The frantic pounding on Buffy’s front door couldn’t rival the headache she had. She rose sluggishly, and padded down the hallway to the door, throwing it open without bothering to look at whomever it was. “What?” She asked, yawning.

Graham, Riley’s military buddy, stood on her doorstep. Instantly, she grew straighter, feeling that she couldn’t be Buffy Summers’ in his presence, she had to be the Slayer. Graham didn’t appear to take notice of any discomfort she had.

“The Initiative,” he said, and needed no more words. Buffy opened the door wide, and he entered the house.

“What is it?” She asked. “And didn’t they disband a while ago?”

Graham shook his head. “Yes and no. They basically started over again. Threw off all the old workers, pulled together an entire new staff, and began again.” He shook his head in disgust. “They’re back to the old ways, and I think they have someone you might be interested in.”

Buffy was growing impatient. “Who, Graham?”

“Angel. They have Angel.”

*******

 

Angel awoke, still feeling bleary-eyed from the tranquilizer, and studied his cell slowly, methodically. No use panicking. It wouldn’t do him any good, and that was the only time panic was ever a positive thing.

Noticing that the ache that had at first seemed to radiate throughout his entire body was actually centered in his head, allowed him to sit up slowly and take in more of the area. A large green and blue demon sat across from him, but it appeared to be praying or meditating or something, and Angel was fairly certain it wouldn’t harm him. It seemed young, as well.

The gate at the end of the row of cells swung open, and five men, marching with military precision, entered the area. A few vampires bared their fangs and hissed, but for the most part, demons of all kind scuttled into the corners of the cages, cowering. Angel wondered what they knew that he didn’t. A lot, he was willing to guess.

They came to a stop in from of the cage he shared with the large adolescent demon, who ceased what he was doing, and watched them near with fear-widened eyes. The man in the front of the group came to a halt, and unlocked the cage, moving away as soon as there was any chance of an escape attempt.

Three large, burly men entered the room. Angel stood, knowing he was too tired to fight, and deciding to go along willingly. This time, anyway. They grabbed his arms and poked things at him anyway, seemingly to assure his cooperation, but Angel thought it more likely that they just enjoyed the brutality.

He was led into a pristine, sterile medical bay, where a gleaming metal table with lights over it and many scrub-coated doctors and nurses awaited. The guards brought him to the table, and the doctors flipped switches, making it come up until it was vertical. Angel was stood in front of it, and his wrists, ankles and waist were strapped to it. Finally, after they had leaned the whole contraption back, a head restraint was placed on him.

They poked at him for nearly half an hour, exploring all of him. Nothing was painful, although the discomfort factor went way up the scale when they got low enough. They treated him as though he were an animal, never talking to him. Angel for his part, never talked to them, either.

Eventually, they seemed to have him catalogued well enough, with notes about his every part now on file, and the doctor came at him with a well-loaded hypodermic syringe. Angel’s world filled with the small pinprick of pain, swam, and then went black.

********

 

He awoke stretched out on his back, in his cell, pains shooting through him. He lay still for many long moments, waiting until it receded enough for him to be able to identify where it originated.

He had small cuts on both temples, and his head felt funny. He assumed they had used lathroscopy to explore his brain. But they hadn’t been quite as gentle on the rest of him.

His shoulders and arms were bruised, with various shapes coming up in blue and purple, and his back felt like it had been pin-pricked several hundred times, which he could only guess, it had. For what reason, he didn’t know, and didn’t really care.

His legs appeared fine, and he assumed that they were on the schedule for next time, which was a thought he didn’t particularly relish. But he didn’t have time to contemplate it long, as he drew in a long breath from habit, and groaned at the pain.

Lifting his head just a little to look down at himself, he could see a long incision mark from his mid-chest, about where his heart was, all the way down his front, stopping several inches below his navel. It was neatly stitched, but it hurt like hell. Angel sent thanks to the Fates that he no longer required breath to exist.

 

********

 

The front of what Graham said was the Initiative building was trying to masquerade as something called ‘The Hyacinth Flowers Growers Association’. It was an office, with a warehouse that supposed contained livestock behind it.

Buffy had laughed when she read that. When she had entered the building and called out, no one answered, so she roamed the building a little by herself, searching for clues.

A short, balding man entered the room behind her, but Buffy continued her examination of the medium size room. He cleared his throat. She shot a brief glance in his direction. “Can I help you, Miss?” He asked.

Buffy quit playing her games. Anybody else, and she might have enjoyed a little fun, but this was Angel. She squared her shoulders. “Yes, I believe you can,” She answered. The little man waited for her to continue.

Faster than lightning, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall. “I’d like to talk someone about my friend, Angel,” She hissed. The man shook, and she grinned.

“Ever heard of the Initiative?” She asked. The little man shook his head slowly. Buffy smiled a little harder. “That’s what I figured. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to lie?” She asked.

“I protest this treatment!” The man said weakly. “I shall have to tell my boss about it!”

“Oh, I certainly hope so,” Buffy replied. “How about right now? I’ll go with you, in case he doesn’t believe you.” She looked him up and down once again. “Or just doesn’t care.”

The little man sputtered. “He certainly shall care! My employer would never treat a person this way!”

Buffy gave a grim laugh. “Oh, wanna bet? I bet my buddy Angel could give you a different story.”

*********

 

Fifteen minutes later, Buffy sat with a distraught, but much more professional member of the demon hunters. She was leaning over the desk, hissing her threats in his face. “Now, I want you to release Angel,” she said to the taller man, who was desperately trying to hold onto his control of the situation in the face of the Slayer, “and then maybe I’ll forget you exist.”

She shook her head, expression changing. “Actually, that isn’t quite true. You can have the Spikes in the world, and you’re welcome to anything that is any relation of the Judge, Drusilla, the Master, Darla, or the guys like that. It’ll just make less work for me. But stay away from the ones with personalities, okay?”

The door creaked open, and several large men entered the room behind her. “Miss Summers?” The one in the front asked.

She turned her back to the man who was failing to keep his composure, and addressed the leader of the quartet. “Yeah. And you would be...?”

The burly man waved his hand. “It’s not important.”

Buffy put her hands on her hips. “I beg to differ. Because if you don’t tell me your name, I’ll make one up for you, and you might not like it. I’m going to need something to call you by.”

The man smiled evilly. “Now, Miss Summers, you aren’t going to need to call me anything if you’d just kindly leave the building and not come back. If you don’t wish to, my men will help you.”

Buffy drew herself up taller. “Want to try?” She challenged. Two of the men stepped forward, but the tall man in front put hands on each of their chests, restraining them.

“Just who do you think you are?” He asked softly, with a menacing tone in his voice.

Buffy leaped in the air, and swiftly kicked the two men who were once again, attempting to come at her, in the face. They both went down hard, and didn’t come back up. She smiled at the man in front. “I think I’m going to call you Mister Stupid,” She said nonchalantly. She stared hard at the man, who was looking at her with an expression somewhere between rage and surprise.

“What?” She pretended not to remember. “Oh, that’s right. You want to know who I am.” She got in the third man’s face, and flipped him over her shoulder, landing him on the floor, with her straddling him. “I’m the freaking Slayer, Stupid!”

After all of this, he still tried to maintain his dignity. “Don’t call me that, Miss Summers,” He threatened. “Or very unpleasant things may befall you.”

She smirked. “Oh, yeah? Look around you. All your men are down, and nobody’s laid a finger on me so far. What do you want to bet the odds on that are, were I an ordinary girl?”

Mr. Stupid seemed to have no explanation.

Buffy allowed him to revel in his stupefaction for a while, and then rose from her seat on his guard, or henchman. “Okay, this is what I want.” She pushed Mr. Stupid into the seat, so that she was looking at him from above. She ticked off the numbers on her fingers.

“One, I want Angel released, and never picked up again.”

The burly leader started to protest, but Buffy put a finger against his lips. “Wouldn’t want to make the Slayer mad, would you?” She asked. Then she shook her head. “But I guess you already have. So, go ahead, what insanely ridiculous thing did you want to say now?”

Mr. Stupid was silent.

“Okay, then.” Buffy continued. “Two, I want to go through your ‘laboratory’, and I use the term loosely, and pick out all the creatures that don’t belong there, for whatever reasons I choose. They, too, will never be picked up again.”

The irate fury on the leader’s face was growing, and Buffy sensed a moment of triumph from him as one of his henchmen sidled silently up behind Buffy. His smile dropped when she merely sent an elbow into his gut, and continued talking, as though nothing had happened.

“Three, I will drop in on you whenever I feel like it, and you will release all of the creatures that I say. Don’t bother moving your operation, I know you have to be here, and Sunnydale isn’t that big. Besides, I might be awfully mad.” She grinned sardonically.

Buffy backed slowly away from the man, who was still trying to hide his annoyance. “And if I don’t wish to cooperate?”

Buffy pushed herself back into his face. “Then I give every reporter in the state a story about you doing experiments on unwilling human beings, and the police too.”

The man paled, and sat there for a long moment. Buffy allowed him a little time to think, and then she motioned to the man at the desk. “Pass me the phone, would you?” She asked. “I think it’s due time the police know about this horrific mess.”

The burly man whom she’d christened Mr. Stupid grabbed her hand. “No,” He said.

“No?” Buffy asked. “Why not?”

“I’ll do it,” He replied, looking as defeated as Buffy thought was possible. “I’ll do whatever it is you fucking want.”

Buffy smiled. “Thank you very much, sir. Now, get me Angel,” She ordered. “I’ll be back in a few days to make my first ‘inspection’.”

The burly older man motioned to his cohorts, who were just rising from the floor, and the beating Buffy had given them. They glared at her, but made no move except out of the room.

Buffy waited impatiently for the guards to come back, hoping that they would bring Angel, and that this wasn’t a trap or trick. She didn’t think it was, Mr. Stupid appeared completely surrendered, but she would stay alert anyway.

The door cracked open, and the three men returned to the room, this time supporting a tall, strong-looking man with dark hair. Buffy stood, and ran towards the vampire, pushing away the men supporting him, and gently lowering him to the floor. “What the hell did you do to him?” She cried, targeting her fiery gaze at the man who seemed to be the leader.

He smiled evilly. “Oh, we just... took a look around.”

Angel summoned up his strength, and pulled on the bottom of his shirt, pushing the duster out of the way. Gingerly, Buffy pushed it up, and gasped. After kissing him softly on the forehead and running a hand through his hair in a comforting gesture, she turned back to the leader. “You...” She sputtered, without words in her anger for the first time that she could remember.

“You are a piece... a piece of shit!” With that said, Buffy pushed Angel up, hating it when he winced in pain, but knowing that she had to get him out of the Initiative’s clutches. Moving slowly, they made their way to Buffy’s car, which she had purposely parked in the shadow of the building.

Getting Angel in the car proved more difficult, since her demonic ex-lover couldn’t really bend, because it pulled on the incision. Eventually, he was maneuvered into the passenger seat, and leaned back. Buffy drove them home carefully, trying not to jolt him as they went.

********

 

Joyce Summers came running when Buffy knocked insistently on the door, gasping when she saw her daughter supporting the obviously injured demon. But she hesitated to allow him into the house. Luckily, Buffy solved that problem for her.

“Angel, come in. Mom, get over here and help me!” The Slayer was geared up, and Buffy Summers had been ditched somewhere back before this had all started. Probably as soon as Graham had mentioned the Initiative.

Joyce moved slowly to Angel’s other side, and tentatively put her hands on him, as if waiting for him to turn and attack. Buffy took one look at her mother’s expression, and knew she had to say something, no matter what it would do to Angel, who was perpetually guilty.

“He won’t hurt you! Now, put him down on the couch.” She directed. Maneuvering him onto the couch was fairly easy, and he collapsed, his strength completely sapped.

Buffy, meanwhile, never stopped moving. “Mom, get me some warm water with Betadine in it, and gauze. Lots of it. Then, I need some medical tape, some sharp scissors, and the Morphine I keep under my bed.” Joyce scurried off, choosing not to comment on the fact that her daughter kept extremely strong pain-killers under her bed.

Buffy, meanwhile, knelt down by the couch, and talked softly to the nearly comatose Angel.

“Angel?”

His eyes came around, and opened just a sliver. “Yes?” He whispered, his voice soft and dry.

“How long since you’ve eaten?” Buffy asked gently.

Angel thought for a moment. “About six days.” He replied.

Buffy cursed under her breath. “That’s torture!”

Angel didn’t comment as Buffy continued to mutter under breath, while searching wildly for the telephone. “Yeah, Will? I need pig’s blood, cow’s blood, sheep’s blood, anything. I need it here now. We have a surprise guest, and he’s not in such good shape.”

Buffy spoke only briefly in response to whatever Willow had said, and then Joyce hurried back into the room with the items Buffy had requested. “Is there anything else I can do?” She asked.

“Answer the door when Willow gets here,” Buffy replied, already bent over Angel’s still form. She had pushed his duster off his shoulders earlier, and now she expertly sliced open the black T-shirt he still wore, pulling it off him as gently as she could, moving him as little as possible.

Joyce gasped when she saw the long cut on his front. “Buffy, what happened?” She asked.

“Not now, Mom. When he’s taken care of, I’ll explain, okay?” Joyce fell silent, and Buffy took that as an agreement.

Dipping the cloth her mother had provided in the warm, amber-colored liquid, Buffy patted it over the incision on Angel’s chest and stomach. He hissed with the pain, and she winced sympathetically. “Sorry,” She said. He flashed a quick smile, pain-filled though it was.

Making her way down the cut, Buffy reached his navel, and was stopped the waistband of his black jeans. She unbuttoned them quickly, while her mother looked on, a little uncomfortable about how comfortable her daughter was with the two hundred-and forty-some-odd year old demon.

Buffy cleaned the rest of the incision as best as she could, and then covered it with the gauze, taping it carefully down. She picked up the Morphine, and Angel eyed it hungrily. She gave a sad smile, and shook her head. “Sorry. This’ll put you out, and I want you to feed first. It’ll help give you strength better than any pain-killer.”

Angel closed his eyes, and collapsed back onto the couch, relaxing every muscle as best as he could. He winced in pain as his chest rose and fell, and Buffy smiled a little. Not human, they said. “Angel, don’t breathe,” She whispered. “It won’t hurt so much.”

Angel gave no response, but his chest became still. Buffy reached up, and tenderly tucked a few wayward strands of hair back into place. She could feel herself falling, and without Riley to hold her back, she had no safety rope. She and Angel... there was just something there, that could never be denied.

The doorbell rang, and Joyce rose to get it. Moments later, she ushered Willow and two pints of blood into the living room. Willow’s eyes widened when she saw who she was bringing blood to feed, but she kept her composure, sort of.

She handed the blood bags to Buffy, who tore off the corner of one, and tipped it up into Angel’s mouth. He suckled it hungrily, and pretty soon, she had to replace it with the other. When they were both gone, she wiped his face clean, and surprisingly, he took her hand, and licked her fingers clean of the blood that had come off his face.

Silently, Buffy handed opened his mouth by tilting his chin down, and poured the Morphine in. Angel swallowed it, and closed his eyes again. Buffy rose from her place by the couch, and smiled down at him. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Angel just smiled, without moving.

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