Giles jumped as the text message came through causing the cell phone to vibrate against his leg, and he bit back a curse at modern technology. The damn stuff just got cleverer all the time, he was fairly certain that his DVD player had a higher IQ than him, it certainly seemed capable of evading his best efforts to programme it. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the message - Ready in an hour. See you there. Q. - and reached for his coat. It would take him most of that time to get from his hotel to the centre, particularly as it was rush hour on the A1. He scribbled a quick note for Wesley, and pushed it under the other man’s door for him to find when he returned from the British Library stacks at Boston Spa, and not for the first time Giles wondered if he’d done the right thing.
Not in bringing Wesley with him, that had been a foregone conclusion the moment Giles had said where he was going. It was the switching off of the tape that first day and recording over the little gem of information the other man had accidentally let drop that was bothering him. He felt no particular loyalty to Spike, however that information in the wrong hands would bring Wesley nothing but trouble. At least he was no longer being asked to spy on Wesley, that had stopped a couple of days after the first tape, and the other man was now well on the way to full recovery, currently aided and abetted by many hours in the library.
As he drove, Giles tossed around what Quentin had let drop about this new program over the last week or so. He was still torn between horror and hope, and it felt very strange. A few years ago he would have felt no such indecision - the whole idea of having vampiric Watchers would have been such an abomination that he wouldn’t even have stopped to consider it. But that was before Buffy, and having to stand aside while she fought and struggled, so often alone, and the final straw had been watching her die. If he’d had the strength or the speed, he was sure he could have saved her and it had taken him a long time to accept that she had really gone. Only for them to bring her back, not even half the Slayer he remembered - to flounder around in a world she no longer understood or cared about.
That in the end was why he’d left for good. Not that she didn’t need to stand on her own and stop being so reliant on him, but that was more an excuse than a genuine reason. The truth of the matter was, he couldn’t be there when it happened again. He loved that girl like a daughter, and to know that any of the nights she went out may be her last and there was nothing he could do to stop it had finally become too much. And what did that mean in terms of Quentin’s radical idea? It meant that Rupert Giles was at least willing to listen and to play along until the entire picture emerged. Only at that point would he decide whether this was something he could truly offer his full support.
His turning loomed up out of the dark and Giles shook off his slightly haphazard thoughts, indicated and pulled over through the traffic, leaving the busy main road behind him as he struck out across country. Twenty minutes later he was turning into the car park, stopping the car and getting out, pulling his coat closely around him against the cold autumnal/winter air. He acknowledged the guard at the door and entered the building, noting absently that nothing much had changed over the years. The same pictures hung on walls, painted an identical institutional beige, the fake wood desk - now containing a computer - was manned by a mousy looking woman, her brown hair trapped in a tight bun. With the exception of a state of the art security system, complete with closed circuit cameras around the reception area that swivelled slowly on their mountings, it could easily be twenty years ago, the last time he had set foot here.
This was one of the Council’s more modern buildings, by which he meant that they had owned it since the fifties, the eighteen fifties, and he presumed it was still used for the same purpose, field training. It’s location, relatively remote from large conurbations, meant it was ideal for its role. With quick and easy access to army and air force personnel, if the unthinkable did happen and one of its reluctant denizens escaped, it was an easy matter to recapture them. However, none of that explained why Travers had brought him here and the only way he was going to find that out was by keeping his appointment.
About to approach the desk, he was brought up short by the man himself entering the lobby via the locked door to the rear of the room.
"Rupert. You made it. And not a moment too soon. How was the traffic?"
"Awful, as usual. I detest the A1 and having to use it during the rush hour has done nothing for my temper, I can assure you."
Despite his gruff words, Giles took Travers’ proffered hand and shook it warmly. Since they had discovered their somewhat off beat common ground, things had relaxed between them remarkably.
"So, why the secrecy. I hope you’ve haven’t dragged me all the way out here for no good reason."
"You’ll see." After nodding to the woman at the desk, Travers punched a code into the keypad next to the door and let them both through into the corridor beyond. For the next couple of minutes they walked in companionable silence each step taking them further down into the bowels of the building, until they finally entered the subterranean levels students affectionately referred to as ‘the zoo’.
Giles was about to suggest that the delivery of some strange new demon was hardly a good reason for his trip, when Travers led him into one of the high security areas and stopped outside it’s single holding pen. Taking one look inside, Giles grabbed onto the bars, aghast at what he saw.
"What the hell…? Get this door open now!"
For a moment, Quentin was about to argue then he decided against it, the control box in his pocket should be enough to guarantee Giles’ safety if this turned out badly, and he did want to see how the two interacted. He leaned over and punched in another access code, sliding the cage door ajar when its electronic lock buzzed open. Waiting for no more of an invitation the other man pushed through, dropping down into a crouch next to the vampire huddled against the wall.
"Spike?" Giles reached out a tentative hand and shook the thin, cloth clad shoulder only stopping when the vampire raised his head and peered at him through dazed drug befuddled eyes.
"Giles? Is that you?"
"Yes, it’s me. Are you all right?" It was a totally stupid question. A single glance showed him that Spike was far from ‘all right’ but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He may not have any particular fondness for the vampire but this went beyond anything he’d expected from the council.
"Hungry."
"I’ll see what I can do." He glanced back over his shoulder at Travers who was watching from outside the pen. "When was the last time he fed?"
"We need information, Rupert. He can feed when he’s told us what we want to know."
Giles suppressed the flurry of Ripper-esque responses that flew to his lips, squeezed Spike’s shoulder reassuringly and stood up to leave. As he turned away his leg was gripped in a tight hold preventing any more movement, and he looked down to see the haziness in the vampire’s eyes clearing and being replaced with gold.
"Please." The word was almost inaudible over the growl and despite his best intentions Giles flinched back when he saw a flash of fang appear. A scream of pain was ripped from the vampire’s lips, and his leg was released as Spike’s hands flew to his head in a movement the Watcher had witnessed a thousand times.
He stood astounded for a moment as the vampire continued to writhe in agony, then switched his attention to the man standing outside the pen. The man calmly pointing what looked like a television remote. It hardly took genius to come to the right conclusion.
"Jesus Christ, man! Switch it off. He wasn’t going to hurt me." He snapped but still took advantage of the distraction and left the pen with all possible speed. Once the door was slammed shut and Spike was once again slumped against the wall, Giles confronted his superior with an expression of disbelieving outrage.
"What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Why is he in here?"
"Rupert, calm down. Yes, we need to discuss this but not here and certainly not in front of the subject."
"Subject?!" Giles was about to start again when he saw the expression on Travers’ face and bit back the rest of his questions with a despairing shake of his head. "Fine. Just… just feed him will you. From bitter experience I can tell you that trying to starve information out of that particular vampire is entirely pointless."
They made their way back upstairs in silence, pausing on the way only to issue instructions for the vampire to be fed. When they reached the small, home away from home, office Travers was using, the older man again produced a bottle of Scotch and poured two drinks. It wasn’t until they were sat opposite each other across the desk nursing their glasses that either man spoke.
"The Council recently made an interesting series of discoveries. Ones that pertain to our guest downstairs, and could influence the outcome of the entire Uriel Project."
"Guest?" Giles couldn’t hold back his snort of amusement. "Somehow I doubt he sees it that way. Prisoner, more like."
"Rupert, you’re being ridiculous. We are discussing a demon not a human. You think we would be better advised letting him roam around without check, creating who knows what sort of havoc?"
"Well, no, obviously not. But starving him to get information and keeping him down in the zoo… Honestly Quentin, it’s inhumane."
"And even with a soul, he still isn’t human. He’s also the murderer of two of our Slayers, several Watchers and countless thousands of innocents. Need I go on?"
The initial shock of seeing Spike in the holding pens was starting to wear off, and Giles tiredly took off his glasses and gripped the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "You’re right. I’m sorry… It was simply something of a surprise to find him here that’s all, the last I heard he was in Los Angeles."
Quentin looked on in sympathy, taking note how the last few years had taken their toll on the man in front of him. It was time Rupert took himself out of the firing line permanently; he was getting to an age when he was almost as much of a liability as he was a help.
"As I was saying. We have information, about William. That is the only reason we went to all the trouble to extract him and bring him here. It wasn't a project we undertook lightly believe me."
Although Giles hadn’t wanted to share the information he was presuming it was a safe bet that the council already knew. "I presume you are referring to the fact that he used to be a Watcher."
Giles smothered a smug smile at the surprise on Travers’ face.
"You knew?"
"Wesley knew. He told me about a fortnight ago. I presume you wish to interrogate your ‘guest’ about his experiences to discover how much knowledge and memory he retains of his years at the academy. And in the context of the program I can see why his input might be useful but… can I just ask you one question?"
When Travers nodded, Giles took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking.
"Rather than going to all the trouble of kidnapping and trying to starve the information out of him, didn’t it occur to you to simply phone LA and ask."
***
It took half an hour for Spike to wake up after Giles had sat down outside the cage, and that in itself spoke volumes about the vampire’s physical condition. From experience Giles knew that normally he would have been alert within seconds if a human came this close to him in such hazardous surroundings. It had taken several days for the vampire to rest easy when he’d first arrived at the apartment all those years ago and this bare cage was infinitely more threatening than a Watcher’s bathtub.
Sitting there, watching while Spike slept had taken Giles back to his days in training and one of the most detested tasks trainees were assigned to during their time at the centre - guard duty. Back before the days of keypads and electronic locks, when manpower was cheaper than technology and everyone was expected to do at least three eight hour shifts in the zoo every week. One of their favourite pastimes, if he remembered correctly was throwing things through the bars, coins or sweets or some such, trying to enrage the demons inside and send them into an attacking frenzy. With a chill Giles also remembered how often that had resulted in punishments for the unfortunate creatures, the withdrawal of food, or heat for those who needed it.
He’d learned an important lesson during those long hours though, one he had never forgotten. It had all started one night when he’d got to his post to find one of the holding cells had a new occupant, an extremely attractive female vampire named Anna. That had been the first of many discoveries he’d made about her as they spent his shifts chatting through the bars sharing conversation that drifted around the edges of their common taste in music, magic and history. After a fortnight Giles had come to almost think of Anna as a friend. She never showed her demon face to him or spoke about bloodlust, or torture or any of the other subjects such demons commonly peppered into their diatribes. In retrospect it had been a foolish and naïve attitude, something that was brought home to him in the most violent manner imaginable when she had snapped the neck of one of his friends during a ‘training’ session, and he’d been forced to stake her with his own hand. And the lesson? Never make friends with a creature you may one day have to kill.
He’d almost forgotten that with Angel, and look what that had brought him. With this creature it was unlikely to be a problem. Whereas Angel occasionally came over as a cultured gentleman, Spike reminded Giles far to too much of himself in his younger days to ever feel truly comfortable around him. Even so he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for the vampire huddled in the corner, sleeping with his back against the wall with not even a blanket to cover him. He was thin again, like he’d been when Giles had found him on his doorstep, his arms covered in half healed bites and as the Watcher studied the sleeping figure he could see as shivers ran through his body. Maybe he could persuade Quentin to provide warmer clothes; the lightweight pyjama type things Spike was wearing were hardly suitable for the chill of this underground facility. Vampires may be room temperature creatures but he knew that they could and did feel the cold especially if they were underfed.
"Don’t s’ppose you’ve got any fags on you?"
The question brought Giles back to the here and now and he realised he was the object of intense scrutiny by a pair of now completely lucid blue eyes.
"As a matter of fact I do." A full Council enquiry wouldn’t get him to admit it but he’d actually bought a packet from the machine upstairs for this very purpose.
By the time Giles had opened them and lit one up, Spike was sitting the other side of the bars and the Watcher passed it through.
"Cheers."
"Before you ask, I can’t give you the packet or the matches, they seem to think that… well, it’s just that…"
"What? That I might do this with ‘em?" The vampire asked, placing the cherry red end of his lit cigarette against the thin cloth of his sleeve, observing it passively as it smouldered through and started to singe the skin beneath. Just as Giles was about to speak or move or interfere in some way, Spike pulled it off with a sneer and a snort of disgust. "Don’t think so. Don’t fancy burning up. Not unless I get to see the sun first."
That happy thought lay between them as they sat in silence, while Spike smoked the cigarette down to the filter before passing the butt back through the bars for Giles to stub out on the floor.
"So what brings you to this merry little hellhole? Come to gloat or did the Slayer send her lackey on a mercy mission?"
Giles decided to ignore the jibes and go for complete honesty, surprisingly he’d found it was a technique that had worked quite well with Spike in the past. Though typically it degenerated into name calling quite quickly. "They want some information from you."
"Don’t know anything."
The answer was thrown back at him almost before he’d finished speaking, and it was said with that particular twist of the lips and averted eyes which indicated that the vampire knew exactly what he wanted, and was choosing not to co-operate.
"Don’t be ridiculous, Spike. You must be aware that they already know all about your past, so what’s the point in refusing to help. The quicker you give them the information, the sooner you get released and can go back home." Giles didn’t miss the slightly pained expression that flickered across the vampire’s face at the mention of home and he decided to play on that perceived weakness.
"No one’s looking for you, you know. As far as everyone is concerned you simply disappeared on the way to Sunnydale. They’re all under the impression that you’ve run off again." His words elicited the same flicker of angst but frustratingly no reply, so he tried again.
"How did they manage to snatch you anyway? You never used to be this inept, I mean you managed to evade The Initiative soldiers for months."
"They jumped me just outside of Harris’ apartment. Must’ve been expecting me, I guess. And I was down and pretty much out before I knew what the hell had hit me. Next thing I know I’m waking up in a box." There was a distinct pause in the story and Giles noted a slight shudder at the memory. "Might want to point that out to your mates on the council. Not a nice thing to happen to a vampire. Brought back some pretty nasty memories."
"I’ll be certain to mention it the next time I speak with them." He couldn’t keep the sarcastic note out of his voice and Spike flashed him a censorious look, complete with raised eyebrow. It made Giles want to laugh.
"I think we can do without the humour, Rupert."
"Sorry. I know it’s not funny just…"
"You couldn’t help laughing at the stupid vampire. Go on Watcher, cough it up."
"You’ve got a damned cheek you know, calling me that in that tone of voice. I’m not the only Watcher sitting here."
"Two years at the Academy. Hardly qualifies does it."
"You took the oath."
"I did."
"And it meant nothing after you’d been turned?"
"Oh, bloody hell. You’re not gonna give up on this are you."
"No."
"Right then, you can give me another fag. And tell your mates they get this once and once only, ‘kay?"
Giles flashed a look at the security camera, which was trained on them. "I think you probably just told them yourself."
Following his gaze, Spike registered the camera and stuck two fingers up at it, muttering "Bastards," under his breath, before accepting the freshly lit cigarette Giles poked through the bars.
"So what d’ya want to know?"
With a flourish the Watcher produced a piece of paper from his pocket. On it was written the list of questions he had assured Quentin he would convince the vampire to answer if he was allowed a couple of hours with him without being interrupted. He poked that through the bars as well and sat quietly while Spike read it, smoked thoughtfully for a couple of minutes and then read it again before flicking his cigarette butt into the corner, tearing the note deliberately into small pieces and tossing them like confetti into the air.
"Thanks for the blood, Giles. See you around."
With that the vampire got to his feet, moved to the other side of the cell and stood with his back to the man outside. It was obviously a gesture of dismissal but Giles wasn’t going to be put off so easily.
"I really don’t understand you at all, do you know that. Like I said the sooner you talk, the sooner you can go home, so just do it."
There wasn’t so much as a flicker of acknowledgement from the corner and the Watcher lost his temper. "Sod it all, Spike. Whatever’s bothering you, get over it. Then we can both get out of this godforsaken place."
Still there was no answer and Giles was about to walk away in disgust, when the vampire spun to face him, anger etched into his face. "Is that what you think? That they’ll let me out if I talk. You’re just chock-full of good-guy pipe dreams, aren’t you Watcher?"
Giles took an involuntary step backwards from the bars as Spike advanced on him, still talking in the same icy-calm rage filled voice.
"Let me tell you something. They have no intention of letting me go, ever. They’re gonna keep me here like a sodding lab rat to be poked and prodded whenever they want. An’ if I talk it’ll just make ‘em worse. Give ‘em something to worry at. Go and ask ‘em if you don’t believe me. Go on. Go and ask your friend Quentin whether he’s going to let the Slayer of Slayers out of chokey after he’s spilled his guts."
"They will, I’m sure they will… they said…"
The vampire was up against the bars by now, both hands wrapped round them and gripping so tightly Giles was sure he could see the metal starting to give.
"Don’t be a bloody fool, Giles. I’m never getting out of here and you know it. So you can go and tell your fucking friends they won’t get anything. You hear me, you wankers!"
The cage rattled as Spike threw himself violently against the door, roaring. "Fucking nothing!"
Giles spotted the slightest movement from the corner of his eye just before the vampire collapsed in front of him, holding his head but still screaming defiance at his unseen tormentors. Moments later guards, lead by a nondescript man in a dark suit, barged into the room shoving Giles further away from the bars, and he heard rather than saw the tasers firing and the screaming finally stop. By the time he’d managed to fight his way to the front, Spike was unconscious again and a white-coated doctor was kneeling at his side just removing a syringe from his leg.
"That should keep him out for a few minutes. Enough time for you to do what you need to anyway." The doctor moved away leaving room for the stranger in the suit to approach the prone figure. At his indication one of the guards produced what looked like a straight jacket which was buckled and tied into place around the vampire’s lax body, while another forced a gag between his teeth.
Only at that point did it occur to Giles that despite Spike’s obvious anger he had remained in his human guise, and the Watcher wondered at the significance of such odd behaviour. Normally fighting rage such as he’d seemed to be displaying brought the demon uncontrollably to the fore, only fear or submission would keep it at bay.
"Not an entirely successful attempt, was it, Rupert?" Travers had entered the room and was stood behind Giles as he watched the show.
"Will you release him?" There had been too much conviction in the vampire’s words for Giles not to ask, but Travers merely shrugged.
"To be perfectly frank with you, I hadn’t thought that far forward. I suppose, in part we were hoping he might prove co-operative enough that we could continue to use him. As a seer his visions could prove an extremely useful asset for the fight and if nothing else he would make an interesting sparring partner for the girls. With the chip operational again he wouldn’t even have posed a physical threat. But as things stand I think those scenarios are highly unlikely, as is the possibility of us letting him go. Honestly Rupert, we could hardly let him back on the streets when he behaves like this, now can we?"
***
"He’s been there a week, you say." Politeness. If he kept control and remained hidden behind the façade of politeness he’d slammed up the moment Giles had broken the news, then Wesley was fairly certain he wouldn’t hit the other man.
"Yes, but I only found out tonight. In my defence, Wesley, I’m just as horrified as you are that they’ve gone to this extreme. I can understand their desire to speak to him but to perpetrate what effectively amounts to kidnap and… well, torture I suppose is taking things a little too far."
The expression on Giles’ face was absolutely unreadable to Wesley, but he sensed an underlying annoyance in the other man’s words, as if he’d been inconvenienced in some way.
"I’m sorry, Giles but I find that hard to believe. You’ve been a Watcher for what… twenty-five years and you, just now, start to find their behaviour disturbing and abhorrent. I came to that conclusion several years ago and nothing they do has the capacity to surprise me anymore."
"You may well be right, however arguing about this isn’t going to help. Right now we need to come up with some sort of strategy to get Spike to co-operate."
"And why, precisely would I do that?"
"Because… because if he does then I may be able to persuade Quentin to let him go." There seemed to be more and Wesley raised his eyebrows indicating that Giles should be completely honest. With a sigh Giles added, "and although I don’t particularly like him, no one deserves that."
‘That’. What an inadequate way of describing the disturbing scenes he had witnessed this evening. By the time Giles had excused himself, about an hour after the attempted interview had gone so horribly wrong, he was already convinced that Wesley was probably the vampire’s only hope. The man in charge of the case - Harry Preece - was quite probably the coldest, meanest son-of-a-bitch that Giles had ever met. Officially the Watcher’s Council titled him an interrogator but from what Giles had ascertained during phone calls to some of the more liberal members of the Council, he was regarded in some circles as the perfect Himmler to play alongside Ramirez’s Doctor Mengele.
The expression on Giles’ face was infinitely more eloquent than any description he could have offered, but Wesley felt he needed to clarify what he was seeing. "That bad?"
"Yes, probably."
"Let’s go, then." Wesley grabbed his coat and started for the door of his hotel room, turning before he got there when he realised the other man wasn’t moving. "Well?"
"There’s no point. Not tonight." Giles’ eyes closed tiredly as he spoke and his mind filled in the words his mouth was unable to form. It will take until dawn for him to stop screaming.
***
"He’s gone again."
Purple. It’s a strange colour - cold and hot at the same time, and for some unknown reason it’s trying to eat away his eyes. But that was before the orange and the smell of cinnamon, and the breath that seemed to come slowly and then quick. Before the time - if that’s what it was and before hell - if that’s where it was. And now it’s all the same, twisting aching, turning him around until up is down and down is further, and where was up again? There used to be an up. Maybe that was after the orange and the peanuts. And the feel of toothpicks and branding irons. And Paris. Maybe this was Paris. Or Rome. Before the stink of puke and blood in his throat, pulling and dragging until nothing was left. And the heat is too much away from the chill. The colours too bland when they scorch his brain and words swim like goldfish, swelling and receding until he wants to chase them down and all they can do is howl or follow him with huge clashing teeth.
"That’s better. Whatever you put in that seems to be working. Okay, give him five and we’ll try again."
Swirl of colour the other side of black and scent too close to the grave to be real. Though, maybe it holds just the tiniest hint of antiseptic. And something in his skin that might be a pinprick but is still big enough to be a sword - elephant - badger? Damn. Colours are still eluding him. ‘And they will continue to do so until you focus’. Was that his father? Sounded a bit too much like him for comfort but the words were wrong.
"William? William? Can you hear me?"
---cold, colD, coLD, cOLD, COLD--- can’t anyone fucking hear him? He’s screaming loudly enough. Except that it seems to be mostly in his head so maybe his ears are just stuffed up with fuzz.
"Here, let me try."
And now there are soft hands on his arms where there was hardness moments before and he likes that. Softness, gentleness, never enough gentleness in the world to make up for the sharp jagged edges that like to cut and bleed, and - oh god no, here it comes again. That noise that smells like marmite and yellow. And this time it will eat him alive if he doesn’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter how much he struggles the breaths won’t come, won’t fill his lungs that seem to be dead from the waist down.
"Back off, Preece. He can smell you."
"So?" Sullen and puke coloured. And Christ he’s gonna piss himself if he hears that voice again.
"You’re gonna send him over the edge again. Someone get him out of here." Swelling sounds, bursting and cresting inside his head, over the dam where he keeps his sanity and fuck can’t they just shut up. Can’t they see he’s trying to knit?
"Wesley. Try now. I think he can hear you."
"Spike?" Warmth. Quiet across his face. At last. Something that smells of safety and home and family. Worth fighting for? Abso-fucking-lutely. Somewhere he has eyes and there used to be a way to open them. Press a button here, twiddle a knob there and - oh look - eyes.
"Wes?" Shit his head just exploded. Or maybe not ‘cos nothing that was blown up could hurt quite so bad.
"He’s hearing you. See if you can get him to open his eyes."
Eyes? Didn’t he do eyes already? Maybe not, unless the world was usually purple midnight black with yellow and green checkpoints. So more twisting and twiddling and - hey - eyes. This time for real. And he knows that, because? Because now the world is sort of pink with black bits with a centre of steely grey blue that cares.
"Can you hear me?"
"Of course he can hear you, you idiot. He’s a vampire."
"I thought I told someone to get him out of here!"
"Shh, shh. He’s gone. Spike? If you can hear me and understand what I’m saying, blink twice, okay?"
Blink. That would be eyes again, yes? Eyes. He must have put them down somewhere. Careless. They were here a moment ago. Maybe if he just…
"That’s it. Good. Now you’re going to feel a bit odd but don’t worry about it. Can you move?"
He could if he was helped. See. And now the world had white bits as well but it still smelled like safety so that was okay. No need to panic so long as the smell and the steely care don’t leave. Stay close, closer, hold me, if you let go I’m gonna disappear.
"This is just dumb."
"If we want the information we’ve got to play it this way. For god’s sake Ramirez, we’ve been through this before and you’re not helping. Stay quiet and stay back."
"It’s fucking twisted is what it is."
"That does it. Get him out too."
"I think we’re set now, Giles. Take him with you and check the sound levels."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Give us about five minutes and then start recording."
Preceded by Ramirez and the two remaining guards, Giles headed out of the room closing the door firmly behind him. Left alone on the steel framed cot with the wasted vampire, Wesley sighed heavily and drew one finger gently down Spike’s cheek, pausing only to clear a drop of bloody saliva from the corner of his mouth. The gag was never sufficient to stop his blade sharp fangs cutting into his mouth when the initial hit from the drugs came, and though his mangled tongue healed quickly it was still disturbing when it happened. For the thousandth time, Wesley found himself wishing there was some other way of getting the information the Council demanded, it upset him beyond measure to see his old lover so out of control and reduced to this drooling half-demented state.
Resigned to what must happen, he lay next to Spike on the bed and gathered the vampire into his arms, starting out slowly, as he always did, gently stroking circles into the small of his back with his fingertips. Waiting until the whimpers became purrs and eventually agitated movements transformed into regular rhythmic thrusts against his leg. Only then did he recite the words that would bring William to the surface and start the session for real.
"abhinc primordium, aeviterno, cum meum corcillum, meus corpus, et mea anima, deservio."
***
Four hours later and the session finally ended. On the screen the image of Wesley, slightly fuzzy in black and white, shifted the dead weight of the completely unconscious vampire to one side and rolled to his feet, stooping to gather his clothes. Giles leaned forward to switch off the tape.
He was exhausted - physically and emotionally drained, so god only knew how Wesley felt. That one had been particularly traumatic. But the Council was pleased; they had just about everything they wanted and it had only taken them two months to do it.
Two months. The first week had been taken up convincing Travers and Preece that any demon that had survived Angelus wasn’t going to break no matter how much you hurt him. The next two had been spent with Ramirez working out what combination of drugs were most effective in subduing the demon and forcing William to talk. That insight had come as a shock to all of them - barring Wesley - that the human still resided inside the vampire’s body. And it had been Wesley that had hit upon the idea of trying drugs in the first place when they realised there was no way Spike was ever going to talk to any of them again. For some completely unfathomable reason, the vampire had suddenly developed trust issues.
A hollow laugh aimed at his own sarcastic monologue rattled in Giles’ chest as he slumped back into the chair. If Travers had just phoned LA and asked, none of this would have been necessary, but the expression on the older man’s face when Giles had made the suggestion said everything he needed to know. The Council did not speak to demons - it killed them.
He remembered the first time he’d met Angel, that day in the library when the vampire had suddenly been behind him unseen in the glass fronted bookcase. It had been a shock, not only because he was in the presence of a creature with such a vicious reputation, but also because he hadn’t spoken to another vampire since Anna. He’d hardly known what to say and in retrospect couldn’t remember exactly what they had said except that it was something about books and helping Buffy, the sum total of their conversation for most of the time Giles had known him.
And that was one of several reasons behind why he hadn’t called LA himself. This wasn’t a world in peril situation, neither was Buffy in danger, and there was no other circumstance that would persuade Giles to speak to Angel again. Interestingly Wesley felt very much the same way, so although he was finding the whole situation incredibly distressing, he was willing to collaborate until the information was gathered on condition that he could take Spike away from the centre when they were finished. Added to this, from his brief email contacts Giles knew that everyone at home thought Spike had simply gone on the road again. Something the younger vampire had apparently done fairly often before he was fettered to Sunnydale by the chip, and since no one was unduly worried it seemed unfair to disabuse them. It wasn’t like there was anything they could do if they did know. Security at the centre was such that even Angelus would have problems gaining entry to the place.
"Did you manage to get everything?" Behind him the door clicked shut and Wesley slid into the other seat. The one Preece had abandoned two hours ago, when he’d stormed out of the room, his mouth spouting filth far worse than the tender scenes they’d been watching on the monitors.
"Yes. Are you all right? That looked pretty rough." He studied the other man’s face noting the signs of exhaustion that he was sure were just as easily spotted on his own.
Wesley scuffed one hand through his hair, the other going automatically to the wound on his neck and he sighed, answering. "I’ll survive." His eyes had a haunted cast as he stared at the monitors, watching as the doctor’s team moved in to transfer the ‘patient’ back to his cell. "How many more do you think?"
"One, maybe two if there’s any problems. Then we can start working on Travers to release him."
"God, I hope so. I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand. Is it me or is it taking longer to bring him back each time?"
"I think it’s just you, although Ramirez did say that his system could become more susceptible to the drugs over time. Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?"
Wesley looked up from the monitors, the tiredness in his face more pronounced than it was moments before. "That sounds good. You go ahead, I’ll just clean up a bit first."
The cafeteria was fairly humming when he got there, but Giles managed to find an empty table in one corner away from the prying eyes that would be on both of them once the other man arrived. Although the exact nature of their work remained a mystery to most of the people at the centre, certain details had inevitably escaped. And poor Wesley now had the unenviable reputation for being a ‘demon-lover’ and that was the politer version of some of the names that were doing the rounds.
A faint ripple ran through the diners and when he glanced up toward the door, Giles saw that Wesley was stood in the entryway searching around for a familiar friendly face. By the looks of his wet freshly combed hair, he had showered and the bloodstained shirt he’d been wearing before had been replaced by a similar but clean one. A smile lit up Wesley’s face when he spotted Giles and he made his way over, studiously ignoring the filthy looks and muttered comments thrown in his direction as he passed. Though by the time he sat down it was obvious from the expression on his face that some of the barbed observations had struck their mark.
"Ignore them, they don’t know what they’re talking about."
Wesley glanced back over his shoulder, holding a couple of gazes until his accusers flushed and dropped their eyes in embarrassment. "But they do, don’t they. And that’s half the problem."
"It didn’t seem to be a problem before."
"That was in LA, and even then… It’s not the easiest thing in the world, sharing your bed with a vampire."
There was a sad, quiet regret in Wesley’s voice as he spoke and Giles tried to offer some form of consolation. "It’s not as if he treats you like Angelus did, you’re hardly his pet, if anything…"
Bright grey/blue eyes shot an indecipherable look in Giles’ direction. "Aren’t I? Truly? I know how it looks from the outside but you’ve seen the way I react when he bites me, Giles. Just because I’m the one doing the fucking doesn’t mean I’m any less in his thrall. The legacy Angelus left me with is alive and well."
There really was no answer to that, at least not one that would set Wesley’s mind at rest. Giles had witnessed exactly what the other man was referring to and he was right. The human was firmly in the driving seat right up to the point when the vampire sank his fangs into his neck, and then it was Wesley who was begging and pleading and screaming master.
***
"It’s going excellently, far better than I’d hoped actually. I know you don’t approve of the way Rupert and Pryce are handling things but you have to admit Markham, it’s working rather well."
The pair were strolling through the landscaped grounds of the centre, taking advantage of a pleasantly warm early spring day to get out of the stuffy offices. It was a rare chance for them to talk without continually prying eyes and ears and the perpetual scribble of their secretaries, and Travers wanted to use this opportunity to see how close the other man was to coming on board. Plus walking together, side by side, implied a level of equality, which would only facilitate Markham in opening up.
"Oh, I would have to agree with you, Quentin. We have incontrovertible evidence that the vampire remembers everything and the breakthrough you have made regarding the residual humanity in them in nothing short of remarkable, but I’m still not convinced. Remember we are talking about these Watchers becoming more than knowledge bearers. They will be moral and ethical guardians, as well as physical and intellectual mentors for the girls. And so far I have seen nothing to convince me that a soul has given the vampire anything resembling an adequate moral compass. In fact much of what I have heard leads me to believe that both he and his Sire have numerous problems in that quarter."
Blast. He knew it had been a mistake letting Markham sit in on the interviews with Giles and Pryce when they were discussing that aspect of the vampires’ souls. It had come as something of a shock to learn that both William and Angelus had killed humans since having their souls restored, and the information did indeed make it difficult to justify using the creatures in such a definitive role.
However, Travers was not prepared to give up on his dream. He was willing to admit that it would probably have to be revised a little to include human Watchers as part of the Slayer’s team, but she could still have protection of a more demonic nature. And just because these vampires had proved so unreliable did not mean that others would too, particularly if they were re-souled directly upon their rebirth. Surely vampires with no history of mass murder would find it easier to resist the temptation, after all their candidates were well educated modern men and women with a well developed sense of morality.
If Markham noticed the sudden cessation of conversation he made no comment and simply continued to walk, stopping occasionally to admire the spectacular shows of early flowering bulbs. After about ten minutes they had made the regular round and were heading back towards the building, and it was then that the junior of the two Watchers brought up the other knotty issue.
"Then of course there is the other element of the problem. Have you made any progress regarding the souls? The African option is unfeasible for such youngsters, and I really do feel that the original gypsy curse is nothing but a liability."
Travers smiled at the question. At last something he could reassure the other man about. "It’s funny you should ask. Just this morning I received confirmation from the Delhi office that they have found someone who can do exactly what we require."
Markham was obviously struck by the news so Travers filled him in as best he could; though the details were still sketchy.
"The name escapes me temporarily, something foreign and completely unpronounceable, but she’s a shaman, a refugee who fled south to escape persecution when the Taliban took over in her native Afghanistan. Since then she’s been working in northern India dealing with the after-effects of demonic possession, hence the Council’s interest."
"And she will be able to capture and replace the candidates’ souls?" Definite interest, bordering on excitement filled the Watcher’s voice.
"So she claims and will arrive by the end of next week." Travers paused, wondering whether Markham would accept his next proposal. "To that end I suggest we press ahead and select a suitable person to be our ‘guinea pig’ if you will. If the attempt turns out to be unsuccessful then…"
"We’ll have only the one victim on our consciences." Markham finished a touch brusquely.
"Not quite how I would have worded it but effectively, yes."
Studying the other man surreptitiously but carefully as he digested the information, Travers bent to pick several daffodils to fill the empty vase in his office. He always enjoyed having some colour around the place to brighten it up and make it feel more homely. Eventually Markham seemed to reach a decision.
"Let’s say, for arguments sake, that I’m willing to go along with taking the next step. I presume you’re not going to use one of the fledges from the zoo. Half of them wouldn’t know what to do."
"Eric, please. Why would we do that when we have a Master from one of the most powerful vampire clans available?" He paused and his lips twisted into a wry smile. "Plus there is an intriguing irony to the concept of ‘Spike’ siring a line of souled vampiric Watchers, don’t you think?"
Markham looked surprised and a little confused at the news. "Without a doubt. But I was under the impression you were planning on releasing him into Pryce’s custody in the next few weeks."
As they turned and started back into the building Travers disabused his friend of his foolish notion.
"Really? What an absurd idea. No, I have no intention of releasing him, ever. The vampire assumed that much correctly, and if Pryce believes differently then he is sadly mistaken and even more stupid than I thought him to be."
***
Preece glared into the monitor cursing under his breath at the bad luck that had landed him with the task of convincing the vampire to do what the Council wanted. In his experience you didn’t negotiate with demons, you commanded and backed up your words with force, it was the only language they understood. He was still enraged that he had been prevented from his particular form of persuasion several months ago, another week and the vampire would have broken he was sure.
Having said that, at least the creature had a healthy respect for him now. The sneering arrogance he had encountered the first time he had entered the demon’s cell had been replaced by a distinct wariness Preece felt he had earned. And maybe he could use that to get the vampire’s concurrence this time. The drugs were not an option in this particular case, Ramirez felt that they would pollute the vampire’s blood to such an extent that the turning would be unsuccessful, so they had no choice but to demand and enforce a certain level of co-operation.
And that was what he was just about to do. While he watched through the monitors, his juniors were preparing the subject for him. It didn’t do to be involved at that level, it could be perceived as weakness. Far better to make a quiet entry when everything was ready and stand at the back of the room, silent and motionless, catching the subject unawares. Others preferred their subjects blindfolded but Preece always got a buzz from watching their eyes when they realised he’d arrived. They displayed a level of vulnerability in that brief moment that he could never seem to take them to at any other point in the session.
The rubber truncheon he habitually carried made a satisfactory thwap as it smacked casually into his hand. He’d already used it to some effect but there was no doubt that this demon was a awkward customer, and it was reassuring that entirely new vistas of weakness in his subject had opened up in the past few weeks. Ones he could and would exploit to the utmost. Even today. Though not on this occasion at a physical level, that would come later. Despite the preparations going on, the key to this session would be a verbal assault, aimed at breaking the will rather than the body, and he smiled smugly at the pile of tapes on the desk containing selected recordings of the vampire’s drugged tearful confessions.
A sudden flurry of motion from the monitor attracted his attention and he swore roundly as before his eyes the vampire convulsed in his bindings thrashing violently, finally tearing them partially free. As the juniors struggled to replace them, Preece spotted Douglas sheltering in the corner frantically jabbing at the controller in his fist. What the hell was going on? If one of those trainees had decided to take things into their own hands… No one, but no one did that on his team.
The door into the interrogation room slammed back as Preece strode through it ready to start breaking heads and bouncing ass down through the ranks.
"Hold on. I’ve got it."
Ramirez barged past him wielding a hypodermic, throwing orders around for the vampire to be contained properly so he could ‘get the damn needle into him’. The juniors tried to comply, but they were being thrown across the room by the vampire who was bellowing like an enraged bull and fighting both restraints and the almost continuous blast of electricity Douglas was giving the chip. For a moment the interrogator was frozen, then he acted, grabbing the doctor and pulling him towards the safety of the security door.
"What the hell are you playing at?! Stick that in him and it’ll be hours till he’s wakes!"
"And if I don’t he’s gonna kill someone. Wanna explain that to your boss?"
They ducked simultaneously as a body sailed over their heads. Preece looked at the doctor again and made his decision. "Right, let’s do it."
Taking charge, Preece gave the order for a concerted attack and the six men threw themselves at the vampire, taking him down by sheer weight of numbers. The second the restraints were back in place, the interrogator lost it, slamming his truncheon into the creature’s head and shoulders in a flurry of uncontrolled blows. It could have been moments or minutes later when someone pulled him off and he stood, shaking with anger as Ramirez, having discarded the empty syringe knelt back down, his face dangerously close to the demon’s.
"He’s talking. Can’t understand a word of it."
"Bastard. I’ll make him bloody talk." Preece lashed out with a vicious kick that landed directly in the vampire’s groin leaving him curled up and groaning around the pain.
"Shit, man. I said he was talking. Jeez, get yourself under control."
That brought Preece back to himself, and he realised he was in imminent danger of making himself look a fool in front of his subordinates. In a move aimed as much at covering his embarrassment as any real desire to hear what the creature was saying, he straddled the vampire’s torso grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head violently backwards.
"Crying for yer little friend are yer? Well let me be the bearer of bad tidings. You ain’t ever gonna to see him…"
"V-vision." A gobbet of blood accompanied the word from the demon’s mouth and Preece was just about to start laying into him again when Ramirez broke in, leaping to his feet and heading towards the intercom near the door.
"Did he just say vision?" He hit the buzzer and yelled into it. "Get Mr Travers, now. Tell him the vampire’s had a vision."
Letting out a snort of disgust, Preece got to his feet, releasing the handful of hair and letting the demon’s head drop to the floor with a dull thump. "The fucking thing has visions? Doesn’t anyone tell me anything round here?"
In the five minutes it took anyone to arrive, Preece managed to get all his men back into order and the worst of the mess cleaned up. After ensuring the restraints were firmly back in place, Ramirez tried to keep the vampire awake and fighting the effects of the anti-psychotic. When the door opened both men were surprised to see not Travers, as they had expected, but Rupert Giles and two steps behind him the Watcher commonly known in the mess as the demon’s fuck-toy.
"What the bloody hell’s been going on?"
"Bastard flipped and attacked the guards."
"And this was a good reason to beat him into unconsciousness? What were you doing with him anyway?"
"Orders from Travers and I didn’t beat him unconscious. The Doc knocked him out with drugs again."
"Well, I can assure you I will be speaking to Quentin about your actions. I thought we’d moved past this."
Wesley only half-registered Giles’ rant behind him as he dropped carefully to the floor next to Spike, trying to avoid the worst of the dark blood liberally spilled on the hard ceramic tiles. He reached out, his trembling hands going first to remove the gag, and then to loosen the restraints that fixed the vampire’s arms behind his back at wrists and elbows. "Jesus. What have they done?"
Painfully, Spike raised his head, trying to focus on the man next to him with eyes that felt horribly like they’d been left out to dry in the sun for a few days. There was something he needed to say but his thoughts kept trying to escape. It was the drugs; they scrambled his mind until there was nothing left but word soup.
"Wes?"
"Yes, it’s me. Don’t try to talk. I’ll get them to fix you up."
That was it. The vision. "D-don’t matter. Vision. Had a vision." And if he sounded desperate it was because he had to get this across. If he didn’t…
"I know, they said. You can tell us later…"
"Not…" Trying to raise his voice only brought on a painful bout of coughing that sang in his head and caught his throat on fire but he tried again anyway. "Not later, now. Gotta get out. You. And Giles. Out… Now."
Wesley was immediately alert and focussing on the words, bending closer until Spike could feel the heat radiating from the man’s skin. "Why? What’s going to happen? If we know then maybe…"
"No." That came out stronger, maybe his ribs weren’t as mashed as he thought. "Take Giles. Get out. Tell Angel. Him, Gunn, all of them." That wasn’t right. There’d been faces missing in his head. "No… all wrong…not all. Not the slayers, okay? Slayers mustn’t come. But the others. All… Here."
Frustration pouring into every word, Wesley answered. "All of them except Buffy and Faith, I understand, but I can’t just leave you here. You haven’t even said what’s going to happen. You could end up…"
The drugs were really starting to kick in and Spike could feel himself starting to drift. In a last ditch attempt to get Wesley to listen, he scraped his tongue across his lips and gabbled out, "Don’t know. Couldn’t see. But…bad. Just-just get out and get them. Bring them here. Only they can stop it… Promise?"
And the last thing he heard before the drug induced darkness washed over him was Wesley’s voice, strangely echo-y on the edge of his hearing, saying, "I promise."