The Gift

AUTHOR: Little Mouse (elf_night@hotmail.com)

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Joss'. Lucky man.

WARNINGS: Language (duh, it's a Spike fic!) Violence (see former 'duh') explicit M/M slashy stuff! Whee!

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

PAIRING(S): Angel/Spike; with mentions of Angel/Buffy, Spike/Drusilla, Angelus/Drusilla

SUMMARY: Drusilla gives her Daddy a present.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

And all he’d gotten for his trouble was a confused look on that pale face, and the same merry-go–round answers of ‘to be a Master’ and ‘Master Trials’ until he wanted to scream and smash the Hostile’s head against the floor.

Professor Walsh probably would have reprimanded him absently, but he’d had a feeling that Dr. Tucker would have had him reassigned to Antarctica - that was the only thing that had stopped him.

His phone rang, interrupting his angry memories, and he groaned before reaching for it. He really hoped that it wasn’t Walsh demanding that he come back and try again.

"Hello?" he grunted, flipping the phone open.

"Hey!" Buffy’s welcome voice bubbled in his hear, "how are you?"

"Tired," he said, smiling at the ceiling, "it’s been a long day."

"Oh, poor baby," she cooed, "well, cheer up a bit! I got what you needed!"

"Great!" he said enthusiastically, "because the scent is wearing off the last batch. The Hostile could smell me and it nearly freaked out thinking I had done something to its precious Sire."

"Figures," Buffy spat indignantly, "all his ‘precious Sire’ does is freak about something happening to his precious Childe!" she sighed dramatically. "Anyway - what time do you want me to bring them over? Are you busy this evening?"

Riley suppressed a groan. He loved Buffy, but he really wanted a nap. He hated to turn down his pretty blond girlfriend, though, so a little fabrication was in order.

"I’m on duty until seven," he replied, glancing at the clock. There was no way Buffy could tell if he was at his apartment or at the facility. Saying he was on duty until then would give him three hours for a nice nap.

"Okay - well, want to meet me at the Bronze? Or should I come by?"

"Better stop by," he said, settling more comfortably on the bed and glad that the springs didn’t squeak. "We don’t want one of your buddies catching us with those things."

"Way too many explanations," Buffy agreed, giggling, "Knowing Xander, he’d go straight for the pervert explanation - roleplaying or something."

Riley chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"You want to roleplay?" she asked, her voice turning husky.

His smile got bigger. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don’t know," she giggled, "but I’m sure we can think of something. The big, bad Vampire and the sweet, innocent Virgin, maybe?"

"Sounds like fun," Riley managed, feeling decidedly short of breath.

"I know," she laughed, "and then later, we can..."

Riley nearly leapt out of his skin when someone knocked on the door. "Hold that thought," he said, getting up reluctantly, "I’m - uh, I’m being paged. I’ll call you back when I can."

"All right," there was a definite pout in Buffy’s voice, "I’ll be waiting!"

Riley closed the phone and opened the door, ready to growl at whoever was disturbing him.

He never got the chance. A huge hand wrapped around his throat and shoved him back into the room. His back slammed against the wall, and he stared up into Angel’s golden eyes. One thought went through his head.

‘Uh oh.’

"I really can’t believe it’s this stupid," Professor Walsh said, toeing the unconscious Hostile distastefully. After their hours of questioning had gotten them precisely nowhere, they’d sedated it with their strongest drugs until they could decide what to do next. She had several ideas for new obedience tests, but as long as Tucker was objecting to her every move, she didn’t have a chance to carry any of them out.

"I don’t see the point of sedating him," Tucker was really getting on her nerves, "You could have observed what he does when he’s alone."

"So far, when it’s been awake and alone, it hasn’t done anything except huddle in the corner."

"Yes, but he’s barely been like that for more than an hour at a time. Anyway, I would have liked to try talking to him when your fake Sire wasn’t around."

"I don’t understand why you insist on calling it ‘him’," she said, ignoring his statement, "It’s not a human - you do realize that?"

"Of course," he chuckled, taking the sting out of her barb, "there aren’t many fanged, blood-drinking humans that I know of. Still, whether he’s human or not, he’s still male. Most people refer to even animals with the gender pronouns, you know. He still has a name, too, even if you won’t let me ask him what it is."

"There’s no point..."

"There’s every point," he interrupted, "If you show him a little basic decency - my god, woman, people treat lab rats better than you’re treating him! - then he’s much more likely to answer questions or demonstrate his abilities. You might not even have to resort to tricking him with dirty laundry and voice modulators."

Walsh glared at him. "You obviously have no idea what you’re talking about - these things are utterly vicious!"

"I thought this one was special. Different from the others? Isn’t that what you’ve been saying all this time?"

She hung on to her composure desperately. She would have preferred to slap him. "Yes, of course, but..."

"But nothing. If he’s special, then he should be getting special treatment. If you’re putting him through the ordinary tests, then he’s just ordinary.."

"They’re not the same tests! They’ve been specially modified!"

"Yeah, to be harder. Sheer genius. You should be more interested in learning things like how he controls himself so well around humans, or exactly why he responds to the Sire the way he does, instead of trying to measure how strong he is or how well he fights."

"Those questions form the basis parameters of the research goals of this entire facility!"

"Yes - the general parameters. You can’t have it both ways, Professor. Either he’s just another Hostile and should go through the normal tests, or he’s special and should have specific tests designed just for him. How many times do I have to say that? And by ‘specific’," he kept going determinedly when she would have interrupted him, "I mean tests to discover why he’s different and what those differences are. Not why he’s better than your other Hostiles. That’s glaringly obvious."

"We have done specific modifications," she started.

"That’s another thing," he sighed, taking out a small notebook and scribbling some words in it, "I’m filing a report about that - risking a unique, irreplaceable subject with an untested, unnecessary medical procedure."

"It’s not unnecessary if it proves to be the Hostile we’ve needed to move the program to the next level."

"You might have tried getting some proof that he is before you risked it," Tucker rolled his eyes, "one false move and he would have been a little pile of dust on the operating table."

"Nonsense - that procedure has been done on dozens of Hostiles."

"The basic procedure, yes, but that particular modification is completely untested. I see no need to have his chip turned to a remotely controlled function if you don’t know that it’s going to be needed. Besides, you put an experimental model in his head - if anything happens to that remote," he pointed toward a tiny black box she was clutching in her hand, "then he might as well not have a chip at all."

She tightened her fingers convulsively - she hadn’t let go of it since the new chip had been implanted. She had an irrational fear of losing it. Perhaps - just perhaps - she should have waited until there were more models, or at least until there was time to figure out why the chip would only respond to this remote. But she wasn’t about to admit that she might have been wrong.

*

"What do you think I want?" the vampire hissed, leaning closer until Riley had a disturbingly close view of his fangs.

"I d-don’t know," he choked, trying to pry the hand off his neck. He was one of the strongest soldiers in his unit, but he couldn’t get those fingers to budge even a millimeter.

"I’ll give you a hint," Angel growled, his voice rumbling in a dangerous way that Riley distinctly did not like, "I can smell my Childe all over you."

"W-w-what?!" Riley had taken a shower before he left the base; there was no way this Hostile should be able to scent the other one on him! Of course, they hadn’t done much testing on the Hostiles’ sense of smell. They’d been more concerned with strength, night vision...

Why the hell was he thinking about research when it was possible that he was about to die?

"I said I can smell Spike on you. What have you been doing to my boy, Finn?"

Riley’s reply was no more than a gurgle, since Angel had tightened his grip. The vampire grumbled, and reluctantly loosened his fingers. Hard to get answers from someone who couldn’t talk.

"Well?" he prompted, when Riley just kept gasping for air and rubbing his throat.

"I don’t have him," the man finally managed, wheezing a little, "Buffy told me he was missing but I have no idea..."

"Don’t lie to me," Angel’s eyes flashed dangerously, "I told you, I can smell him all over you. You’ve been right next to my Childe for at least four hours, probably more. If you’ve so much as laid a finger on him, I’m going to introduce you to your intestines."

Riley gulped.

"Not that you’re likely to live through the night, anyway," Angel went on relentlessly, "because you stole him in the first place. But you’re not going to die until I get him back. So if you get him back quickly, I promise you the least amount of pain."

"You can’t kill me! Buffy says you have a soul!"

"So - having a soul stops me from killing you? Every human murderer in history has had a soul. It’s not going to slow me down any. Now - where’s my Childe?"

"I told you, I don’t have him!"

"But you know where he is."

"No, I don’t!"

And then Riley screamed, because Angel took his hand almost gently, and just as gently snapped a finger.

"Now, did that help your memory? I don’t want you too damaged; I need you to get into whatever building they’ve got my boy in, but I don’t mind breaking a few more little bones. Are you going to cooperate?"

It took four more fingers, another near-strangling, and some very casually mentioned memories of his life as Angelus, but finally Angel and Riley were standing just inside the entrance to the Initiative’s underground facility.

Riley was shaking and trying to hide it; Angel was smug and not trying to hide that a bit.

"Which way?" he asked, watching Riley swipe a key card through a slot to open a huge metal door.

"Four floors down," Riley moaned, stumbling into the elevator. He was cradling his hand against his chest and Angel resisted the urge to call him a big baby. Even Xander Harris hadn’t complained this much when he’d broken some fingers on one of his short-lived jobs.

"I’m surprised at how little security you have in this place," Angel remarked as the doors closed and they started their descent.

"It’s evening; most people have gone home. The day and night shifts are the busiest."

Angel only grunted a response.

"Can I ask a question?"

"If you feel you must."

"How did you know he wasn’t dead? The Hostile, I mean. We left vampire dust."

"Not my Childe’s dust." Angel didn’t bother avoiding the question. This kid wasn’t going to be telling anyone. "Not only would I sense his death - the bond between us would have broken and that’s hard to miss - but that dust didn’t smell or taste anything like Spike."

"You can taste a difference in vampire dust?!" Riley was incredulous.

"I can taste a hundred differences in one person’s skin that makes them unique from any other person," Angel told him, "so of course I could taste the difference. You had dust from three different minions in that little pile, and nowhere was there even a trace of my boy."

"That’s utterly amazing."

The doors slid open before Riley could ask another question - he’d really been interested, but it had also helped to distract from the pain of his throbbing fingers.

Riley started to answer, then stared in surprise as Angel, his nostrils flaring suddenly, turned left and began to lope down the hall. Riley hurried after him, beginning to believe in this amazing sense of smell, since the tall vampire was heading straight for the cell his Childe was in.

Riley just hoped there was someone in there who could help him take this Hostile down. Then they’d have a matching pair - a Sire and a Childe. Professor Walsh would recommend him for a promotion, and Buffy would never have to know what happened to her precious Angel.

As long as there was a solider in that cell - and there should be if his security orders had been obeyed - then there would also be a taser and the Hostile would be out cold before he took more than two steps inside.

The door to the cell slid open under his card, and Riley held his breath.