LONDON, ENGLAND-

Lydia had used her training in the accounting department to keep Mister Travers under her watchful eye.

Using her computing skills, she was able to track the Council’s expenditures. There had been a rise in the travel allowances of the paramilitary unit in recent days. To say nothing of the procurement of very large amounts of a very powerful narcotic, as well as the commission, by the paramilitary unit, of a “Sensory Depravation Chamber.”

To Lydia these all meant one thing. “William the Bloody” was being brought here.

Lydia Chalmers had watched Quentin Travers for days. She almost knew his pattern now. The Director was an odd mix. He was both a creature of habit, and a paranoid personality. The side of him that fell into habitual behaviors made him an easy person to watch, while the paranoid portion made him a difficult person to keep under surveillance.

Lydia knew that she was green when it came to fieldwork. She also knew that her superiors, and Quentin Travers in particular, thought of her as little more than a bit of fluff that decorated the office.

She knew what Travers had planned for William. What’s more, she knew why he was so critical, not many did. She knew about the prophecies of the Unhesines. She had understood how important William’s actions could be to the Council long before Travers took interest.

She had researched the prophecies and sought the greatest minds in the field of linguistics since discovering William’s tentative alliance with the Slayer. She was by no means stupid. She knew “William the Bloody” would be someone of consequence. But until the rumors began to circulate and confirmation came in from Africa, she had no idea that one being could have that much power.

Until the horror of Travers’s plans became a reality, she had no idea where she would fall, or if she would rise to the occasion the vampire offered her, and the world.

She knew now where her heart belonged and where it was headed if she helped him. It belonged in the future, with the light, not in the decaying shadows of what had passed.

And as soon as Travers left the office, she would make her move. She didn’t know how long she would wait, but she would wait.
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Sitting in his cell Spike had time to think. The only problem was, if he thought too much he would panic. The physical beatings he could take, it was the affects of the psychological warfare that had him worried. The earthen and damp smell of his keep reminded Spike, very much, of a grave.

Quentin Travers may be the king of all wankers but he’s studied his subject, like a good Watcher. The Council may have gotten some things about me wrong, but this… His fingers felt the cold concrete beneath him and he looked around at his cramped surroundings. The ceiling above him scarcely allowed him to stand upright; his fears may have played havoc with his calculations, but to him it seemed that there were perhaps six inches of headroom once his body was fully extended.

He could feel the old feelings pulling at him. The walls were beginning to close in around him. If he had needed to breathe, at this moment he would be hyperventilating. Closed spaces had always bothered him. Even his crypt in Sunnydale had a window for light that also allowed him to see the world beyond. It felt open. But this made him feel trapped. There was no light here at all, and it made him feel trapped, more now than he ever had before.

…This they got right. I can’t let it rule me. Cannot let it take over. I have to stay alert. Can’t let him know…

Spike stood slowly, trying to keep his demon at bay as he felt the vibration, and weight of the chains that pulled at his wrists as the links passed through the anchoring ring that was bolted to the concrete floor of his dungeon. He wanted to break free and run. The small dimension of the room, by his estimation, no more than ten feet by twelve, was aggravating his unease. A fact that, he had no doubt, the Watcher was planning on using to his advantage. Knowing that, and also not knowing where Buffy and Giles were, or if the Watcher intended to use them as leverage against him, when the time was right, helped him to keep it in check.

To keep from panicking, he had to move. Unfortunately, the chains that bound him only allowed him to move three feet in any direction. And, truth be told, even if he knew he could escape, he might not. Not with the unspoken, but very tangible threats the Watcher had made to those he cared about. No, he couldn’t escape, not until he had more information.

To get the information he needed, he had to be an observer. To be an observer, he had to be calm and clear-headed. With the help of the drugs the Watcher kept pumping into him he could be calm. Without them he could be clear-headed, so much so that his claustrophobia would get the better of him.

William, pull together. Get it done.

He hated the sound of the metal as it followed him as he paced. Hated the way the shackles exerted their insistent pressure on his wrists. Hated the way they felt against his skin as they rubbed it raw with the slightest movement.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Just… he closed his eyes and shoved the fear down in favor of concern for Buffy and Giles, and of course Mouse. don’t be a Nancy. Just do it. It’s the only way you can get home. Just do it!

True, he was scared nearly witless. But there’s no reason that twit needs to know that, is there? Pull together. Drag out the armor. He smiled to himself, …You’ve done it before. You can do it again.

He once again heard the key in the lock, and then the tones that he was beginning to know were the key to his freedom, and then the Watcher’s heavy footsteps on the steps as they descended the old stone staircase.

He couldn’t help it, the thought flashed in his mind before he could stop it. Careful Watcher could break your neck. It would be so easy. Over before you know it. I promise, it won’t hurt a bit. The smile quickly turned to a frown as his thoughts drifted back to her. Oh Buffy, where are you? Are you hurt? Are you…?

No, I can’t think like that. If I go down that road, I’ll never get home.

When he heard the soft hiss of air, Spike knew the Watcher was near. The heavy door rumbled as it was slid aside. There, bathed in a light so cruel it hurt his eyes, bringing his demon to the fore, stood the Watcher.

Spike’s eyes drifted to the bag the Watcher held in his grip. He shuddered inwardly and hoped that the man was too preoccupied to notice his discomfort. Discomfort was not something Spike could afford to show right now. Even though that bag carried horrors in it the likes of which the Ripper of Whitechapel would envy, …hey Watcher, ever wonder why that one got away? I could tell you. he wasn’t going to give the Watcher the pleasure of seeing his fear.

As Quentin’s footsteps echoed louder in the tight space, Spike took a deep breath and consciously shifted to his human guise. His tone was heavy and tired as he said, trying desperately to hide the quiver of fear, “Watcher, what sense does it make to pump me full of fairy dust?” he jangled his chains weakly, illustrating his point, “I’m in chains. I’m hurt,” he lowered his head, his shoulders moved as an audible sigh shivered through him.

Quentin Travers had to admit; the last round of interrogation had left the vampire visibly, and very badly injured. Perhaps the creature was in enough pain that they could finally have a conversation. Perhaps now the vampire would stop evading his questions, “Perhaps you are right. I have no way of knowing if your previous answers were influenced by the drugs in your system.”

Another sigh escaped Spike’s lips as he nodded in defeat, his eyes still hidden in the darkness of the cell, “If I remember correctly, the Council wants to know why a vampire,” he sighed again, turning his head toward the Watcher, “would do what I did.”

Quentin Travers gasped and fumbled with the clasp on his black bag. It was foolish to think… His fingers searched franticly for the hypodermic needle. He was so frightened by the monstrous yellow-eyed visage that smiled back at his show of fear that he barely took heed of the laughing, good-natured warning that issued from the vampire’s lips, “…Oh, didn’t I tell you, I’m very peckish. If you come near me with that needle again,” Quentin saw the vampire’s head tilt to one side in an odd contemplative gesture and a cold, menacing sneer pulled the demon’s mask into a frightening grin of death, “I will bite you,” Spike couldn’t help but smile as the man took a faltering, involuntary step back, “Good, now that we’re communicating, have you not heard that there’s an exception to every rule. You Watchers like your rules and regulations, don’t you?” Spike shook his head as he watched the man tremble and listened to his heart rate double, “You know me, don’t you? ‘William the Bloody?’ Not really one to follow the rules. So,” he said evenly, “why not be a good lad and tell me what you’ve done with the Slayer and her friends. And then I might feel like telling you what you want to know.”
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