AUTHOR'S NOTE: "In Camera" is a legal term for what goes on in a judge's chamber. *I* had trouble writing this...but for the story to move, it had to be done.
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LONDON, ENGLAND-

Spike tried to focus. The last thing he remembered was that sadistic Watcher and his medieval torture implement. He remembered waiting. Waiting for him to come close enough. It was so simple. Just let nature take over.

It was all a blur. The Watcher stepped within reach of his chain and, in seconds he had the man in a chokehold, using his chain as a garrote. He remembered the way the Watcher squirmed. Like a dying fish flopping for air, as he realized he was in danger.

The fear made the first pull from his veins so sweet. He could remember feeling his knees buckling with the ecstasy of it.

Can’t cut your air off completely. Want the blood to live just a little longer.

It was then that the sweet sound of terror hit his ears. Oh, God yes! Scream! Scream your lungs out! Scream for help. I’ll swallow that too. It just makes the blood taste better. It’s been so long since I’ve had something warm and alive. The lioness doesn’t count. It was different. Nothing can do this justice. I need this! He was a junkie, and he knew it. He would chase this dragon down into the depths of Hell. Oh God! This feels…I need this. I didn’t know how much until now. And…oh God, this tastes so good! I don’t know when I’ve tasted anything sweeter than this!

Then came the pain.

And now, everything was hazy. There was a buzzing in his ears. He knew there were words, but nothing made sense. He was so tired.

He was angry.

He tried to move. His wrists felt as if they weighed a ton and the sound of the chains, as they moved slightly, shot right to his nerves. It was so loud.

His hand dropped heavily at his side. It was just too heavy to lift. He could feel the cold concrete beneath him, pressing at his back. Am I on the floor? How did I end up on the floor? I don’t remember… He felt cold, very cold. And… his head- his head felt like it was splitting in half. There were colors dancing before his eyes now that he hadn’t seen in over a century. It was beautiful.

And, it hurt. Like. Hell.

Something deep inside of him knew it had been violated. Maimed. He wanted to roar. He wanted to tear. But right now, he was filled with impotent rage.

The rage made him shake and shiver. The pain was too much to bear. He felt gutted inside, and he could do nothing to his tormentors.

It hurt.

He’d lived with Angelus for twenty years, and still he could do nothing.

Then came pain of another kind. The guilt that came from deep inside of him made no distinction between good and evil. Human life was all that mattered to his inner man. And, he had strangled a man, felt him writhing, gasping for air.

He’d deprived a man of the oxygen he needed to sustain his life. He didn’t know if that man lived or not, but that made no difference. He’d done it. He was capable of it. And that is what rocked his soul. That is what made him shiver and quake.

All he could do was weep inwardly, and hope she hadn’t forgotten him. Hope that she wasn’t dead, and that one day, he would get out of here.

The buzzing started again, closer this time. Spike poured all of his energy and strength into opening his eyes, and was rewarded with a wavy non-distinct blur.

The silence of the small cell was broken by the man’s gasp as he took an unsteady step back. He held his linen handkerchief to the weeping wound on his neck.

It was amazing. Even with the knowledge that, for the time being, this beast was harmless due to the extraction of its fangs, and being heavily drugged, it still looked deadly.

“Sir, I think it’s coming out of it now.”

Quentin was surprised at how simple the boy could be, “Yes, I can see that, Stanley,” he said dryly, “But I do thank you for your sharp shooting skills,” he sighed as his composure returned. He stepped up to examine the vampire that lay dazed on the floor, “I feel certain that that will not be happening for some time, if ever again. Do you have the photographs?” Quentin asked.

Stanley nodded as he dutifully stepped into the anteroom. Never taking his eyes off of the two occupants of the cell, he retrieved the file and returned to the cell, “Everything you need is in here, Mister Travers.”

Quentin nodded curtly as he accepted the file from the young man, “Thank you again, Mister Egart. I think the vampire is sufficiently subdued. You may take your leave now.”

The young man shot his employer a nervous look. He did not wish to seem insubordinate, but, twice, in his experience, this vampire had required heavy sedation in order to keep him at bay, “Are you sure, Sir?”

Quentin nodded, grateful for the boy’s concern. His fingers ghosted gingerly over the puncture wound that had allowed the vampire, that was lying, in seeming convulsions on the floor of the cell, brief access to his jugular vein, “I can assure you that I will not be so careless as to put myself in that danger again. I am fully aware of what William is. And before I am through here,” he nodded dismissively at the creature writhing on the concrete, “William will remember as well. We all have a place in this world, and we must take that place. It is arrogance for an animal to presume to be a man. No,” he shook his head in disgust, as the vampire’s unfocused, pain-muted gaze looked past him, unseeing, “I will be quite safe. You may go.”

“Yes Sir,” Stanley Egart was not one to question authority. He turned his back and walked away, pausing only briefly to listen to the hiss of air that sounded as the pneumatic lock slid swiftly into place.
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The pain was mind shattering, and the guilt was crushing. The harsh light that flooded the room was intended to cause him pain.

It was performing as intended. He blinked, trying to shield his aching eyes from the light. And, as Spike shivered with the unreasonable cold that rushed throughout his body, the memory of what had been done to him began to come back to him in flashes. Though, he did not need the memories to know what it was that sadistic man had done to him.

He’d lived with the most sadistic creature on the face of the earth for twenty years. And, he’d leaned his lessons well.

Or so he thought.

This man that held him now, this human was even more animal than Angelus. Angelus had never done this.

The pain had brought the demon forth. And, when it came forth, he knew. Oh God! The pain made him retch and cough. The coughing sent raw pain, like a bullet, to his brain. And, he knew.

Oh God! My fangs! They pulled my fangs!

Quentin’s attention was drawn from the photographs on the pin board he was looking over, and back to the vampire at the other end of the cell.

He looked at the vampire and then back at the pin board, speaking casually to the vampire as he paced in front of the photos there, “You know, William, you’re a very odd duck. For a vampire, you are extremely sentimental. That is highly unusual for your kind. You are very intriguing. Did you know that?” he asked, turning to look at the vampire, “I did my research,” he gestured to the board, “This? This is a family album, of sorts. Can you see clearly enough,” he asked, with false concern dripping from him, “Or, shall I switch off the light? I know you’re in pain. I don’t want that,” Quentin stepped closer to Spike, but stayed well out of his reach, “I’m sure you recognize each of those people on the board. Your mother…your stepfather and your dear stepsister, Rachel. She really was a beautiful girl,” he said with an air of admiration, “Then of course there are her children,” he paused as he came to the last pictures on the board, “And I know you recognize her grandchild.”

Spike’s eyes widened as he took in the person in the photo. Aside from his mother, he had tried to keep his family safe, both from Angelus and others who might use the knowledge as leverage against him.

No one knew his true linage. No one. Not even the child knew. If the Council knew…

The pain and fright had Spike paralyzed. He could not understand what this man was saying to him, “…We just want you to do what you do best, William,” he said, looking at Spike coldly, “Of course, it’s your choice. But,” his voice took on a chill of menace as he looked back at the photos smiling from the board, “if you do not? Well, that would be unfortunate indeed.”

He then left the vampire to his pain and his thoughts, and smiled as the pneumatic locks fell into place.