Willow climbed in the
side door of the van and helped Xander to gently lower Buffy onto the
seat, where she lay with her head in her best friend's lap as Xander
rushed around to the driver's seat and tore out of the parking lot,
leaving the headlights off.
Buffy had slipped into unconsciousness at some point before Spike had
reached her friends. Now, she was moaning softly, struggling to open
her eyes against the wave of pain that assailed her upon waking.
"S-spike," she whispered. "Wh-where..." Her voice trailed off.
Willow felt sick. She dreaded telling Buffy what Spike had done. She
knew in her heart that if the van would not have been able to outrun
Cordova and her men, there was no way that Spike could on foot. And
that was not even considering if Cordova fired the chip – which she
undoubtedly would. There was little doubt in Willow's mind that Spike
would be captured.
"It's ok, Buffy. Don't worry about anything. You're safe now, just
rest," she said softly to her friend, stroking her blood-stained hair
back, avoiding an actual answer to her unfinished question.
Buffy drifted back into unconsciousness, and Willow let her tears slide
down her face at last.
From the front seat Xander spoke suddenly, quietly. "He knew."
"What?" Willow asked, sniffling, wiping tears from her face as she
turned to look at him.
"He knew about the tracking device all along. So he had to know that he
couldn't come with us back to the mansion. Before we ever left the
mansion in the first place." There was a sort of awe in Xander's voice
– and more than a little guilt.
Willow hadn't thought of that; her eyes widened as she considered it.
Spike was not stupid; he had known that he was going to have just
enough time to get Buffy out and make a run for it before they would be
found out and pursued. The thought of the tracking device in his chip
could not have just occurred to him in the middle of the rescue. He had
to have known all along that he was going to be risking his own freedom
to gain Buffy's.
Her tears flowed harder at the realization of the sacrifice he had made.
When they reached the mansion, they carefully took Buffy inside and
laid her gently down on the bed. The pain of movement awakened her
again. Her eyes opened wide and she gripped Willow's arm weakly to
whisper again, urgently, "Spike! Where's Spike?"
Willow could barely bring herself to tell her the truth, and even then
had to temper it with hope she knew to be unfounded. "He – he'll be
here soon, Buffy," she whispered back. "He s-stayed behind to throw
them off our trail...but he's really smart and really fast, and he can
take care of himself. He'll be able to lose them and get back here
okay."
"No," Buffy moaned softly, turning her head away. "She's gonna catch
him! She'll kill him! She looked back at Willow with wild, panicked
eyes, struggling to rise from the bed. "We have to help him! We have
to..."
"You're not going anywhere just yet," Xander said firmly, pushing her
back down with gentle hands. "We've got to get you taken care of. If
he's not back by then...we'll figure out a way to help him."
Willow was surprised that there was no protest, no insistence that she
not risk herself for Spike again, from Xander. He had a somber,
thoughtful expression in his eyes. Spike's sacrifice for Buffy had
obviously made quite an impression on him.
Buffy's friends set about treating her various injuries the best they
could with the bandages and other supplies they had thought to bring
from her house. Due to the dangerous nature of Buffy's calling, and the
difficulty of explaining certain injuries to hospital staff, they had
become quite good at dealing with injuries of a more serious nature
than would typically be treated by first aid.
But this was like nothing they had ever seen before. Cordova had done
an unbelievable amount of damage. Several deep incisions in her chest,
stomach, and abdomen; a place on her hip where an actual piece of her
flesh had been removed, into the muscle of her leg, no doubt a sample
for Cordova's scientists to "research". Willow felt sick, and a cold,
dark rage slowly began to consume her at the thought of what the woman
had done to Buffy...and what she would do to Spike, if they didn't get
him out of there.
Because by this point a couple of hours had passed, and there was still
no sign of him. By now all hope of his escape had fled Willow's mind.
She was certain that he had been captured. And she was equally certain
that this time, there was no way that they could leave him there – not
after what he had done for Buffy.
As they waited for Buffy's accelerated Slayer-healing to kick in,
Willow opened her laptop again and began to look further into the
general's database. She was going to find a way to save the one who had
given himself up to save Buffy.
Pain. That was the first sensation that met him upon waking. His head
ached with the remnants of the chip-induced migraine from earlier, and
there was a strange tingling sensation coursing through his body –
after-effects of the shock, he supposed. He tried to reach a hand to
his aching head, and found that he couldn't.
*Of course not,* he realized with an unwelcome sick feeling in his
stomach, as he remembered. Cordova. She had caught him, she had fired
the chip. He looked to the side and saw that his wrists were strapped
tightly down by his sides, and another strap at his shoulders held him
to the table. Attempting to move his legs revealed that they were
restrained as well. It was no more than he had expected.
"Oh, good. You're finally awake," Cordova's voice spoke suddenly in the
stillness, startling him. He jumped, cursing himself silently for the
show of weakness. Unfortunately, Cordova had not missed it, judging by
the smirk on her face when it came into view. She stopped, standing
just at the head of the table, just barely within his vision. "I'd been
waiting to talk to you." Her tone was almost pleasant, conversational.
He glared at her, contempt in his eyes before he looked away without
responding. Ignoring her.
Suddenly a blinding, white-hot pain shot through his head again, and
his body convulsed against the restraints. He managed to bite back his
scream of agony; he was determined not to give her the satisfaction.
She released the button after only a few seconds, as she did not want
him completely incapacitated just yet, and reached with one hand to
turn his head to face her.
She was smiling cruelly. "That wasn't very polite," she said in a
chillingly soft voice, shaking her head a little in reproof. "Let's try
to keep this civil, shall we?"
He did not respond. But he did not turn away again, either. He met her
eyes with fierce hatred in his own.
"Let's establish some ground rules, Hostile," she said quietly, her
eyes becoming hard at his continued defiance. "Since you seem to have
forgotten the way things work around here. You do not speak unless
spoken to...but when I speak to you, you *will* respond. Do you
understand?"
Spike hesitated, loathe to submit to her. But he couldn't see how
refusing such a simple command would be of any benefit to him. It would
gain him no ground, and only bring about intense pain. "Yes," he
whispered, looking away from her.
She smiled. "Good. Now we can get started." She paused, walking a
little further into the room, turning her back to him at a small table
beside the bed which he had not noticed before. He heard a metallic
sound as she did something with the objects on the table, still outside
his range of vision, as she continued in a soft, even voice, "I'm very
impressed, Hostile. You managed to break into the locked facility, and
somehow get the Slayer out, despite all our security measures." She
turned to face him with a smirk. "I'm very, very interested in how."
He felt a cold, sinking feeling as he realized what this was really
about, what it was that she wanted. She was expecting to get
information from him.
Information that he would die before he would give her.
"You obviously didn't do it alone. The girl couldn't even walk, let
alone make it out the doors alone. And yet she is gone. And here you
are." The falsely pleasant tone vanished as she asked coldly, all
business now, "Who helped you?"
Deliberately, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the
inevitable pain, he turned his face away again.
"Not very smart, hostile," she said in a quietly warning tone. "I'll
give you that one time. Once more, and I'll start to get upset. Who
helped you?"
"You might as well dust me now," he muttered through gritted teeth, his
eyes closed in preparation for what he knew her response would be.
"Because I'm not telling you anything."
"That's what I hoped you'd say." Though he couldn't see her, he could
hear the smile in her voice, an instant before the chip fired again.
He gasped in shock at the absolute agony of it. This was every bit as
bad as that time in the van, when they had escaped. Intense, searing
pain that seemed to consume every part of him, ripping through every
inch of his body with brutal force. After a full minute, she released
the button, leaning in close to his trembling form.
"On a scale of one to ten, Hostile, how high would you say that shock
rated?" she asked with clinical interest, although he was still utterly
incapable of answering.
She went on, her voice hardening, "As far as the range of how far the
chip will actually go...that was about a three." She leaned in closer,
her voice quiet and deadly as she went on, "I'll ask you again...and next
time the chip fires it will be double the power of this time. Do you
understand?"
He could not completely hide his fear, his façade ragged and
battered
through the pain still coursing through his body. He nodded shakily.
She smiled, pleased – and oddly disappointed. It had taken less to
break Hostile 17 than she had expected.
"Who helped you?" she asked again.
He drew a deep, ragged breath in preparation to speak, and then
whispered his response.
"Go to hell."
Cold fury filled her eyes, and a vindictive smirk crossed her lips as
she turned the dial up on the controller and pressed the button,
holding it down for what felt like an eternity to her pain-ravaged
captive. He had thought that the pain could not possibly get any worse
than the last time.
He had been wrong.
It felt like being burned alive, a fierce heat flowing through him,
consuming him until all their was, was pain. He could not hold back a
cry of agony as he pulled reflexively against his bonds, desperate to
somehow make it stop.
Finally, after an interminably long time, which in reality was only a
minute, she released the button. She waited patiently for the pain to
subside enough for him to be able to hear her. She reached a hand to
casually touch his arm, and though his bonds prevented him from
actually pulling away from her, he jerked in pain. Every nerve ending
in his body was on fire, and even the slightest touch was agony at that
moment.
She smiled, tightening her hold as she leaned in to whisper mockingly,
close to his ear. "Not sure I want to 'go to hell', Hostile. Tell
me...what's it like?"
He gasped for breath, struggling to speak for a moment. She waited, a
patronizingly patient smile on her face, until he was finally able. She
leaned close to make out his words, barely a whisper in the otherwise
silent room.
"Someday I'll show you...bitch."
Her eyes flashed with flames of rage, and she fired the chip again. But
it was simply too much for his body to take, so soon after the last
savage torture, and in a matter of seconds he was unconscious again.
"Damn," she muttered, irritated that her interrogation would have to
wait. "Sleep well, Hostile," she sneered. "You're gonna need it. We're
not through talking yet. Not by a long shot!"