before stopping in the doorway to the room, watching the half-demon disappear down the hallway.

“Good day,” Mordrin cut him off pointedly, calling the words over his shoulder without turning as he swept down the hall and toward the main entrance to the compound.

Ethan stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before turning back into the room, for the moment completely ignoring the trembling vampire huddled in shock in the corner of the room. The sorcerer took a handheld radio from his pocket and pressed a button, speaking into it in a low, terse voice.

“Station one, come in.”

Only blank static was his response.

“Station one, please respond.”

Again, nothing.

Rayne cursed softly, turning a dial on the radio and speaking again, “Station three, do you hear me?”

The silence was his only answer.

“What the bloody hell…?” Rayne muttered under his breath, shaking his head in confusion as he replaced the radio, frowning thoughtfully. “No one knows we’re here…and they know better than to leave their posts…”

His idle gaze gradually came to focus on Spike…and his dark eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. Spike tensed, already badly shaken, his fears intensifying as the sorcerer crossed the room to him in a few brief strides, reaching down to roughly snatch a handful of his hair and jerk his head up, forcing him to face him, while remaining on his knees before him.

Rayne’s voice was deceptively soft, though his eyes were flashing with fury, as he observed, “You were out nearly all night last night, weren’t you, Spike? Doing what, exactly?”

“N-nothing,” Spike managed to get the single word out in a stammered whisper. “Please…I didn’t…”

“Did you do something to my guards, Spike?” Rayne demanded, his voice hardening as he shook the helpless vampire hard by the hair. “Do *not* lie to me!”

“I’m not!” Spike insisted desperately, wincing at the painful grip the man held on his hair, the searing pain that shot through his scalp. “I swear it…I didn’t!”

Ethan was quiet for a moment, studying his expression coldly. Finally, he replied, “I surely hope you’re telling me the truth, Spike. Because if I should find that you’re lying to me…that you had anything at all to do with this…you’ll plead with me to trade places with that poor vampire chap you felt so sorry for before…the one who’s body was used as a sacrifice? You’ll only wish that was the extent of your suffering. Do I make myself clear?”

Spike nodded as best he could, swallowing hard, panting with pain and fear as the magician released him with a harsh shove into the wall behind him. “Y-yes, master,” he whispered, out of sheer habit, but feeling immediately ashamed of himself for it.

Rayne had not even asked him to call him “master”.

Ethan’s smirk told Spike that he had not missed his accidental slip, either; but the slaver did not have time to dwell on it at the moment. Rayne dragged the frightened vampire across the room to the large bed in the corner, gripping his wrist tightly as he reached for one of the manacles attached to the headboard.

“Whatever you’ve done,” he muttered, “you won’t be causing any more trouble for me, until I get this sorted.”

Spike fought off a sense of rising panic at the thought of being bound and left in this room, this room that was now saturated with the memory of Siron. He was terrified that once he was alone, the images of torment, however false, would return.

“Please,” he whispered, resisting slightly despite himself as Rayne struggled to open the manacle with one hand. “Please…I didn’t do anything!”

“I’ll determine that later,” Rayne snapped. “But for now…I need you out of my way…”

Before Rayne could manage to get the manacle open, however, the tumultuous sound of a struggle outside the door drew his attention toward the hallway. There was an inhuman roar of some kind of demon, accompanied by the frustrated, fearful shouts of its human captors, before someone hurriedly peered in the doorway, panting breathlessly and seeking out Ethan with frantic eyes.

“Mr. Rayne! Hurry! Some of the slaves overheard the rumor that the security’s out, and it’s chaos out here! There’s a Fyarl out here that seems to have gone mad! He’s already knocked out two guards, and doesn’t seem to be responding to the correction of his wristband…”

Spike was momentarily forgotten as Rayne followed his employee out the door, and their anxious voices gradually faded away.

Apparently, Rayne was not all that suspicious of him after all. Or rather, he did not seem to pose as great a threat as a mad Fyarl on a rampage.

Bloody big surprise, that.

He hesitated only a few moments, before rising to his feet on shaky legs and making his way toward the door. The hallway was alive with activity, servants rushing about in an effort to discover what had gone wrong with security, and to control various demon slaves who saw the security lapse as perhaps their only opportunity to ever escape this place…but no one seemed to be paying him any attention at all.

Taking advantage of the current state of confusion, Spike made his way swiftly and quietly toward the main entrance to the compound, vaguely hoping that the rumors were true, and the security was down. He had reached a point where he hardly dared to hope that he might yet escape what was evidently his inevitable fate of slavery, but at any rate, he would rather be outside than here in the cold, sterile atmosphere of this room of shame and torment, surrounded by the memories of his brokenness.

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

Andrew tore through the halls of the empty Council headquarters building, breathless and exhausted…and utterly panicked.

He turned one corner after another, doubling back where he could and retracing his steps -- simply doing the best he could to lose the older Watcher who was calmly, coldly tracking him through the deserted building.

*Should have known better when he said he wanted to meet me to discuss something he didn’t want to tell the other Watchers about,* Andrew ruefully chided himself, glancing fearfully over his shoulder as he made his way down a darkened, unfamiliar hallway. *Should have known he was just trying to get me alone…*

When he had reached Giles’ office that evening, long after everyone else had left the building, the older man had not wasted much time in making his intentions clear. Andrew had fled his office, only to find that the new head of the Council had activated the code to place the entire building under lockdown.

There was no escape…and Andrew knew that despite his youth, he did not stand a chance in a fight against Giles.

There was nothing but to flee.

And he was quickly finding out that he wasn’t very good at that, either.

He stopped for a few moments at the end of the dark hall, willing his panicked, harsh breathing to quiet, gripping the banister of a staircase beside him as he listened closely for any signs of pursuit.

Unfortunately, he heard them. Footsteps, slow and even, approaching from the other end of the hall.

He glanced around in panic, finding that there was no other exit out of this hallway, besides the one down which he had come…the one that was currently blocked by his pursuers. There was a door on either side of him, but a quick check made it clear that both were locked.

Andrew glanced with dread up the winding staircase. Years of movie and television viewing made him all too aware of the stereotypical foolishness of fleeing up a flight of stairs, deeper into the building, and leaving himself even more cut off from any potential help than before – but in this instance, he really had no other option.

He hurried onto the stairs, stumbling and cursing his clumsiness as his faltering steps betrayed his location. He staggered at the top of the stairs before regaining his footing and looking around at his surroundings. The stairs led to a small alcove with a single door directly in front of him. Andrew swallowed hard as he reached to test the door, hoping against hope that he would find it unlocked.

It was.

But after Andrew hurriedly opened the door with trembling hands, he froze when he looked out into the darkness beyond it. The door opened onto the roof of the building, several stories above the ground outside, and the possible freedom it represented…if only he had not been a couple hundred feet above it.

He turned back toward the stairs, wide eyes searching the darkness below for his pursuer, his heart pounding in his chest as his hands gripped the doorframe on either side of the doorway, mentally debating with rising panic whether or not to go out onto the roof. A faint tremor began in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he did not really have any other choice.

While flight onto the roof held risks, staying where he was held the greater danger.

Andrew couldn’t see him through the dense darkness that engulfed the stairs below him…but he knew the Watcher was there.

And then…he *could* see him.

Giles stepped out of the shadows, placing his first foot on the bottom stair before pausing, smiling up at the boy with cold, satisfied menace. Andrew had never heard the older man’s voice sound so dark and sinister, as when he next spoke, shattering the tense silence with words of deadly, restrained rage as he made his way slowly up the stairs.

“Did you really think you could get away with it, you little pillock?”

Andrew did not respond, swallowing hard, though his throat was dry with terror, as he turned and fled onto the roof, searching desperately for someplace to hide.

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

Buffy gazed off into the distance, watching the lengthening shadows, the fading colors of the sunset, as she listened with some satisfaction to the various sounds around her, the sounds of the girls’ preparations for the impending battle.

She had made her own preparations hours ago.

Apparently, so had Melinda.

The younger Slayer approached her silently, coming to stand beside her, staring into the last rays of golden light for a moment before speaking.

“We’re gonna stop them, Buffy. We’re gonna save him. Tonight.”

“I know,” Buffy stated simply, without looking at Melinda. Then, she turned toward her, a hint of a hesitant smile on her lips as she added, “Thank you.”

“Thank *him*,” Melinda clarified with a little shrug as she met the older Slayer’s eyes matter-of-factly. “He’s the reason I’m doing this…the reason I’m *alive*. At this point, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to help him, either.”

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, but was distracted by a sudden crashing sound coming from the woods beyond their campsite. Before she could offer even a word of caution or instruction, five or six of the young Slayers charged off toward the source of the sound, weapons drawn in preparation.

A moment later, Buffy heard a familiar snarling sound – the roar of a vampire.

Her heart leapt up into her throat as she hurried after the girls, Melinda at her side. One thought consumed her mind as she rushed to catch up with the eager Slayers.

*What if it’s him? What if it’s him?*

Sure enough, when they found the half-circle of Slayers, all their weapons drawn, clearly awaiting an opportunity to strike, they were surrounding a familiar platinum blond head, barely visible in the shadows of the trees behind which he was taking shelter from the fading sunlight. Spike was in game face, clutching his right arm in his left hand, and Buffy noticed with dismay that it was badly burnt, apparently by the patch of sunlight that was filtering through the trees, alarmingly close to where he now stood.

As she watched, one of the Slayers lunged toward Spike, causing him to stagger backward, dangerously close to the sunlight again, before overcorrecting in his attempt to get away from the deadly light, and falling to his knees. As he scrambled desperately back against the tree without bothering to stand, Buffy suddenly realized with rising anger that that was probably how his arm had been burnt in the first place…by an over-zealous Slayer, driving him into the sunlight.

“Stop!” she shouted immediately, rushing forward toward the over-eager Slayer who was brandishing her stake at Spike. “Stop it, now!”

“Look at it!” the girl objected angrily. “It’s dangerous! It’s ready to attack!”

“It’ll bite us!” another put in fearfully.

“I said *stop*!” Buffy ordered sharply as she pushed her way through the girls, stopping abruptly a few yards from the huddled, trembling vampire who was staring at them all blankly, his back pressed against the trunk of the tree behind him. She stared at him for a long moment, dismayed by the haggard, exhausted look of him, as well as by his injuries.

“Spike?” she said quietly, gently, relieved when he turned his eyes toward her, blinking in confusion for a moment before obviously recognizing her, tears of relief welling in his crystal blue eyes.

“Spike?” one of the younger Slayers echoed in a whisper, turning toward her neighbor. “Andrew told me about him…he’s not evil…he’s…he’s a *hero*…”

The girls stood still, confused, but mesmerized as Buffy slowly closed the remaining distance between herself and the shaken blond vampire, very slowly, holding out one hand in a non-threatening, welcoming gesture as she spoke to him in a voice that was far more gentle and compassionate than any they had ever heard her use.

“Spike…it’s okay…it’s okay…”

She reached him, and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hand still stretched cautiously out in front of her…reaching slowly, cautiously, to touch him.

“Spike…it’s me…please…please trust me…”