Title: Learning Curve
Author: Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: FRAO (adult audiences only) 
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Disclaimer: I acknowledge Joss Whedon as god of gods. All the characters in this story are his creation, along with Fox, the rest of the Mutant Enemy Crew, and whomever else wants to lay claim to them. I'm merely killing time by putting them in totally unrealistic situations :-)
Summary: Giles asks Spike for a favor that he probably shouldn't have.  Much angst and wackiness ensues
Spoilers: Spoilers for season 4 Buffy.  Spike has escaped the Initiative and is reluctantly helping the gang.
A/N:  Thanks to Lisa and Gabrielle for the betas.  All errors are of course my own.  Hey, I have to own *something*, right?

Learning Curve

Chapter 47

She was still sitting on the couch, deep in thought, when Spike found her.  He had wandered downstairs at some point during her conversation with Giles, and shortly afterwards she had heard the sounds of domesticity in the kitchen. 

He held two mugs of blood in his hands and silently offered one to her before sitting down beside her.  She smiled at him, feeling a happy, comfortable zinging deep inside just because he was near her. 

“Get everything done?” he asked quietly, watching her with curious eyes.  He had listened in, without really intending to, as she spoke to the people in her life.  Vampire hearing made it almost impossible not to.

She had wanted to say her good-byes, and he could understand that.  It was not something that he felt any need to do, but he could see that it was important to her.  She had ties still, connections to those she called friends, even if she kept large parts of her life a secret from them now.  Other than Willow and Angel, and possibly Drusilla, he had nobody who would mourn his passing.  Not that it would come to that. 

He had a good feeling about tonight.  And not the kind of ‘good feeling’ he had had in the past when he took on the forces of ‘good’ in Sunnydale.  Tonight things would go right for him in this damned town, just this once.  They would decimate the Initiative, his chip would be disabled, and then…

The part that came after ‘and then’ was still a big question mark, but he realized that for once he was content to figure it out as he went. 

“I think it went well,” Willow said, drawing his attention back to her.  “I didn’t get to say everything I wanted to, but, if I don’t come back, at least they’ll know that I cared.  And god, could that sound any sappier if it was in a movie on the Hallmark channel?”

She looked down at the pig’s blood in her cup, wishing it was something better.  Sire’s blood, perhaps.  But no, he hadn’t offered.  And she wouldn’t ask.

It smelled vile, as it always did.  Experience reminded her that it wouldn’t taste much better.  But human food wouldn’t stop the pangs of hunger that would burn in her veins if she didn’t have blood, so in a throwback to childhood, she plugged her nose and drank it down, chugging it fast until there was nothing left but an empty mug, and a thin film of blood on her upper lip.

Spike smiled at her, and before she realized what he was doing, he was running his tongue lightly over her upper lip, stealing the remains of her meal.  He leaned back on the couch, putting his hands behind his head and his feet up on the coffee table.

“Thief,” she said without rancor.  “S’okay.  I didn’t like it anyway.”

“Couldn’t leave you to go around all afternoon with a blood moustache,” he claimed virtuously, and then gave her a grin that was pure devious playfulness.  “Besides, if the Initiative blokes saw that, they’d take you for a vamp in a second.  Might as well wear a neon sign.”

She smiled at that, and then looked down at her fidgeting fingers. 

“Nervous about tonight?”

“Yeah, just a little.”  And how was that for an understatement?  “I don’t want to screw up.  I mean, what if something happens, and I can’t crack the computer system, or someone finds us and sets off the alarms before I have a chance to disable them, or—”

Spike leaned over and covered her mouth with his hand.  Her nervous babble stopped instantly, and he felt the smile her lips formed underneath his hand.

“I’ve got a good feeling, pet.  Everything’s going to go just fine tonight.  You’re too damned smart for it not to.  Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “you’re one of the white hats.  Things go right for you lot.  That’s just the way it is.”

Yeah, Willow though a little bitterly, because things have gone so well for me so far.  Then she immediately felt a pang of guilt.  Stupid soul.  But she supposed it did have a point.  If she hadn’t been turned, she would never have gotten the chance to know Spike.  And she wouldn’t give that up, not for anything.

Suddenly it seemed important for him to know that.  “I wouldn’t change things even if I could,” she said softly, looking over at him. 

Right now, just the two of them together and talking; it felt so right.  Sure, the sex had been hot and savage and wonderful, but this was what she liked best.  The quiet moments when they could just relax and not think about the future or their friends, or anything else, except enjoying this exact moment in time.

“No regrets here either,” Spike agreed, pulling her head down to rest on his shoulder. 

They sat like that for a while, in quiet contemplation of all the events that had led them to this place.  Or at least that was where Willow’s thoughts led her.  For all she knew, Spike might have been thinking about the Manchester United game he had watched last week.  With him, she was never quite sure.  Maybe that was part of the attraction.

“Sun’s down,” he said after a while. 

Willow nodded, lifting her head from his shoulder and peering up at him.  “Want to take a walk?  Angel and Doyle won’t be here for a while yet.”

He nodded, coming to his feet with the grace of a cat.  He held out a hand to pull her up, and she wondered if she would ever have even a smidgen of his elegance.

They wandered the grounds of the estate in the hazy twilight of early evening, visiting all the small hidden places that he had discovered the last time he was there.  Unpleasant memories crowded him at first, but he wiped them away by creating new ones, pulling Willow into a small gazebo and stealing kisses from her, making her moan, and making him wish they had more time so that he could take her properly.

Maybe when this was all over he would take her for a picnic in the garden.  The moon and stars would be their only audience as they made love slowly, for hours on end, until impending daylight sent them scurrying inside to sleep the day away.

The yard was filled with exotic scents and sights, and Willow sighed in satisfaction as she discovered each one.  Sharing all this with Spike made it seem even more special, and she wished that they could stay in this place forever, shutting out the world beyond the stone walls for as long as it took all the Initiative members to die, and their bodies to turn to dust.

But she knew that that was just a dream, and an unrealistic one to boot.  Sooner or later they would need to feed, and that would necessitate going out and getting blood.  Besides, she thought with a sigh, sooner or later she would miss her friends.  And pizza.  And cable TV as well.  Well, okay, she could probably do without cable.  But pizza and Xander?  Not likely.

“Ready to go back in?” Spike asked, misinterpreting her sigh.

“I guess.  I need to get changed for—oh no!  I don’t have any other clothes!  I mean, I thought I’d be going back home instead of staying here, so I never really thought about it.”

Spike frowned.  Black was a way of life for him.  Having to dress differently for the raid was something that had never crossed his mind.  But for Willow…

“As beautiful as you look in green, you’re right; it’s not the color for a covert run into a heavily fortified underground compound.  Never even thought about it,” he admitted.  “But I can fix it,” he added.  “Your pants are fine.  They’re dark enough that nobody’s going to notice a difference.  I’ll call Peaches and have him stop somewhere on the way into town.  I’m sure there are a half-dozen Wal-Marts between there and here.” 

A self-satisfied smile twisted his lips.  He considered Wal-Mart and their ‘one size fits all’ shopping experience to be on par with one of the rings of hell, and the thought of forcing his sire to experience that particular slice of Americana made him want to grin from ear to ear. 

“Angel’s going to hate it,” Willow said uncomfortably.

“That’s just an added bonus,” Spike agreed with a smirk.

It was a little after eight-thirty and Willow had begun to pace nervously about half an hour ago.  Spike had called Angel at six, asking him to stop somewhere and get a shirt for her.  Angel had been less than thrilled, from what Willow could hear of their conversation, but he had seen the necessity and agreed to do it. 

And that was the last they had heard from him. 

Was it possible that he had been caught?  That somehow the Initiative had figured out their plans, and at that very moment Doyle and Angel were being held somewhere?  Or worse, maybe Buffy had run into Angel and was even now grilling him as to his presence in Sunnydale.  Well, okay, maybe that wasn’t worse than Angel being picked up by the Initiative, but it certainly wasn’t much better, either.

She turned to Spike, who watched her progress up and down the hall with thinly veiled amusement, as he sat comfortably on the sofa in the sitting room.

“Do you think they’re okay?” she asked anxiously.

“They’re fine.  Probably just stopped off for a drink or something,” he assured her.  “Personally, I hope he’s still stuck at Wal-Mart in line behind a teeny-bopper who pops her gum in his ear.  Or maybe one of those silly gits who wear their pants halfway down their arse.”

“Spike,” she protested, rolling her eyes at him.

“Willow,” he mocked, rolling his eyes back at her, returning the gesture.

She giggled.  “That looks ridiculous,” she told him. 

“I’ve always thought so,” he agreed, with a pointed look in her direction.

“Oh.  Hey!” she yelped, as she caught the implied insult.  “Not nice!”

“Never claimed to be nice,” he smirked.  “Just good in bed.”

This was another of those moments where Willow was glad she couldn’t blush.  “Um, yeah, okay.  I guess I have to give you that,” she murmured, his laughter following her as she resumed her pacing.

“C’mere. Sit.  You’re making me tired,” Spike said, patting a spot next to him on the couch. 

She sat down, looking like she might be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

“Still nervous about tonight?”

Willow nodded, her eyes wide and uncertain as they met his.  “What if I can’t—“

“Nope, not gonna play that game,” he answered, cupping her face with his hands.  He stared into her eyes, forcing her to meet his gaze as he continued, “You are an amazingly talented person.  Stop it,” he added, as she opened her mouth to contradict him.  “Just listen.  Tonight you are going to do what needs to be done, and we are going to be free.  You won’t have to worry about those bastards anymore, and I won’t have to worry about this damned chip.”

She wanted him to be right.  She really did.  Wanted it more than almost anything else at that moment.  But there were just so many variables…

The silence was broken by the sound of Angel’s car rumbling up the drive.  Their eyes met for a moment as they both came to their feet.  “This is it,” Spike said fatalistically, holding his hand out to her.  “Your destiny awaits.”

Willow smiled and ducked her head nervously.  “I just hope it doesn’t suck,” she murmured.

 

End of Chapter 47

Chapter 48

 
Large clouds raced across the sky, revealing and obscuring the moon and its light as if flicking a light switch on and off. 

Four vampires and a demon hid together, concealed by a series of large bushes.  Their senses hummed with the life around them, filtering out the white noise of everyday activity as they concentrated on the sounds and movements of the Initiative patrol that had just passed them by without a second look.

“That should be it,” Trevor said, glancing furtively towards Spike, and then down towards the ground again.  The newest vampire had been quiet ever since they released him from his chains.  The promise of a bloodbath was keeping him in line, but the others wondered how long that would last.  Hopefully it would be long enough for him to serve his purpose.  “We have ten minutes until they come back this way.”

“So where’s this access panel?” Angel asked.

“This way,” Trevor grunted, leading them to what looked like an oak tree.  The others watched as Trevor approached the tree, and then seemed to reach into it, flipping a catch and opening a door to reveal a sophisticated panel filled with flashing lights and computer ports.

“Cool,” Willow breathed, shooing the others away so that she could get a closer look at the marvel.  She stood on tip-toe, leaning in to read the labels that designated the different types of sensing equipment.

“Can you fool it?” Doyle asked anxiously, moving from foot to foot, fighting the cold breezes that didn’t seem to faze any of his companions.

Willow gave an unladylike short.  “This won’t even be a challenge.  The wrapping was neat, but the technology’s at least a couple of years old.”  She shot Trevor a disdainful look.  “Your friends were careless,” she muttered, taking her computer out of her carrying case and getting to work.

Trevor remained silent, ignoring her rebuke.  He may have been young, but he wasn’t completely stupid.  He learned eventually.  And what he had learned so far was that this little redhead was under the protection of two master vampires.  So she was off limits.  At least for now.

Using her feet and the trunk of the tree for leverage, Willow grabbed the faceplate panel and pulled, yanking off the ‘front’ part of the panel that had the labels and the lights. Reaching into her pocket for some electrical wire, she attached one end of the wire to one port, cut another wire and spliced it to the original wire, and then looped it through to another port.

The males crowded over her shoulder until she turned and shooed them back again.  “You’re making me claustrophobic,” she complained, turning back to the panel.

“Five minutes,” Trevor growled.

“Almost done?” Angel asked.

Willow turned and bared her fangs at him, flashing him a glance at her game face.  “Woulda been done already if you’d just left me alone,” she grumbled. 

She heard Spike chuckling behind her, but no longer felt the oppressive closeness of bodies clustering around her. 

Giving a final check to her work, she tossed the faceplate into the bushes and then closed the door to the panel.  Once again the tree looked like…a tree.  She knocked on it, reassured when she heard a metal clunking sound.  That was truly the only clue that it really wasn’t a tree.

“All done,” she announced proudly.  “All sensors are on a loop.  All anyone will see on the cameras is an empty cave.  No heat readings, no sound readings, no nothin’.  We should be able to enter undetected and get to the server room before anyone even knows we’re here.”

They raced through the underground passageways in silence.  The sound of sneakers on cement was the only evidence of their progress, and since nobody was around to hear it, things went smoothly. 

As they continued to run, their surroundings changed:  the cement gave way to linoleum, and the rough-hewn walls of the cave became white-painted drywall.  On the ceiling, the lighting now consisted of long halogen fluorescent lights that gave off a quiet buzzing sound. 

Trevor threw out a hand to stop them just before they turned a corner.  They stopped behind him, waiting as he peered around the corner and into the next hallway.

“Empty,” he said, turning the corner and moving to a door on the left that housed the server room, while motioning for the rest of them to stay behind the corner.

He knocked on the door, two soft knocks, then two quick loud ones that echoed like gunshots in the silence.  A muffled voice answered him, asking his name.  “Trevor,” they heard him answer, and then the door opened wide and a friendly voice greeted him.

“Hey, buddy, we wondered where you disappeared to.  Haven’t seen you in class for a couple of days.  Figured you were on a bender.  Walsh has been pissed.”

Willow found the voice vaguely familiar, but without the context of a face she couldn’t connect it with a name.  Still, it didn’t really matter.  Within seconds the owner of the voice was struggling against Trevor, his neck a blood-spattered mess, as the vampire ripped into it, sending blood flying in all directions.  It was his first kill, and he wasn’t wasting any time or trying to keep things clean. 

She smelled the blood, spiced with fear and pain, and felt her demon fidgeting restlessly inside of her.  It whispered things in her ear that she tried to ignore; things about the taste of fresh blood, the way it coated the throat when it was warm, pumped into your mouth by the heart of a frantic victim fighting for his life. 

Shaking her head violently as if to quell the voice, she concentrated on the task at hand.  Grabbing Spike’s arm, she pulled him into the room, motioning the others in behind her.  Trevor followed, pulling the body of his victim in alongside him and closing the door behind him.  He gave the others a moment to find their places, and then dragged his prize into a corner.

The sound of his slurping disgusted Willow, even as her demon continued to attempt to seduce her into looking.  She could tell by the small contented sounds he made that Trevor was enjoying himself greatly, and she wondered if they would be able to keep him under control until their mission was over.

In an attempt to move her attention away from the bloody scene behind her, Willow surveyed the room she found herself in, her eyes quickly bypassing the corner where Trevor still sat eating.  The space was boring but functional.  Desks of all shapes and sizes were pushed up against all the walls except for the one that contained the door.  The tops of the desks were covered with computers, keyboards, monitors, and security screens; this was obviously the nerve center for the Initiative.  If something happened within the compound, it was recorded and observed here.

Willow found a terminal and sat down, familiarizing herself with the main menu and several submenus.  Fortunately for her, the previous user of the computer hadn’t bothered to log out before answering the door to Trevor.  That saved precious seconds, as Willow now had no need to search for a password, or attempt to bypass their security measures.

She scanned down a list of actions, stopping when she saw the submenu for the ventilation system.  “Okay,” she muttered, “let’s see what we have here.”

There were several options, numbered one through five, but none of them offered her what she needed.  There had to be another menu for security options; that was where she expected to find the menu for the different gasses she hoped to release.

Her eyes crossed in frustration.  There had to be something she was missing.  Was the option on another menu?  If she couldn’t figure this out, they would be in real trouble.

Pressure?  No pressure at all.

She saw Doyle out of the corner of her eye, putting on the gas mask that he had brought with him, securing it, testing it, and then giving Angel the thumbs-up sign that told them he was ready. 

Great.  Now if only *she* was ready.

“I don’t get it,” she groaned.  “It’s not here.  How do I get to where I can release the gas?”  Panic assailed her; so much was hanging on this.  Her eyes flickered across the computer screen again, looking desperately for clues.  Maybe if she—

Her flesh seemed to crawl with thousands of small ants, and then she heard Trevor’s voice from directly behind her.  “Choose option 88,” he growled.

“88?  There is no 88.”  It was some sort of crazy fail-safe, she supposed.  Sure enough, when she typed in the number 88, it took her to the menu she had been looking for.

Trevor wandered away again and Willow relaxed, trying to clear her head of the self-doubt that had materialized like magic when she couldn’t find what she needed.  She was Net Girl, she reminded herself.  No self-respecting computer nerd should be stymied by a government computer system.  It just wasn’t right.

Still, these were extenuating circumstances, weren’t they?

“Willow?  Any progress?”

She glanced up at Angel’s worried face, then down at the monitor, and then at her fingers.  “Soon.  I’m ready to release the gas.  Doyle?”

A quick glance at Doyle, a nod, and another thumb’s up sign.  Okay, he was ready.

She chose the option she was looking for, which took her to a schematic of the facility.  Apparently one could isolate which areas the gas was released into.  It didn’t really matter; she wanted it everywhere.  Wanted them all to breathe it in, suffocate in it, until they were nothing but inert bags of flesh and bones.

A shudder of horror went through Willow as a previously unconsidered consequence occurred to her.  She turned suddenly, swiveling in her chair to face Angel and Spike.  “What about—what about the other demons?  The ones that need to breathe?  What’s going to happen to them?”

In all their planning and considering, the fact that there were non-vampire demons being held here had never really sunk in.  And now that it had, the thought that they might breathe in the deadly gas and be killed right along with the Initiative soldiers was a new and disturbing idea.

Angel looked shocked, and then conflicted, and Willow realized he had not considered this either. 

“There’s no time for philosophical discussion,” Spike muttered angrily as he stared at them.  “Any minute now we’re going to be discovered, and I’m not going to die just because you’re worried about the fate of some damn Fyarl demon.”

Willow stared at him open-mouthed, her expression stuck somewhere between disappointment and self-righteousness.  Spike knelt down before her and placed his hands on her thighs.

“These are demons we’re talking about, pet.  Not big fluffy bunnies.  Look at them,” he invited, pointing at the black and white monitors that kept watch on the containment cages.   She watched the demons as they paced back and forth, or threw themselves against the barriers of their containment, or ate or slept or…

“They’re evil things.  Not like you or Angel, or even Angel’s little friend there.  If they saw you on the street, the only thing they’d think about is how good it would feel as they killed you.”

“But—there are good demons.  There’s Doyle, for instance.”

“Willow, if I were here, I’d rather be dead than have one of those little chips in my head,” Doyle said bitterly.  “’Sides, we don’t even know for sure that this stuff will kill them.  Might just knock them out.  Or it might not even harm them at all.”

Willow nibbled on her bottom lip as she thought, considering the arguments and theories they had given her.  Rationalizations—that was what they really were.  Ways to make her feel better about killing all those people and all those demons. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocks at the door.  Two soft knocks, then two quick loud ones.  The same signal that Trevor had used.  All conversation ceased as their eyes flew to the security monitors.  Even Trevor stopped feeding, albeit briefly.

Outside the door stood two soldiers, their expressions stoic, their eyes empty.  They held guns in their hands, big black guns, and they were pointed directly at the door.  Suddenly one of the men eyed the security camera.  With a speed that spoke of hours of practice, he acquired the new target, and suddenly their security monitor showed only static.

Spike looked at Willow, his expression serious.  “Do it now, pet, or we all die right here.”

End of Chapter 48

Chapter 49

 
“Do it now, pet, or we all die right here.”

Tension and fear warred inside Willow; she shot another glance at the security monitor.  Still static.  They had destroyed it, without a doubt, because they were afraid that someone inside this room was using it to observe them.  Well, they were right.

If she didn’t do something now to release the gas, it was just a matter of time before the Initiative forces figured out how to get into this room, or notified someone else of the potential threat.  And once that happened, they were all dead.  Or chipped.  It didn’t matter which, since it would all lead to the same thing eventually:  death.  Whether it happened here and now, or a few months down the road when the chip was activated, it didn’t really matter much.

They would still be just as dead.

With shaking fingers, she typed in the word ‘all,’ and then hit the return key, instructing the computer to release the toxic gas into all areas of the Initiative compound.  In the background she heard a quiet sigh of relief and felt Spike’s hand as he brought it to rest reassuringly on her shoulder.  It was a simple touch, but it made her feel centered and relaxed.  And it made her feel like she had done the right thing, whether that was really true or not.

She had done it.  Released the gas into the compound.  Sentenced dozens—maybe even hundreds—of people to death.  Bad people, she reminded herself fiercely.  People who would hurt her, kill her, and do the same to her friends. 

Her eyes were drawn back to Trevor and the remains of the soldier he held in his hands.  Somehow she knew with a certainty that was unbreakable that his victim was one of the ones who had helped kill her.  Maybe it was something in his voice, or in the way that he had reacted to Trevor.  It didn’t matter.  Bottom line was, he had hurt her, and he had paid.  Just like the rest of them would pay.

It was the demon talking, she knew.  Or at least most of it was.  There was a piece of darkness within her that was in agreement with the demon, just this once.  It was that little bit of her that tended to brand anyone involved with the Initiative as evil, just like those who had hurt her.  Intellectually she knew that wasn’t true, but right now that kind of black and white thinking made things easier, so she let it be.

“The containment cages,” Spike reminded her, his voice calm and unemotional; it was as if he were reminding her to take out the garbage or feed the kitten.  A bubble of nervous laughter was quickly quelled.  Hysterics would do her no good now.  Too much depended on her.

Before she could distract herself by focusing in on the absurdity of that concept, she forced herself to concentrate on the sound of Spike’s voice, and the feel of his hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against her collarbone.

She needed to find a way to release the demons from their cages.  Through the magic of the security monitors they could see that most of the demons were still alive; they paced their cages in confusion as they watched the Initiative soldiers fall to the ground one by one, as the gas worked its way into the humans' respiratory system.

A few of the quick learners in the bunch had searched for and found gas masks, she realized with dismay.  They were trying to help the others, but mostly they were too late.  Still, it looked like a dozen of them were congregating, led by Professor Walsh, she noticed.  They seemed to be working on some sort of a plan. 

It was well past time to open the door to the zoo’s cages and let the animals run free.

Turning back to the computer screen, Willow quickly went back to the menu for the containment functions.  It was child’s play to unlock all the cages, and they watched with satisfaction, and in some cases malevolent glee, as the former inmates quickly overran the asylum. 

“Oi, that’s gotta hurt,” Spike gloated as he watched a Fyarl demon launch an attack on one of the soldiers who had been fortunate enough to find a gas mask.  As his meaty arm crushed the throat of the soldier, the chip seemed to kick in, because both creatures fell to the ground.  The soldier was dead, but the demon recovered quickly, shaking his head angrily and charging into the fray once again.  Apparently a little headache wasn’t enough to stop him from trying to kill as many of his captors as he could.  More power to him, Spike thought.

While Spike found all of this much more entertaining than watching WWE on TV, there was still the little matter of his chip to take care of.  “C’mon, Willow,” he said quietly, watching as she came back from that place she went to inside of her head when things were too much to deal with in the real world.  They would talk about this later, he was sure.  Her soul would need it.  Demand it.

But right now he needed to keep her on an even keel.  His touch, the sound of his voice; these things would distract her from what she had done, and what she had yet to do.

Angel stood by the door, his restless eyes moving from person to person as he listened for signs of the soldiers who had been outside earlier.  He could smell them still, just barely, but heard nothing.  He motioned to Spike and Trevor to join him, and they listened intently for well over a minute.  Nothing.

“They’re dead,” Spike said.

“Maybe.  Or maybe they’re trying to make us think they are, so we’ll open the door and they can come charging in,” Doyle suggested, his voice sounding oddly distorted by the gas mask.  “They probably want back into this room pretty badly.”

“Perhaps,” Angel considered, closing his eyes briefly as he thought.  “But I’m inclined to think that the damage has been done, as far as they’re concerned.  About the only advantage that they can get from regaining possession of this room is to turn off the gas, and it’s already too late for that.”

“What about the security monitors?” Willow piped up.  “I mean, they could see where we’re going and track us down, if they could get back in here.”

“Good point, luv.  We need to keep this room secure.  Or else destroy the monitors.  What do you think?”

“Keep it secure,” Willow decided quickly.  “We might need the security monitors to see what’s going on later. ”

“Willow’s right,” Angel agreed.  He thought for a moment, sizing up their chances; figuring the angles.  “Doyle and I will stay here.  Trevor, you take Spike and Willow to the laboratory you mentioned.  We’ll follow your progress on the monitors.  If you run into trouble, I can sneak out and hit them from behind.” 

Trevor looked up at the mention of his name, his eyes glowing amber at the thought of more carnage.  He would guide them to the lab, but once they were distracted he would take the first chance to slip away and see what kind of fun was to be had.  He didn’t intend to dangle on Spike’s string forever.

“Willow, once you disable Spike’s chip, head back here.  We’ll have to play it by ear from there.”

Willow nodded, coming to her feet and standing next to Spike.

“Everyone ready?” Angel asked.  Each of them shifted or braced themselves, letting their body language answer the question for them. 

Angel put his hand on the metal door release, shifting away from the entrance as the door slid open. 

It was almost anticlimactic to see the two dead bodies on the ground, their guns drawn, but ultimately useless against the poison gas.  Spike picked up one of the guns, studied it curiously, then handed it to Willow.  He grabbed the other for himself, tucking it under his shirt, enjoying the feel of it against the small of his back.

“I can’t—” Willow began quietly, looking at the piece of metal in her hand as if she expected it to jump up and bite her. 

“You can,” Spike insisted, his hands reaching out and grabbing her upper arms.  “If it comes down to you against them, you can.  You’d better.”  It was almost a threat.  He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.  “I’m not going to lose you now, pet.  I’ve worked too hard, invested too much time and energy, to let you go.” 

He kissed her, caring little about who might see them.  It was a quick kiss; Willow barely had time to register what he had done before it was over, but it gave her a sense of confidence and hope that she badly needed.  They *would* get through this.  And if she had to point that gun at someone and shoot them in order to save her life, she would do it.  Probably.  Maybe?  Doubts assailed her again, but she had no time for them.  Mirroring Spike's motion, she pushed the gun down until it nestled uncomfortably in the small of her back, trying to forget exactly what it was that was touching her so intimately.

It soon became easy to forget, what with the way Spike was pulling her down the corridor at breakneck speed.  Her mind simply moved on to other things.  Things like trying to keep track of their progress through this confusing maze.

Every inch of it looked the same, from the white walls to the tightly closed doors.  A siren blared in the distance, but Willow filtered the sound out easily, concentrating on listening for sounds of pursuit; footsteps, voices, doors opening or closing.  But they saw nothing, and nobody greeted them.  And that was just fine with her.

Trevor came to a stop in front of another featureless door.  “In here,” he motioned, punching a four-digit code into the keypad next to the door.  They slipped inside and Willow immediately went to work analyzing the equipment in the room.

Spike pulled Trevor in behind them, growling when the other vampire tried to break away from him.  With a casual flick of his wrist, Spike propelled Trevor face-first into the wall, pinning him there with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck.  “I still need you.  Once we’re done, you’re welcome to bugger off to wherever you think it is you want to be.  But until I give the all clear, you’re stuck with me.  Got it?” He gave the fledgling a shake for emphasis.

“Got it,” Trevor croaked.  When Spike released him, he sank to his knees, his posture one of obsequiousness.  But his eyes blazed yellow with the heat of his anger. 

“Spike, over here.”  Willow’s voice reached him from one of the far corners of the huge room.  Dozens of machines and computers lined the walls; the room looked like something out of a bad 60’s horror movie.  “I think this is the one.”

He grabbed Trevor by the scruff of his jacket and pulled him along behind.  “You think?  Couldn’t you do a little better than that, pet?  You turn me into a pile of goo and I swear I’ll come back and haunt you until—”

“I’m sure, Spike,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. 

Spike didn’t think she looked 100 percent certain, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options, he reminded himself.  Besides, the clock was ticking. 

Willow sensed his skepticism.  “Well, what do you expect?” she asked, and he could see the tension beginning to wear on her.  “They’re not going to put a little plaque on the machine that says, ‘this will disable Spike’s chip.’  I’m doing the best I can here, okay?”

He took a deep breath and then released it.  “Okay, pet.  Sorry.  It’s just—this is kind of important to me, you know?”

She closed her eyes, fighting to get her emotions under control.  “It’s important to me too,” she reminded him. 

“It’s the right machine.  Get on with it.”  Their eyes flew to Trevor, who they had forgotten about entirely.  “I saw Walsh fiddling with it once during the testing phase.  Set the dial to 53, and zap him for about 10 seconds.  That should do it.”

“Does he…need to stand anywhere in particular?” Willow asked nervously.  There was nothing about the machine that indicated a place to stand, or a way to aim it.

“No, the pulse will be sent out in all directions.  As long as he’s standing close to the machine, it should work.”

“Well you heard the bloke.  Let’s get this over with,” Spike said with a bravado that he clearly didn’t feel.  “Give me a kiss for luck?”

Willow nodded, her eyes big and luminous.  She floated into Spike’s arms and tried not to tremble as he held her.  “It’ll be okay, pet,” he whispered into her ear.  “In another week we’ll look back on this as a grand adventure, right?”

“Right,” she answered, her voice tremulous but determined. 

His lips brushed against hers, and she parted her lips immediately, her tongue sliding into his mouth eagerly, tasting and memorizing every inch of him.  She poured all of her emotions into the kiss:  hope, fear, desire, uncertainty, but most of all, love.  If this was the last time they would kiss, she wanted it to be something they would both remember.

Spike pulled away regretfully.  “As much as I enjoyed that, and would like to spend the better part of my life doing more of it, we’d better get this done.”  He left unsaid the fact that even if this was successful, they still had to find their way back out of the compound, preferably without running into any unfriendlies.

Willow nodded, turning away from him so that he wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes.  She fiddled with the knob, turning it to 53 as Trevor had instructed.  Then, without warning and without taking the time for second thoughts, she flipped the switch, counted to ten in her head, and then flipped it off again.

“That it?” he asked curiously. 

She nodded, relief shining from her eyes as she looked at him.  She had expected it to work, probably, but now that it was over, she could admit to herself how scared she had been.  Her knees weakened, and she collapsed weakly into a chair.  “Does it feel any different?  You don’t look any different.”

He shook his head.  Mostly he was just grateful it was still attached to his neck.  If this didn’t work, if the chip still fired, they could still try something else.  Or he would learn to live with it.

“Uh, Spike?  Where’s Trevor?” Willow asked, standing up and searching the corners of the room for the fledgling.

Fuck.  Spike gave the room the same once-over that Willow was giving it, with similar results.  The little bastard had skipped out on them.  Reaching through the bond, Spike could sense him.  Feelings of excitement, bloodlust, and a primitive joy washed over him.  “He’s history.  C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He grabbed her hand and they ran for the open door, stopping suddenly when Maggie Walsh stepped into view.  A gas mask obscured her face, but they could still tell she was furious from the waves of anger that filled their senses.  She held a gun, and it was pointed straight at Spike’s head.

End of Chapter 49

Chapter 50

The good news was that Maggie Walsh was alone. 

The bad news was that she was holding a gun pointed right at Spike’s head.  Willow knew that a shot from a gun wouldn’t kill a vampire, but what kind of brain damage could it cause if it went straight into the brain, churning and chewing up grey matter every inch of the way?  Could the brain regenerate itself like other parts of the body?  She just didn’t know.  Her uncertainty left her frozen in place.

“Ms. Rosenberg,” there was shock and disappointment in her former teacher’s voice.  “I must say, I’m rather surprised to find you here.  Although I suppose I shouldn’t be.  You have missed a lot of class this term.  Now I know why.”  The woman held the gun steady, the emotions in her voice making no mark on the way that she held them at her mercy. 

Backing them into the laboratory, Maggie leaned against the wall as she studied her two prisoners.  Willow could smell her blood, could see the unnatural angle of her left arm, and realized that the woman was hurt.  The scent of the blood was tempting, calling to her demon, and she mentally calculated the angles.  She could spring now, knock the gun out of the woman’s hand, and snap her neck quickly.  It would probably work.

But probably wasn’t good enough, her heart cried.  If something were to happen to Spike, she’d never forgive herself.  She would bide her time, Willow decided.  There had to be a better opportunity than this.  She just had to watch and listen; wait for the smallest moment of distraction.  And then…

“This is your doing, Hostile 17?” she asked Spike, a thin thread of anger coloring her voice.  “She was a very promising student, you know,” she added, throwing a glance at Willow.  “I had high hopes for her.  And then you had to come along.  Now everything’s ruined,” she said coldly. 

Willow had had enough of Maggie’s unfounded accusations.  “It’s your fault I’m dead,” she claimed quietly.  And then, slowly, the beginnings of an idea came to her.  The woman didn’t seem to be in a hurry to kill them; for some reason, she wanted to chat first.  That was just fine with Willow.  She put on her best ‘helpless,’ act, letting her body close in on itself and pushing the soul to the forefront.  Sadness and vulnerability filled her eyes as she trained them on her former teacher.

“You think you and your soldiers are above the law?  Do you?”

“What do you mean?  Above the law?  We didn’t do this to you.”  Maggie looked briefly confused, but then shook it off impatiently.  That just what Willow was hoping.  She wanted the other woman to realize that she wasn’t just a ‘normal’ vampire.  That would put her off-guard even more, and then maybe she would let her guard down for that one vital moment where Willow could kill her.

Disable her.  That’s what she meant.  She didn’t need to kill Maggie.  All she needed was to get that gun away from Spike’s head so that they could make their escape.

That may have been what she needed, but it wasn’t necessarily what she wanted, she realized.  The woman was holding a gun on Spike.  Surely that was enough reason for her to die.  Wasn’t it?

These thoughts spun around in her brain, but she was careful to keep her face as soft and helpless as she could.  She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes now. 

“They—they raped me,” she wailed, covering her mouth briefly with her hand as if trying to hold back the horror of it.  “Trevor, and—and some of the others.  I don’t know their names.  They wore masks.  But they had your walkie-talkies, and the black outfits, and—and they were *your* boys.  And they raped me, and cut me, and then, when they were done, they left me for dead.  DEAD!”  Tears gathered in her eyes now, and Willow gave them permission to fall.  It felt good to cry.  To let all of that pent-up frustration come bubbling to the surface.

Maggie watched her, and as hard as she tried to hide it, some of the things Willow said affected her.  There had been rumors floating around about some of her men.  Rumors she had discounted, ignored, and waved away.  But deep down in the darkest regions of her heart, she somehow knew that what this young woman said was true. 

“Then how did…” she looked at Spike, wiggling the gun for emphasis. 

A quick look at Spike’s face showed that he was watching the show, but Willow had no idea how he felt about it.  Did he realize that she was playing for time?

“We—I knew him.  From before.  I’ve been helping him since you people messed with his brain and left him defenseless.  It’s cruel, what you’ve done.  You understand that, don’t you?  Leaving a creature defenseless, no way to eat, no way to live or fight against you.  That’s cruel beyond belief.”

Maggie’s eyes flashed in anger as she looked at the redhead.  “Cruel?  You have the gall to talk to me about cruelty?  How many meals have you eaten since you’ve been turned?  How many people—innocent people—have died at your hands?  How many have you held for your sire while he dined on their cooling bodies?”  She shook her head dismissively.  “I don’t hold the monopoly on cruel.”

“How many?  Me personally?  How many innocents have I killed?  None.  Not one,” she answered softly.  At the disbelieving look she received, Willow continued.  “I have a soul, Professor Walsh, something you seem to be sorely lacking.”  She did her best to look tortured and naive, and projected it for all she was worth, trying to bombard the other woman with images of sweet, innocent, helpless Willow.

“How?  How can you have a soul?  You’re a vampire.  Vampires don’t have souls.”   Her mumbled words seemed confused.  She hesitated for a moment, for the blink of an eye, but before Willow could take advantage of the lapse, it was gone, and the cool administrator stood before her again.  “You’re lying,” she said flatly.

“No, I’m not.  I have a soul, and there is one other vampire who does too.”  Maggie’s eyes slid to Spike.  “No, not him,” Willow agreed with a small smile.  “Although sometimes I wonder…”  She trailed off, and then felt herself cringe just a bit at the angry look Spike sent her way.  “It’s someone else.  But that’s not really the point.  You know, not all demons are evil.  Some just want to be left alone.  To live their lives—”

“Up with people.  I get it.  Or, up with the demonic equivalent, at any rate,” Maggie’s voice was brittle and sarcastic, and she watched curiously as the light in Willow’s eyes dimmed a bit.  The young woman couldn’t seriously expect her to believe this, could she?

“I thought as someone with a scientific mind, you’d at least consider the possibility,” Willow admitted.  “Life is composed of more than what we can see, and the things around us.  Think about the possibility, at least.”

“You’re not alive,” Maggie reminded her, watching with clinical curiosity as the girl flinched at her words.  “You’re a demon, wearing the body of someone I used to know.  If you expect me to believe anything else, then that’s just more proof that you’re not the intelligent young woman I used to know.”

“Oh, bugger this,” Spike snarled, catching both women by surprise.  He’d rather be dust than listen to a moment more of either of their preachy moralizing.  Good demon, bad demon, it made no difference to him. 

Spike dropped to the floor like a dead weight.  He was certain that he could move faster than she could.  Kicking his legs out, he caught the back of her calf with the front of his foot.   She fell to the ground with a thud, but as luck would have it, she still held the gun in her hands.  With a pained gasp, she aimed the gun back at his head. 

He sprang to his feet, and then jerked to the right as she fired.  The air burned along his left shoulder, and he knew that she’d grazed him, but the pain was somewhere distant.  He could feel it later.  Right now he had bigger concerns.

Another report filled the air, and he waited for the bullet to rip through him.  When nothing happened, he looked curiously at the woman holding the gun.  His eyes widened in surprise as he watched a red flower bloom against the white of her lab jacket.  She was bleeding.  A stomach wound, he realized.  That would hurt like a bastard, he knew from personal experience.

His eyes focused on her attacker—his childe, with a gun in her hand, and a look of horror on her face that was so intense that he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms.

He kicked the gun out of Maggie’s hands, listening with satisfaction as it skittered across the room.  Then he turned to Willow, took the gun from her hands, and threw it as far away as he could.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling her into his arms and holding her as she shook against him.

Her tears were wet and cold as they dried on his shirt, but he held onto her tightly, letting her release her tension and fear.

As she cried, he replayed the scene in his mind.  Then something occurred to him.  He had kicked her—that bitch Maggie Walsh.  Kicked her and sent her down to the floor in a way that was bound to be painful. 

But the chip hadn’t fired.

“It worked,” he murmured, surprise and pleasure suffusing him.  He had lived for this day for so long; had hoped without really believing that a way existed to destroy the chip.  And now here he was, chip-free, in a compound full of bright young lads just dying to…well…die.

It was all going to be such fun!

Just to be sure, he released Willow, walked over to the good professor, and kicked her hard in the shoulder, smiling when he heard the crack of broken bones and the whimper that she couldn’t help but let out.

And still there was no pain.  Well, none for him, at least.  He was sure that the woman on the floor felt plenty of it.

He glanced back at Willow, curious about her reaction.  Her face was carefully neutral.  She realized what this meant, what he had just proved to her and himself.  He could kill now.

“It doesn’t matter, you know.”  The words were said slowly, as if it took every bit of life force that Maggie had to utter them.  “We’ll all be dead in a few minutes anyway.”  The last sentence was nothing more than a whisper.

Spike’s attention was back on the professor.  “What do you mean, bitch?” he growled, watching as an almost maniacal happiness seemed to dance in her eyes.

“Self-destruct sequence,” she wheezed.  “We’ll all die together…”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  They raced down the white corridors together, Spike’s spoken words echoed silently by Willow’s own thoughts.  There was no telling how long they had before the self-destruct sequence was completed.  It could be seconds; it could be minutes.  The only thing they knew for sure was that they needed to get out of there.  Fast.  Or they would die here.  For good.

“She’s lying,” Willow said as they ran. 

Was her opinion based on the study of her former teacher, or merely wishful thinking?  Spike couldn’t be sure.  “No, pet, it makes sense.  Destroy the evidence against you.  This place is too damning to the government to keep intact.  If it explodes, taking all the evidence with it, then all the loose ends are tied up in one neat little package.”

“But—how do they explain it?  A huge explosion rocks the campus—someone’s going to be suspicious.”

Spike grinned.  “C’mon, you’ve heard the stock excuses before.  If it were up to me, I’d say it was a natural gas leak.  Explains why the explosion happened underground, plus it covers discovery of the gas we released.”

“The gas,” she gasped.  Oh damn.  Sure, a lot of it would dissipate in the air, but what if there was enough to cause serious harm to people?  Innocent people.  And if rescue workers encountered pockets of it when they tried to investigate it, or looked for survivors, as they inevitably would…

“What have I done?”  Misery covered her like a shroud.  She slowed down for a moment, so shocked by the potential of what could happen. 

Spike grabbed her arm, yanking her along behind him.  “What you had to, of course.  You can beat yourself up about it later.  If there is a later, that is.”

They came to a crossroads, and he tried to remember which way they had come on the way here.  He had been trying to pay attention, but there had been so much to think about.  And all the damned corridors looked the same.

“This way,” Willow insisted, taking a right at the intersection and dragging him along for the ride. 

“You sure?”

“Yep.  Didn’t trust Trevor, so I did my best to remember which turns we took where.”

Damn, she was smart.  Not for distrusting Trevor, he had certainly expected the bastard to run out on them at the first chance; but because she had paid attention to their trail, when his thoughts had been filled with getting his chip out.

Other than the ‘whoop, whoop, whoop’ of distant sirens, the hallways were silent.  There had never been any heavy fighting here, and as far as Spike could tell, the last of the soldiers were either dead or running for their lives.

Willow stopped abruptly in front of a white door, the same as all the others.  “They’re in here,” she said, beginning to bang desperately at the door.  “Angel, open up!” she called out as she continued hitting the door with her small fists. 

“Willow?”  The sound came from the next door down, and she saw Angel poke his head out the door to look at her.

“Oops,” she murmured.  “I was close,” she told Spike, as she gave him a shaky grin.

“Close enough,” he agreed, grinning back at her.  “C’mon out, Angel.  This place is rigged to blow any minute now.  We need to get the hell out of here.”

“Shit,” was his only reply.  He stepped inside, grabbed Doyle, and off they ran.

End of Chapter 50

Next

Return to Couples Index