DEVON, ENGLAND 03 AUGUST 2002-
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Buffy knew it made sense to try and sleep, to go at this thing when she was fresh and alert. But who knew what was being done to him? Travers was a sick, twisted, evil man. There was no telling what…

That’s it, Buffy thought as her feet hit the floor of the guest room, I can’t just lie here thinking about it. I have to do something.

Buffy carefully wrapped the robe she’d borrowed from Willow around herself, covering her favorite sushi pajamas and left the room, taking care not to wake her little sister, who had finally managed to fall asleep in the bed next to her.

Dawn was worried about Spike. And, so was she. What she’d seen on that screen was just…She had to do something.

Buffy silently made her way down the stairs. The house was darkened, except for the eerie glow that came flowing from under one closed door.

The shock she’d felt at seeing those images of Spike just yesterday, spilled over into apprehension as she approached the door. She knocked lightly on the door and sighed when she heard her Watcher’s tired voice softly reply, “Come.”

She was both saddened and shocked at what she saw behind the door. He had always looked older to her, but it was a comforting kind of old. There was always a light in his eyes that was comforting, even when he was angry with her, but now the light was shadowed by sadness and worry. And, he looked ancient.

Walking up to the large desk he was sitting behind, with the file and papers that came in the envelope with the video of Spike, whose image was frozen on yet another television screen in front of him, strewn all over it.

Buffy did not want to look at the video. She had seen enough last night. Enough to know that the beating she’d meted out to him that night behind the police station was nothing compared to what Travers was doing to him now. Yet despite that, she looked over her shoulder at the vampire’s grainy image and held her breath unconsciously at the sight of the swelling and bruising that conveyed itself through pink and black against normally sallow skin. The pixels on the screen told her the kind of abuse that Spike was enduring, and she could feel her heart breaking for him. She looked back at Giles, who had his eyes closed and was releasing a breath that he’d obviously been holding for quite some time. To her, he looked like he would break down into sobs if she whispered too loudly, “You can’t sleep, either, huh?” she asked, softly.

“No,” Giles’s voice wavered with powerful emotion, “And I do not think I will again for some time,” he fisted some of the papers that were in the file and shook them in Buffy’s direction in a gesture of frustration, “That madman’s thought of everything,” he threw the papers down on the desk as he got up and began to pace, “Industrial strength chains and anchors, sensory deprivation, electronic locks as well as, if all else fails, a binding spell for good measure! Lydia says here,” he pointed to the group of haphazard papers on the desk, indicating that the proof of what he was saying was somewhere in the mound of paper and parchment, “that Quentin Travers had begun to gather profiles on me, you, and Spike almost from the moment the rumors started.”

“What rumors?”

“The rumors he himself sent me to Africa to confirm. The rumors that Spike had gone to Africa to seek restoration,” he looked up at Buffy, hoping she would understand-would remember. He could see by the look in her eye that she did remember, “There’s no telling what he’s planning on doing, if he hasn’t done it already,” Giles stopped pacing and paused to catch his breath and control the rising anger within him, as the institution he had given his life to, looked less and less like the scholarly bastion it claimed to be with each word that passed from his lips.

He sighed heavily, leaning on the desk more than he should have needed to, as he made his way around once again to the chair and sat down. Looking at Buffy with dread in his eyes, he said, “There is reference to an obscure prophecy in the writings of one of the oldest religious sects I’ve yet to come across. It seems as if these writings, and this prophecy could date all the way back to…” his voice trailed off, overcome by the weight of the enormity of the secrets the Council seemed to have kept.

“To what, Giles?” Buffy bit out, “Come on!”

Seeing his Slayer’s eyes shine with anger and worry only made what he had to say harder. He hated seeing her, the young woman he thought of as his daughter, hurt, and he hated being the instrument of that hurt. He sighed again, and said what he did not wish to say, “…The beginning.”

Buffy squinted her eyes in disbelief, “The beginning…of what?”

“The Unhesines seem to have been in existence since… the creation.”

“The creation?” her eyes widened in shock, “You mean… the creation? That one?”

Giles shook his head, “No, but very nearly. I’m talking about the creation of…the Slayer.”

“Wow…really?” Buffy gasped, in awe. She saw the worry in his face. She knew that he was just as worried about Spike as she was, “ Don’t worry Giles, tomorrow I’ll go to Saint Thomas’s, that’s where you said Lydia was taken after her ‘accident,’ right?” she saw Giles’s slight nod, and continued, “She and I will have a little visit. We will find him,” she paused, not sure that this was the time to ask, but she couldn’t help it. She was curious. Yeah, you know what curiosity did to the cat, right? “So…” Buffy felt an excitement and fear spread through her body and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, though she knew she should-stop herself, that is, “ this prophecy…what does it say?”
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LONDON, ENGLAND-

His senses were once again brought back to reality. He was once again in the damp, cold, soil-laden void that had been his existence for…

God, how long has it been now? I don’t know. First there were the drugs, I almost prefer the drugs. At least then I still had Emma, and Mother, Rachel and Dawn…Dear Nibblet. And, sometimes Buffy. Even Rupert. I could pretend that I belonged somewhere. That I mattered to them.

While I had the fairy dust, I could pretend. I was warm. I don’t have that now.

All I have now is the dark, and the cold- always the cold. Can’t escape it. And, how I did try. Can never outrun it, or the pain- I tried not to scream. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. No one can hear me. And, it hurts so much. Too much to care, anymore.

And that smell is driving me mad!

Blood. Living blood. So close… No! I have to keep her safe. I can’t hurt her. It’s agreed then, yes? I go inside and never come out. It’s the only way to keep them safe.

I have to keep them safe; keep her safe. I can’t do it. I won’t.
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Quentin Travers was quite pleased with the vampire’s progress. Even its silence spoke volumes. It showed that it was breaking down.

And even the risk of being bitten was worth it because his frequent visits, the proximity of a living human, coupled with the vampire’s current state of starvation, made it very vulnerable to suggestion. Eventually, the vampire would break.

It was just a matter of time. There was still one more thing to be done. The vampire would most certainly be posturing once more if it were permitted to gain any sort of confidence. There was still one thing that needed to be done to assure that the vampire would indeed kill the Slayer when she came for it.

In point of fact, he hoped that the vampire had had the time it required to regain some of its arrogance, because then what needed to transpire would have a more lasting effect on the Council, as a whole, and the Slayers to come.

He was not stupid. He knew that he would not survive much longer, not once the Slayer and her cohorts charged in here, as he was sure they would, and not given Rupert Giles’s tendency toward rash decisions and impulsive behavior. But then, that was to be expected, given his linage.

No. Quentin Travers knew he would not be alive much longer, but he did know that the Council would endure. He had made certain of that.
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LONDON, ENGLAND- 06 AUGUST 2002-



I’ve had this dream before- so many times, Love. I tried to hold on, I really did. But this…you seem so real. Is this real? How can it be?

Oh Love, help me? I’m gone. I have to be- it seems so real.

Buffy couldn’t stand seeing him like this. She ignored the tears sliding down her face as she watched his eyes stare, unblinking, up at the glow from the one light that illuminated the place that had been his Hell for eleven days now, “Spike?” she waved her trembling hand in front of his open blue eyes, hoping for any response, even an unconscious one, but there was nothing. Buffy looked up at the single bare lightbulb that lit the cell. She knew it was difficult to see in here, even with the bulb in the on position and light filtering in from the outside through the open cell door, but he should have been able to see something. His eyesight was even better than hers, she knew, and his lack of response to the light, or her, told her more about what his existence had been like over the past few days than she wanted to know, “Spike, can you hear me?”

He looks dead. I mean, really dead.

As she cradled his head in her lap, her gaze fell to the chain that still bound him, which was attached to him by way of the manacles that held his wrists, which were now lying lifelessly across his body. The chain was attached to a large metal ring embedded in the floor three feet away.

The rage started to build in her stomach again. The rage had been fueling her for four days, ever since she had seen Spike’s battered, flickering image on that television screen back in Devon. Even the hint of bruises the camera revealed made her hiss in sympathy. And, now he was here. She’d found him, but she had no idea how many beatings, how much pain he had had to suffer in the time between those images and now. From the looks of it, too much-much too much, “Spike,” she murmured, knowing-hoping, that somehow he understood her, “I tried to get you free,” her breath hitched, catching on a sob. He was here. She looked around the cell, her mind racing.

I can’t believe what Giles did. He just shot him. And, Travers didn’t even put up a fight. It was like he was expecting it, like he knew we would come.

The cell was dark and dank, and she knew that smell, it had clung to her skin for months after her resurrection. And there was the smell of blood that lingered in the air. To dangle food in front of his nose, just out of reach, and then deny it to him, now that is cruel; to let him be so close to the thing he needs to survive… It was then that Buffy began to put the pieces together. The bruising around his jaw, his silence now, it all fit.

Oh God! He was here, for days. In the dark, alone and in chains- he must have been so scared. They must have…Oh Spike, please hang on. “But there must be some kind of anti-Slayer mojo on these damn things, because they wouldn’t budge. Giles,” she raised her voice in urgency, “tell Willow to hurry that unbinding incantation along! I need to get him out of here!”

Willow’s voice sounded strained as it filtered into the cell, “Working on it! Just give me a few seconds. You’ll know when it’s down, believe me.”

A shadow passed over the light that filtered into the cell, and Buffy heard panting breaths. Buffy looked up to see Giles, wheeling something that looked too much like a casket for her comfort, into the cell, “The chamber was exactly where Lydia said it would be. Once Willow disarms the spell,” his voice softened the blow of his words, “He’ll need to be blindfolded,” he blinked at the sight of her flinch. He hurt for her too, “I know. But he has been…” Giles looked at the squalid conditions that William had been forced to subsist within, and spat out, “here for days now. Exposing him to light now, even artificial light, after a prolonged deprivation, could blind him. When the spell dissipates, the area surrounding the subject of the spell, the area surrounding Spike, will be saturated with light,” Giles knelt next to Buffy and looked closely at Spike. He was concerned. Spike seemed to be deep within himself. The torture, undoubtedly, had taken its toll.

Rupert, is that you? Did you know you have eyes just like Rachel’s? You have to get out. Get Buffy out of here…Before he comes back. He wants her dead. He wants me to do it. But I won’t let him do that. Oh…it hurts. But, I won’t let him have her. I won’t let him out. I promise.

Taking the handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, he carefully placed the cloth over Spike’s unresponsive eyes and secured it snugly with a loose knot at the back of his head.

Wait Rupert, I can’t see you now. Buffy has to get out. Oh bloody Hell, you can’t hear me.

“Willow,” Giles called out, “the protections are in place.”

Suddenly, the tiny room was flooded with a bright, blinding white light. So bright that, Buffy and Giles had to shield their eyes.

When the flash ended, Buffy jerked the chain and the concrete that held it crumbled as if it were paper. She looked anxiously at Giles, as she held Spike on the floor of the cell. He opened the heavy lid of the box.

She knew what he was waiting for, “Do we have to put him in there Giles,” she asked, her voice rising desperately, “with that thing ?”

Giles grimaced in distaste, “I know how distasteful it is, Buffy. But, Miss Chalmers has been gracious enough to provide us with a plausible story as a cover. She has reported the ‘suicide’ of Quentin Travers. We are masquerading as funeral parlor attendants, who have come to retrieve the body,” he shrugged at the irony of the situation, “We are doing just that. Unfortunately,” he smirked a little, “ although the new head of the Council has no reason to disbelieve this, we must keep the bystanders from raising alarm. We entered with one casket, which I have…dispatched in favor of one more…practical for the body we are taking out of here. We entered with one casket and will exit with one. No bodies will be left behind. Quentin will be properly disposed of. And, we will have Spike.”

“I know, but…”

“It’s the middle of the day, Buffy. There is no other choice.”
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09 AUGUST 2002- DEVON, ENGLAND-

He could feel someone holding his hand. Instinctively, he squeezed, craving the contact, and slowly opened his eyes. The movement startled Dawn, and she shook herself awake and gasped as she felt his hand weakly gripping hers. She sniffed back the tears she had been crying for three days, “Buffy,” she whispered, “I think he’s awake.”

Oh no, not this again. I can’t do this. This is worse than the darkness. Oh Nibblet…so much like Emma. I’ll miss you, I will. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’ll miss you, but I’ve got to hide. There’s no other way. I’m sorry, Bit.

“I’m here, Spike, with Buffy. We’re here,” Dawn murmured as she watched tears slowly stream down Spike’s silent face, “We’re here. We got you out. It’s over now, Spike,” she choked back a sob, looking into his hazy blue gaze.

Buffy was glad that Spike was out of that torture chamber. But, unlike Dawn, she knew, as she saw the pain that lingered in his eyes, that it was far from over.

“…You’re back now. You’re home.”

She had spoken a word that he didn’t know. He blinked. Love you. I know now. I am insane. Oh Bit, you seem so real. It all does. But I know it’s not. I know that.

Huh. Still here. Hiding, but still here. I have to wait. Keep them safe.

Dawn looked up at her sister, “Buffy, what happened to him?”

“Too much,” Buffy whispered, watching Dawn stare into Spike’s eyes, “I don’t think I want to know just how much.”
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