TITLE: Body and Soul Trilogy - The Curse - Chapter 7
AUTHOR: Lysia
EMAIL: cricket818uk@wadnitt.fsnet.co.uk
FEEDBACK: Very much appreciated. Praise is encouraging, constructive
criticism is used to improve.
RATING: 12, for violence.
WARNING: Violence, angst. And possibly language. Light S/A comfort-
type romance.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of them, but I'll give them back to Joss
when I've finished with them.
SPOILERS: Set sometime after 'Forever'.
ARCHIVING: Here. Anywhere else, just ask.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guide to characters from FFL - Henry Carver is the
bloke who read the poem out at the party; Charles Hamilton is the
other man at the party; Katharine Millington-Parks is the woman with
the funny hair-do who was with them.

Chapter 7

Spike didn't sleep well. All night he was haunted by horrid and
extremely vivid memories. He relived the slaughter of innocents,
unable to stop the suffering at his hands. He awoke several times,
shivering, sweating and gasping for unnecessary breath, the agonised
faces of his victims still dancing in front of his eyes. Each time he
would sit still, sobbing and trying desperately to calm down, cursing
his own foolish pride for refusing Angel's offer of shelter for the
night. Then, once he had recovered, he would drift back to sleep for
a short spell of peaceful slumber before yet another memory was
stirred and he would once again watch helplessly through the eyes of
a murderer as countless people were killed and tortured.

It was during one of these flashbacks that Angel found him. The
Sunnydale and LA teams had met that morning at Giles's to arrange
some battle strategy and had stopped by at the magic shop just after
dinnertime to pick up weapons for the upcoming fight. Angel had
immediately headed for the training room to check on his Childe and
was horrified when he found Spike writhing and thrashing in his
sleep, sobbing hysterically and lashing out at imaginary foes.

"Damn," Angel hissed, rushing to Spike's side and wishing he had
remembered the nightmares he had been plagued with through-out the
earlier years after the restoration of his soul. During that time he
had still been staying with Darla and she had been faced with the
none-too-entertaining task of comforting her guilt-ridden Childe
after many a painful dream. Spike, however, had been alone in the
training room, huddled on a sofa. Angel couldn't bear to think of him
suffering like that.

Gently but quickly, he shook Spike to wake him up. Spike babbled
loudly, protesting in his slumber, but then opened his eyes. He
flinched back, startled, at the sight of his Sire.

Angel put one arm around his Childe comfortingly. "You alright?" he
asked softly.

Spike relaxed a little, still shivering but not violently. "I 'ad a
bad dream," he mumbled, a little sleepy.

"I know," Angel replied, cringing. "I forgot to warn you about that."

Spike scowled at him, not too tired to manage his patent
glare. "Bastard," he muttered, sitting up. He closed his eyes and
tried to clear his head, hissing and recoiling as yet another murder
replayed on the insides of his eyelids. His eyes shot open again and
he let out a sob, choosing to stare at the wall rather than blink and
risk another flashback. He just sat there, trembling and whimpering.
He was vaguely aware of Angel perching on the sofa beside him and
holding him gently.

"When does it get better?" he asked his Sire, his voice shaky. He
couldn't take much more of this.

Angel stayed silent for a long time. It had taken a hundred years for
his nightly nightmares and frequent flashbacks to stop plaguing him -
the exact time it took him to stop moping about and do something
worthwhile. "It'll help if you do something to take your mind off
it," he suggested, tense at Spike's question.

Spike faced Angel, a knowing half-smile on his face. "If you want to
say it never goes away, then you can. I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

Angel rolled his eyes at Spike's bravado. Ensouled or not, his Childe
was always trying to sound tougher than he really was. Seconds ago
the lad had been this close to crying in his shoulder. He gave
Spike's nose a tweak and grinned at him. "It goes away when you do
something," he insisted.

Spike managed another weak smile back, and Angel realised just how
much he missed those playful smirking grins he used to get all the
time. Spike's entire personality seemed to have been sedated by his
misery. This couldn't be his energetic mischievous Childe.

He shook away his worries for the time being. He had to focus on
helping Spike, not mourning over him. "The others are all out in the
shop getting ready to take out a few of Skull's men. We've found a
large house they're probably staying at on the outskirts of town. If
you want to join the raiding party it might help."

"Great, more violence," Spike sighed, weary and troubled. He pressed
the heels of his hands to his eyes, wincing as he caught the wounds
on his head. He fished a paper handkerchief out of his pocket and
with shaking fingers he wiped the blood from his face. Stifling a
disgusted shudder at the sight of the crimson liquid staining the
tissue, he stuffed it back in his pocket, trying to ignore the
thoughts of how much he wanted to taste the blood, feel it give him
power and life.

Angel noticed the hungry look on Spike's face at the sight of the
blood. "You know," he suggested, knowing Spike was not going to like
the idea, "I think you should feed. Get your strength up."

"No!" Spike snapped instantly, startled at the idea. He couldn't
stand to think of the taste of that stuff, not after he had drained
so many people. Okay, the pig blood he was used to drinking lately
tasted different - not to mention repulsive - but the feeling of
power he got was the same, and he didn't like the memories that
stirred. He composed himself, taking a deep breath and banishing his
painful flashbacks. "No," he repeated calmly. "I'll be fine. I'm not...
hungry."

Angel's brow creased with concern. "Spike, if you are going to help
we need you at full strength. You should feed as soon as..."

"I said I'll be fine, now sod off!" Spike snarled, giving Angel a
vicious shove and stalking away to the corner of the room. "I'm just
gonna get a bit of practice before the big fight, okay? That's all I
need. Crossbows, right? Long range stuff so the vampire witch-bitch
can't zap us?"

"Uh-huh," Angel replied blankly, disturbed at Spike's aggressive
refusal to feed. This was not good. He could end up starving if he
didn't get the courage to eat something.

Spike picked up a crossbow and measured his paces from the target on
the wall. "I'll be fine," he assured his Sire, sliding an arrow onto
the bow. "Just gotta get some practice and I'll be right as rain, all
ready for action. You go back to your human chums."

Angel didn't bother pointing out that they were Spike's chums as
well. He just shook his head sadly and walked out. There was
evidently no arguing with Spike now. Soul or not, he could get very
aggressive when he was upset about something, and after what had
happened to him in the past 24 hours he had good reason to be upset.
His worries over his Childe's health were disturbed by the chatter
coming from the groups of people in the shop when he emerged from the
training room.

Xander was waving a crossbow around curiously. "Hey, this isn't the
regular kind of crossbow, is it?" he observed, examining the multiple
grooves in the bow.

Angel quickly handed the inquisitive young man a handful of
arrows. "It's cho-ko-nu crossbow," he explained quickly, "used by
Chinese warriors. It fires multiple arrows at one time - so you don't
have to be a crack shot to hit what you're aiming for."

Xander grinned. "Great. I think I'll have this one."

"You do that," Angel agreed quickly, moving off to find Giles to
discuss the battle strategy. The former librarian was chatting away
with Wesley, suddenly best of friends apparently. He tapped Giles on
the shoulder to attract his attention away from his conversation
topic of historical mythological texts. "Rupert?" he asked. "Is
everything set?"

"Um... yes," Giles replied. "Willow and Tara have prepared several
spells to protect us from Myst's magic. She's too powerful for them
to harm her in any way, but they can prevent her from hurting us. The
rest of us have all armed ourselves with long range weapons and
enough magic to take out a large enough number of the vampires."

Cordelia grinned over the top of her crossbow. "Yeah, we're going to
kick ass," she agreed confidently.

Giles shifted nervously, unsure of Cordelia's enthusiasm for the
forthcoming battle. "Um... Angel?" he asked quietly. "Have your people
been briefed on what exactly it is we're facing?"

"It's a nest," Cordelia interrupted, showing off her knowledge of the
situation.

"It's a big nest with a whole bunch of really tough vamps," Gunn
corrected.

"We've taken out nests before," Cordelia assured the Watcher. "Relax,
I've had a lot of practice in combat since we blew up Sunnydale High.
Besides - strength in numbers, right?"

Giles looked questioningly at Angel, seeking a second opinion.

"We should be relatively safe," Angel told him with a nod. "With this
amount of people and weapons even fifty vampires won't be able to get
close enough to attack. Luckily no matter how strong they are, demons
don't go in for weapons or technology like that."

"Well," Wesley announced, surveying Willow and Tara's supply of
spells and potions to protect them from enemy magic. "I do believe
we're all set. Um... Angel, if you would care to fetch..."

"I'll get Spike," Buffy volunteered, interrupting and packing her
crossbow and stake collection. "I kinda want to talk to him anyway."
At Angel's slight nod, the Slayer turned and headed quickly for the
training room.

"See if you can persuade him to eat something before we go," Angel
added quickly.

"Will do," Buffy replied.

She found Spike viciously landing blows against a punching bag,
snarling furiously with each strike, sweat running down his bare
back. He was mumbling something under his breath, completely absorbed
in his workout so he didn't notice Buffy approach him until she took
hold of his shoulder. He jumped, crying out and whipping around.

"Spike!" Buffy yelped, she herself a little startled too at his
reaction.

Spike relaxed, leaning against the punching bag. "Didn't know it was
you," he informed her, all emotion vanishing from his face. "What you
want?"

Buffy studied him, concerned by his blankness. "Angel said we were
going to be going soon," she replied quietly, wondering if Spike was
fit for such a battle in his current state of emotion. He really
didn't look healthy.

"Right," Spike muttered, picking up a towel and wiping himself down
before retrieving his t-shirt from the sofa. "We're off then. About
bloody time."

Buffy watched as Spike pulled on his shirt and then set about
retrieving a bow and several stakes from the weapons store in the
trunk.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked him, genuinely concerned.

Spike's grip tightened around the axe he was holding and he flung it
noisily back into the trunk. "Oh yeah, I'm on top of the bloody
world. I'm absolutely ecstatic!" he scoffed sneeringly. "I mean, what
a stupid question."

Buffy was taken aback. She had thought he would be grateful for her
concern. "S-sorry," he mumbled, watching nervously as Spike slammed
the lid of the weapons trunk and flung his bow and stakes into a
bag. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Right," Spike muttered. "Because we all know how deeply you care
about me."

"I do!" Buffy assured him, hurt that he could have thought
otherwise. "I mean, I know we've had our spats, but you've got a soul
now, and I'm not going to add to your suffering by being mean to you.
I've treated you kinda badly lately, so I just want you to know that
I'm sorry, and I... I'd like us to be friends now."

"No, Buffy," Spike replied quietly. Her surprised and hurt look
troubled him, but he pressed on. "You don't understand. I don't
deserve or want your apologies just because I've got a soul. It makes
no difference to who I am."

"It makes all the difference!" Buffy insisted, desperately trying to
get Spike out of this pit of misery and self-loathing he seemed to
have dug himself. "I've seen the difference it made to Angel. You're
good now; you have a conscience and morals; you're not a killer any
more; you..."

"I'm in pain!" Spike snapped at her through clenched teeth. "The only
difference now is that I'm suffering! I wasn't a killer before - I
haven't been for over a year now. It's just the reason that's
different. I'm still the same... thing I was before this happened to
me, so don't bother apologising when I know there's no way in hell
you'd have done it if I was still soulless."

Leaving Buffy stunned and a little distraught, Spike headed out to
the main shop floor clutching his bow and arrows, his mind set on the
battle ahead of him. "And another thing," he added over his
shoulder. "Stop comparing me to Angel."

Dazed, Buffy headed out to the shop. Willow and Tara were sitting at
the table packing spell ingredients into a bag with Wesley's help.
Spike had headed off to discuss something with Giles, but Buffy
couldn't overhear their words.

"Ah, Buffy," Wesley exclaimed with a broad and rather fake grin. "How
delightful to see you again."

Buffy waved meekly and moved a little closer to Willow, seeking
comfort in a crowd.

"You okay?" Willow asked, looking up from a book of words which
didn't resemble anything close to English. "Please don't tell me you
and Spike had a row."

"He didn't accept my apology," Buffy told Willow quietly. "I guess I
hurt his feelings when I... back when he didn't have a soul."

"Oh," Willow sighed sympathetically, giving Buffy a comforting pat on
the shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be more willing to talk after a while
when he gets used to... stuff. And... he does... love you, so he won't want
you to feel all guilty."

"I think Spike has enough guilt to deal with, without me unloading
mine onto him too," Buffy replied mournfully. "And I compared him to
Angel again, which he didn't like."

Willow and Tara nodded in agreement. "I think he wants to be a souled
vampire in his own right," Tara suggested.

Buffy managed a weak smile. "I know," she sighed, wringing her
hands. "It's just... I keep feeling he's so much worse than... you would
expect. I mean, he's not trying to make amends, he's not any less
aggressive and he just mopes all the time. He seems so... out of it."

All three girls glanced across the room at Spike as he held a stake
point-down on the checkout desk, balancing the palm of his hand on
top of it and rotating it in circles, staring at it as if he was
hypnotised.

"Yeah," Willow agreed, thoughtful and concerned. "Something's not
right with him. You'd think he'd be more... active redemption guy."

"Ladies," Wesley announced, interrupting the discussion. "I believe
we're ready to leave."

The group converged around the checkout counter and those who owned
cars - Angel, Gunn, Giles and Xander - were given maps to the house
they were planning to raid.

"What is this place anyway?" Xander asked, surveying the
route. "Isn't there a guy who lives in this house? Doesn't anyone get
suspicious when houses are suddenly invaded by vampires, or is this
yet another thing the police of Sunnydale are so very good at
ignoring?"

"There was some old Duke who lived there," Anya explained, proud of
the research she had done into possible camps for the vast army of
vampires. "He's got no living relatives so he wouldn't be missed if
he was, say, mercilessly slaughtered in his home by vampires, and
last week his house was advertised as a shelter for the homeless but,
guess what, there are reported sightings of people going in but not
coming out again. Odds are, the vamps killed the Duke and moved in,
then invited lots of homeless people in for snacks."

Xander noted the strange looks his girlfriend was getting, especially
from Wesley. "She cares, really," he explained quickly. "She just has
difficulty showing it."

"So," Gunn announced, slinging his pack of weapons over one
shoulder. "I guess it's time to weed 'em out before anyone else gets
duped and snacked on."

Buffy took a deep breath and grabbed her bag of weapons from the
floor. "Right - off to work we go."

~~~~~~~~~~

Number 5 Hope Drive was not the sort of house you could imagine being
built for any purpose other than some gothic horror film. Behind the
wrought iron gates overgrown with ivy was a long gravel drive so
shaded by the huge oaks lining it that Angel and Spike didn't need
the shelter of their blankets to protect them from the sun. As the
huge troop of evil-fighters crunched up the drive the house itself
came into view around the sharp bend.

The house was large and built of grey stone, tall bay windows were
darkened, their tiny Georgian panes so clouded with dust they may as
well have been painted - of course, it was understandable that
vampires would have chosen somewhere shady and dark.

The drive split into a circle, surrounding a round lawn boasting what
had once been a fountain, but was now an ugly stone basin with an
eroded and moss-covered statue.

The group stopped in front of the large stone steps leading up to a
huge wooden front door.

"Well Tim Burton would love this place," Cordelia muttered, wrinkling
her nose at the look of the place. "Did they ever make these places
new, or were they designed to be all run-down and scary?"

"They were new," Angel replied quickly. "The stonework wasn't grey
then - it was light brown - and the drive wouldn't have so much moss
and grass growing on it. Everything would be clean and bright,
bustling with activity. When parties were held the carriages would..."

Suddenly Angel noticed the bored looks he was getting from his
companions. "What?"

"Showing your age now, Peaches," Spike informed Angel. It was an
attempt at humour, but the miserable look on Spike's face and his
flat tone didn't suit.

Angel didn't scold Spike for his comment, nor did he complain about
the use of the nickname he hated so much. He just looked away,
silently pleased that his Childe was managing a little light-hearted
teasing. Perhaps he was getting better now he was outdoors and
focussed on something worthwhile.

Buffy glanced at Willow, Tara and Wesley, who were mixing herbs and
chanting softly, disabling any magic with intent to harm. They would
be safe from Myst until the spell was broken.

The protection spell complete, Willow gave Buffy a nod. The Slayer
took up her crossbow and ascended the stone staircase to the front
door, closely followed by Gunn and Angel.

"Let's hope this is the right place," Buffy muttered, taking hold of
the door handle.

"No, let's not," Anya whined to Xander, clinging to her boyfriend's
shirt sleeve. "If it's the right place then we have to go in and die!"

"Relax, An," Xander whispered. "We've got weapons, and none of the
vampire witch's magic can hurt us. As attacks go, this is pretty well-
organised."

The door creaked open, the dry rusting hinges striking a loud and
ominous note that chilled the waiting Scooby-gang and Angel
Investigations team. Buffy stared through the doorway, finding
herself looking into an empty hallway. A grey marble floor stretched
out ahead, two staircases with royal blue carpet and wrought iron
banisters leading up to the galley landing. A quick glance either
side of the front door assured Buffy that the coast was clear and she
signalled to the others to follow her in.

The group snuck in silently, leaving the door wedged open behind
them. Several wooden doors led off to the ground floor rooms of the
house.

"We can't search the whole house!" Cordelia hissed as the group moved
into the large hall, bows and crossbows pointed up to the landing.

"Well, don't Angel and Spike have, like, super vampire senses or
something?" Tara suggested. "Can you sense where the vampires are?"

Angel closed his eyes, trying to sense other vampire presence in the
house, but all he could feel was Spike's terror and pain and a
scattered confusing sensation of many other vampires in the vicinity.
He shook his head. "No. There's too many. I can't pinpoint any
location."

"There's something down there."

Heads turned and looked at Spike, who was staring pointedly at a
white door to the right of the main entrance.

"A vampire?" Buffy asked, hoping for some lead into where their vast
army of enemies were hiding.

"No," Spike replied. "I can just... feel something bad. There's no
vampires - just death and pain and..." He swallowed hard. "... suffering."

"There might be people down there!" Anya exclaimed. "Poor homeless
people lured to their deaths, remember."

"She's right," Angel agreed. "There might be survivors. I think we
should get them out first."

"Wait!" Buffy protested, holding up a hand as their forces moved
towards the door. "We don't want to get cornered if the big Vamp Pack
attack while we're poking about the rooms. Most of us should stay
here on guard, and a smaller group should go in."

"I'll go," Spike volunteered immediately. Whatever he had sensed
beyond that door was making him nervous and he had to do something.

"I'll go with him," Willow suggested. "Spike, you are sure there's no
vampires down there, right?"

Spike nodded. "We're all linked, luv," he muttered, a sneer in his
voice indicating that he didn't want to be linked to the vampire sof
this Order. "I can sense them. I could feel them following me the
other night - I can't believe I didn't figure it out back then."

"Okay," Willow agreed, gripping the protective talisman he wore
around her neck. "I trust your judgement. And you guys'll keep watch,
right?"

A nod from Buffy, and Spike opened the door, revealing a dark
staircase heading downwards. He ventured forth into the darkness,
spiralling downward into a cold room. He located a light switch and
the room was illuminated.

It was a kitchen, clearly unused. The clay floor was unswept, the
whitewashed walls grubby and the cupboards and sinks covered in grime.

"No vampires," Willow sighed in relief. "Not that I didn't trust your
senses, but..."

"Come on, Red," Spike mumbled, stalking further into the room. He
headed through the kitchen, eyeing with disgust the mildew on the
walls and the dripping taps.

It was as Willow made her way through the kitchen, pondering the
dilapidated state of it, that she noticed Spike had come to an abrupt
halt in front of a doorway off to one side. "Spike?" she asked
quietly, her voice echoing in the room. "What's up? Have you found
something?"

She joined him in the doorway and found herself looking into a small
bare room with a rusting pole standing in the centre. Strewn around
on the floor were several ropes lying in a pool of dried blood.

"Looks like somebody was tortured here," she deduced. Then a sideways
glance was met with the sight of Spike picking at the still-healing
wounds on his wrists and realisation dawned. "Oh," she
whispered. "Spike... it's alright. It's over now." She tried to put a
hand on Spike's arm to comfort him, but he flinched violently and
swatted her away.

"Let's just try and find survivors," he said firmly, his voice a
little rough as if he were upset. He walked off, heading for a
doorway next to the makeshift torture chamber.

Willow sighed but ignored her concerns for Spike until a time when
they had more time. She headed for the huge metal door in the corner
which she assumed led to a walk-in refrigerator. A quick twist of the
lever and it opened easily, revealing a sight that made Willow's
stomach churn.

The cold room was packed with dead bodies. Over a dozen pale lifeless
faces stared up at Willow as she stood trembling in the
doorway. "Spike!" she shrieked, her voice raising an octave in the
shock of finding something so horrific.

Spike looked over from the utility room he was searching. The terror
in Willow's voice made him think for a minute that he might have been
wrong about there being no vampires in the room, but he could still
sense no real danger - only fear and another scent so agonisingly
familiar...

He raced across the kitchen, dodging tables, until he joined Willow
at the doorway. His stomach churned too, but for a different reason.

The blood was still fresh, and Spike's hunger flared up, inducing a
stabbing pain in his abdomen. He backed away from the door, ashamed
of how something so horrible just made him want to feed.

"Wh-why would the vampires keep the bodies here?" Willow choked
out. "Why not... dispose of them someplace?"

"This isn't all of them," Spike explained, backing away so the smell
of blood couldn't reach him. "Th-they've kept the latest... kills here
so the blood stays fresh and they can feed from them later." He hung
his head in shame. "I've done it myself."

Willow was about to tell Spike not to worry so much about the past
when a sound distracted her - a rattling sound of metal on metal. She
held her breath and stepped into the cold room, looking around
frantically for what could be making the noise.

Then she noticed the young man in the corner, shivering from the cold
and handcuffed to a steel bar running the perimeter of the ceiling.
He was rattling the handcuffs frantically, his throat clearly too
damaged by the cold for him to shout for help, but the terrified look
on his face said everything.

"There's someone alive in here!" Willow cried out to Spike, who was
slowly shifting backwards from the room. The vampire didn't move, but
Willow pressed on alone, tiptoeing through the tangle of bodies on
the floor, her feet making wet splashing sounds as she stepped in
pools of blood. She wanted to stop - to curl up and cry at the sight
of all those poor people, or to vomit from shock and disgust, but the
pleading look on that single survivor's face made her force herself
onward.

She was shivering from cold and trauma when she reached the man. Up
close, she realised he was only about fifteen, but the dirt smeared
across his face gave in the appearance of an older man.

"It's alright," she told him, playing the hero as best she
could. "We're going to get you out of here." The wavering of her
voice spoiled the effect, but the young man's look was no less
grateful.

She inspected the handcuffs that secured him to the rail above him
and realised she wouldn't be able to break them.

"Spike?" she called out nervously. "Spike, I need your help."

There was an agonising pause, then Spike appeared in the doorway,
venturing no further. Willow stared at him desperately, wondering why
she had to be the strong one. He was a vampire - he should be used to
blood.

"Spike, I need you to break the handcuffs," she told the vampire,
trying to sound authoritative.

Another pause, and Spike shook his head firmly. "Can't go in there,"
he replied, his shaking voice showing his distress.

"For God's sake!" Willow pleaded with him, refusing to give up. "We
can't leave him! Are you just going to let him die in here?"

This struck a nerve. Spike knew he was responsible for siring the
Master of this Order, so their victims were, indirectly, his own. He
wouldn't let anyone else die because of his mistake.

Halting the unnecessary breathing he had started upon seeing the
horror that lay inside the fridge, he stepped into the chilled room
and strode quickly through the corpses. He reached Willow and the
single survivor in the room and stretched up to break the handcuffs.
The chain broke easily with a swift tug and the boy's knees buckled,
his legs giving way. Spike managed to catch him before he hit the
floor and hoisted him into a fireman's lift.

He couldn't get out of that room fast enough. He rushed back to the
kitchen with Willow close behind and sat the rescued man on the
table. He was shivering violently and hypothermia had set in. Willow
immediately began roughly massaging his legs to get his circulation
going again and Spike went to work on his arms.

"Thank you," the boy managed to say, his voice quiet and
rough. "Thank you so much."

Spike looked at him, noting the grateful look on his face. He had
never felt so proud of himself. He had saved someone - and it felt
good.

"It's alright, mate," he replied softly. "What's your name?"

"Matt," the young man replied shakily.

Spike nodded and smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, Matt," he said
in greeting. "I'm Spike, and that's Willow."

Willow grinned up at Matt from where she was kneeling, rubbing his
legs. "Hi," she said. "Can you feel your feet yet?"

Matt nodded a little. "Better," he whispered.

Spike frowned as he began massaging the feeling back into Matt's
fingers. His hands were cold - colder than Spike's - and his skin was
deathly pale. "You're freezing," Spike observed, horrified at the way
Matt had been treated. How could anyone leave the poor boy to die of
cold in the refrigerator, surrounded by bodies? "How long were you in
there?"

Matt managed a shrug. "Hours," he replied, struggling to move his
hands as sensation returned, his fingers tingling almost
painfully. "I... I c-came here for help and... and they just locked me in
there. I saw all the others and knew th-they were going to kill me
too. I didn't think anyone would come for me."

"Well you'll be alright now," Spike assured him. "We'll get you out
of here - I promise." He was shocked when Matt suddenly held onto
him, clinging to him as if his life depended on it. He had never
experienced such a show of gratitude and it moved him.

Matt carried on hugging him tightly. "Thank you," he was saying over
and over, sobbing slightly in relief and joy of being rescued. Spike
held him tentatively, feeling sorry for the poor lad, guilty that his
suffering was caused by Spike's vampire offspring and glad that he
had managed to help him.

"We're going to have to leave soon," he told Matt quietly, stroking
his hair as if he were a small child. "Do you think you can walk?"

Matt leaned on Spike as he got shakily to his feet. His muscles and
circulation were a little better now and, with the help of Spike and
Willow, he managed to walk up to the staircase.

Spike froze at the foot of the stairs, his senses prickling. "There's
something up there," he announced gravely. "I think Carver's mates
have made an appearance."

Willow stared up the dark stairway to the door at the top. She hoped
Buffy and the others had managed to keep the vampires at bay.

"Listen," Spike was saying to Matt. "When we get up there the front
door is directly to your left. We'll check the coast is clear, then
you run. Can you do that?"

Matt tested his trembling legs. "I... I guess," he replied dubiously.

"Good," Spike continued. "Just follow the drive to the main road and
get yourself to a hospital."

Matt nodded in understanding and the three of them began making their
way up the stairs and up towards the waiting vampires. Spike could
sense them and the feeling reminding him of that ominous feeling he'd
had all day before he was kidnapped. It wasn't a feeling he liked.

The door opened into the hall and Spike emerged first. No vampires
jumped at them to attack and no sounds of a raging battle were to be
heard. Willow and Matt followed quickly.

"What the bloody hell?" Spike muttered under his breath.

Then he noticed the rest of their group standing in the centre of the
main hall, bows trained on the landing. Spike moved closer, looking
at them curiously. "What's going on?" he asked, confused. The
vampires must be up on the landing, but the raiding team couldn't
possibly aim for their hearts from that distance. Much better to let
the vamps get closer and try to attack first.

But when Spike looked closer he saw that the vampires were not
unarmed. Each one was holding a machine gun, or an assault rifle.

This was not expected. Vampires didn't use technology in battle - it
just didn't happen! Spike froze, a shudder making its way up his
spine. This was not good at all.

"Matt, run," Spike hissed at the boy he had rescued, determined that
his first rescue must be successful. Matt had to survive.

A loud crash from behind him startled him, and he, Willow and Matt
all turned sharply in time to see three new arrivals to the party
standing in front of the now-closed front door - Spike's
old 'friends', Carver, Cecily and Katharine, now the vampires known
as Skull, Christia and Myst.

"Hello Sire," Skull announced with sarcastic cordiality and a gleeful
grin. "Nice to see you again - and how thoughtful of you to bring
someone for us to eat."

~TBC~