AUTHOR'S NOTE: Lyrics from "Behind Blue Eyes" by "The Who" are within this chapter.
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KENYA, AFRICA-

Panya winced as the metallic whine of the chainsaw sang through the air, screeching louder as it encountered resistance. Unconsciously, Giles flinched at the unwelcome sound and the decidedly unpleasant memories it evoked. Panya tried to take the man’s pain away, “It won’t be long now,” he whispered, “Soon Simba will be safe, at least from himself. As soon as the monsters have what they are after, they will leave. But in their wake Simba, once he wakes, will be inconsolable.”

Giles tilted his head in contemplation. Then the sadness of understanding came, “They only take the tusks,” he said.

Panya nodded grimly, saying nothing.

“Oh good Lord!” Giles breathed as he looked over at the vampire that slept, fitfully, in the Slayer’s arms, “Why did I not think of that? I do not even want to imagine how…It must be…Oh dear Lord!”

Buffy heard the change in Giles’s voice, and decided she was being left out of the loop. She carefully and tenderly put Spike’s head down on the blankets and she quietly picked herself up, as well as her nearly forgotten flashlight, and walked over to him, “If something’s wrong,” she looked anxiously back at Spike who was still lost in the web of dreams, and sighed. The look in her Watcher’s eyes was not one of comfort. When is it ever? “Giles, whatever’s up ahead for Spike, I want to know,” her throat tightened a little, making the next words difficult, almost painful for her. They came out as a whisper. She had never, before this moment, realized how deeply the idea of Spike’s hurt, physical or not, could affect her, “If you think you know,” she said, forcing her voice out beyond the stone of pain in the center of her chest, “then I need to know too.”

“Buffy, this is only speculation on my part, but I believe Spike may have chosen this reserve as his sanctuary precisely because people, for the most part, play by the rules. Here, the only legal shooting that goes on is the shooting of photographs,” Giles sighed as he saw the confusion in Buffy’s eyes, “No one and nothing is supposed to be harmed.”

“But that was real gunfire, Giles,” her voice lowered to just above a whisper, “Believe me, I know what gunfire sounds like.”

“Yes, I know,” Giles said, his eyes downcast. He did not want to be the one to add to her confusion and pain. He sighed and hoped she would understand, “Buffy, Panya tells me that Spike has fed very little in his presence. It took the boy days to convince him to do so, and even then he only took in a fraction of what he needed. And, he did not do so out of hunger. The boy had to remind Spike that feeding would help him keep his sanity,” Giles tried, unsuccessfully, to keep his concern from coloring his tone, “Buffy, Spike has not fed while I’ve been present. And, I was with him for ninety-six hours before the boy took the watch.”

“Shujaa, he would not even harm the fruit bats that are plentiful here,” Panya injected, shaking his head in concern, “and they carry sickness and fever with them.”

Buffy gasped, “Do you think that he could end up like Drusilla?” she asked no one, in particular.

“Buffy, he’s held on so far. But I don’t know how he’ll take to the smell of,” Giles hesitated, not wanting to voice his fear, “what the poachers leave behind.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in fear, “Oh,” she shook her head, overwhelmed by what Giles was saying, and what that might mean for Spike once he was conscious and aware of his surroundings again, “What did I do?”
**********************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Travers wasn’t worried by this new development. In point of fact, Miss Chalmers’s discloser only freed the Council to act.

The containment of a threat, in specific, a vampire, by the Council was not unheard of. The fact that Lydia Chalmers had sent the telegram only set the endgame in motion that much sooner.

He sighed as he came up from the catacombs beneath the building. There was a veritable city of subterranean passages here. The Council of Watchers left nothing to chance. With that in mind, he had to be certain everything was in readiness for the arrival of the Council’s guest.

Quentin Travers was quite certain that the vampire’s existence, and any threat he might pose, would be dealt with soon enough. Once word had reached the Council that “William the Bloody” had indeed arrived in Africa and made contact with the Ms’awlo’icckl shaman, the Nairobi enclave had swung into action, it really had required little to no effort on his part.

“William the Bloody” had been under close, tight, surveillance for quite some time. And now, thanks to the dubious relationship between the Slayer and his former employee, he could keep a close eye on Rupert Giles and his maddeningly unorthodox charge.

His office telephone began to ring just as he walked in the door. The operative in Kenya knew to use the landlines when the information he needed to relay was sensitive. Cellular transmissions were too easily intercepted. He closed the door quickly and answered the phone, “Yes,” he said expectantly, “I see. Well the thing to do now is wait,” his eyes narrowed in concentration, “No, that should not pose a problem. No,” he shook his head, “our records indicate that what you have should do the job quite effectively. In point of fact, you may not even need that much. The situation is fluid. There is room for interpretation. One thing is not open for debate, however,” he nodded at the man’s agreeable nature, “Yes, that’s correct,” he smiled, “Tell me when it is done.”

Quentin hung up the telephone, and busied himself again with the translation of the scrolls that had so consumed his life for the last thirty years.
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HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA-

Dawn flopped on the bed in the spare room her aunt had let her use. She hated it. The walls were painted in a sickening shade of blue. It seemed as if her aunt had expected nephews instead of nieces. And to top it off, the bed was small, twin sized mattress, and that was covered with “Holly Hobbie” sheets and the matching bedspread.

Dawn felt the lace fringe on the edge of the bedspread, and moaned, “Ugh, what am I, six years old?”

She slid off the bed and went to the closet, where her suitcase was kept, and fished her portable radio and earphones out. Maybe if she had a distraction the room wouldn’t wig her out so much.

As she walked back to the bed, she put the tiny buds in her ears and looked up at the ceiling. Well at least it’s white, and not blue. She hated blue.

Hated it.

Hated it…no, she didn’t.

Why did he leave? It’s not fair! Now he’s gone. Even if he comes back, he loves Buffy, not me. It won’t be the same. Not like it was before.

She was mad, and she needed to take her mind off of him. So, she hoped that turning the radio to ear-splitting volume would help, at least for the moment. At least until she could make her hiccups stop. She hated crying.

She hated it.

And, why did the room have to be painted that color? The color of his eyes.

Those eyes used to love her. She saw it. When she’d gone into the hospital last summer, to have her appendix removed, she’d been his world. She saw it. She could remember it like it was yesterday.

She felt like her insides were on the outside. It hurt. Someone was holding her hand. She opened her eyes and all she saw was fuzzy bright blue on an even fuzzier white background, almost like the felt boards her kindergarten teacher tried to teach the alphabet with. Why was everything so blurry? Why did it look like Muppets had invaded the world?

And, why did she feel like she’d been ripped open?

She tried to talk. Ugh. Even her tongue was furry, “Spike?” the shapes came clear slowly, and he was there. Like always, “What happened, Spike?”

“Hey Nibblet,” his voice was soft and she felt his hand smooth her hair. It was cool…and nice. She felt so hot. “…You gave us quite a scare, Bit. Keep me on my guard, you do,” his voice sounded gruff, like he’d been chain-smoking or…crying?

She was confused, “Spike, what happened? I remember…I had a stomachache. Something I ate. I went to bed and then…?”

“Belly nearly burst,” he said softly as he stroked her forehead, “Doctors took out that nasty appendix, no worries now,” he smiled weakly, eyes glistening, “You rest,” he sighed.

She was very tired. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, “Spike,” she murmured, “stay with me, please?”

She heard him whisper, as she fell down into sleep again, “Always, Bit. Like I promised.”

He’d promised to stay, but he didn’t.

He lied. He lied. And even if he did come back now, everything would be different. She didn’t want that. She wanted things to be like they were, and now, because of him, they would never be.

And, she hated him for it.

She tried not to think of him and what he did, but even the radio wouldn’t let her forget. The words blaring into her head made her cry even harder.

“No one knows what it’s like…” No I won’t forgive him. “…To be the bad man. To be the sad man…” No! No, I won’t! “…Behind blue eyes…”

She’d heard enough. She tore the ear buds from her ears and sent the tiny radio sailing through the air. Shattering it to pieces as it hit the bedroom wall.

“I hate you!” she rasped, turning her wet face to the pillow, muffling her tears.
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KENYA, AFRICA-

Buffy could hear him stirring. The poachers had left hours ago. The air had been silent. So much so that Giles felt it was safe to leave and assist Panya in replenishing the supplies. Giles felt it was safe, and she knew he would be back. She knew it was ridiculous, but she worried about what was out there, waiting for him.

She knew there was blood. Although she couldn’t smell it, it was too far away; she knew he would smell it, once he awoke. The poachers had been careful not to be discovered by their human pursuers. But Buffy knew that they hadn’t hid, couldn’t hide, the carcass well enough to keep the scent of spilled blood from a vampire’s keen sense of smell.

He was waking up now. She could hear him mumbling. It was clear that he was upset, “…Buffy no…so much…blood…no.”

She sighed, slowly making her way to him. She no longer needed the flashlight; her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I didn’t know it could get this dark. It was never this dark in Sunnydale, or L.A. either. She wouldn’t have used it anyway. She didn’t want to startle him.

“Spike,” she said softly as she knelt next to him, “it’s all right. I’m here.”

There was a sharp, pained intake of air, and a brief flash of gold. But not brief enough. He knew. She could tell he knew. His eyes darted aimlessly around, trying to hold on something familiar.

They settled on her, and she smiled.

“Buffy?” he questioned as he slowly sat up.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. The awe in his face as he looked at her, nearly stopped her heart.

His eye zeroed in on the space just above her left breast. Where the bullet entered. Oh, God, did that hurt. She could feel the tears pressing her eyes, but she would not let them fall. He needed to lean on her, and she was going to let him need her, for once.

“Where you hurt?” the question was almost intelligible. The words disfigured by his anguish.

“Was,” the pain in his eyes hurt her more than the bullet did. If he asked anything that required more than a few words to answer, she didn’t know if she would be able to. It hurt that much, “I’m better now, though,” her breath shuddered, “And, I’m here,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders, “Surprised?”

He nodded, still disbelieving, confused, “I…but there’s blood. I smell it,” his eyes slowly scanned her, searching; seeking to reconcile what his senses were telling him, “There is blood. I smell it. There’s too much…” he shook his head, as if to clear himself of the fog that had him trapped. He looked back at her with questioning, hurt eyes, “Buffy, how? There shouldn’t be any…” his eyes widened as he realized that they were alone, “Oh God…Buffy. Where’s Mouse?”

Buffy wasn’t sure what he was asking, so she stayed silent.

The silence sent him into a panic. He knew he was panicking, but something in him couldn’t stop the freefall. He couldn’t stop, “Buffy, where are Rupert and Mouse?” Tell me, Buffy,” he began to stand up, hastily. The panic was growing, “Buffy, please,” he begged, “tell me where they are. Tell me I didn’t….”

She was still silent. The panic wasn’t panic now. It was knowledge. It was a crushing pain, and it was in control now. He was following instinct. Following the blood, like the beast he knew he would always be.

It all happened so fast that Buffy couldn’t fit the pieces together. She’d never seen him move that fast. He disappeared into the arid night before she could blink.

It only took a second. But, a second was long enough. He was gone.

The moment stretched on forever. But, when it ended, she grabbed her flashlight, and followed him into the night, “Spike!” she yelled after him as she ran.
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Unnoticed by his targets, undoubtedly because of the adrenaline surging through them, the man in the desert camouflage and night-vision goggles saw the flash of light and heard the panicked voice. His own heart sped up with anticipation, but the rise in heart rate was the only betrayal of his mood.

Outwardly, his training kept him careful and precise as he radioed his fellows. He quickly put the small radio headset microphone near his mouth, and relayed what he had just witnessed, “Targets acquired. Maintaining contact. Will relay position once targets are confirmed. Containment to follow. Will radio this frequency. Radio silence until further notice. Out.”

He cut his transmission, and moved under cover of night.