Caution: this chapter contains disturbing material including sexual violence.
stop it that's not funny get off you're hurting me
Willow was beginning to regret her decision to go to the Bronze. Xander was being monopolised by Anya, Spike was being monopolised by Buffy, which left her with Harmony. Who was actually going out of her way to be friendly to Willow, but it wasn't much consolation. The vampire girl didn't have enough in common with her. Harmony's conversation revolved around clothes, and hairstyles, and men, and celebrity gossip. She missed the point of Willow's jokes, didn't pick up on her references, and looked blank at her quotes from great literature and classic films. Likewise Willow didn't understand much of Harmony's conversation. Willow had liked Keanu Reeves in the ‘Bill and Ted’ films, but had no interest in him as a celebrity, and Harmony's chatter about Reeves' girlfriend's recent miscarriage had gone completely over Willow's head. And Willow wasn't interested in flirting with any of the clientele.
stop it ow don't touch me let go you're hurting me help me
‘I should have brought Tara,’ Willow thought. ‘Or took her up on her invitation to visit her and try out some spells together.’ Eventually, bored, Willow decided to head over to the campus and seek out Tara after all.
let go ow stop ow please stop god stop help me spike help
As she walked through Sunnydale, Willow began to feel uncomfortably as if she was being followed. She slipped one hand into the jacket pocket that held her cell phone, and with the other she checked that she could get at her stakes. She looked around, trying not to make it obvious that she was doing so, but saw nothing suspicious.
stop no oh god stop hurts no help buffy help spike oh god hurts tearing help
Willow had reached the point where it would be quicker to continue on to Tara's dorm than to return to the Bronze, but was becoming more and more worried. There was definitely something following her. She changed course. Crossed an open, lit, area, and then watched for whatever it was to come into view.
hurts please no stop not there oh god no help xander help anya help
Whatever it was, it kept out of the light. Worked its way round the edges. Willow pressed dial, sending her prearranged distress text to Spike and Buffy, turned, and ran for her life.
no help pain stop no no help spike buffy giles help please stop pain stop
“Will is in trouble!” Spike and Buffy said in chorus.
“Let's go, then,” Xander said, grabbing his jacket.
“Best stay and look after the girls, mate,” Spike suggested, indicating Anya, who was at the bar getting a drink, and Harmony, who was dancing with a young man in jeans and cowboy boots.
“Okay.” Xander didn't look happy about it, but agreed. Spike and Buffy were out of the building almost before the word had left his lips.
make it stop hurts stop spike help buffy help no please stop help me willow
“Come on, Buffy, where are you?” Willow panted. She could see her pursuer now. Pursuers. Two of them, and they had managed to cut her off from the campus. Demons. Seven or eight feet high, green if the street lighting could be trusted, heads like octopi growing out of humanoid torsos. Each carried a battle-axe. One carried something that looked ominously like a rifle.
spike help me god this can't be happening help dad mom help mommy mommy
Lighting spat from the demon's weapon. Bark flew from a tree as the blast missed Willow by inches. The other demon was closing, trying to stay out of its companion's line of fire, waving its axe. Willow screamed her location into her cell phone as she ran, but couldn't hear if Buffy was replying or not. The firearm blasted again, and this time the electrical bolt just made contact with the running girl. Agony seared through her and she fell.
no no no no no no no please god no no mommy mommy mommy
Willow scrambled to her feet. The cellphone had fallen and skidded away. The axe-wielding creature was too close. She left the phone and ran. Terror filled her. Then she heard a roar.
make it stop kill me kill me please kill me
The 331 cubic inch V8 roared as the DeSoto bounced across the grass. Dirt sprayed into the air as the old car weaved between trees. The headlights lit up a hideous creature, battle-axe raised high above its head, charging towards a terrified Willow. Buffy opened the door and dived out, hit the ground rolling, and smashed into the demon's legs like a human bowling ball. It fell. Spike saw a second demon and aimed the car straight at it. The DeSoto had been built before the invention of crumple zones, and it broke the demon's legs like matchsticks. Spike slammed on the brakes, brought the car to a halt, and climbed out, the kukri appearing in his hand like a conjuring trick.
hurt shame hurt filthy hurt want to die hurt
“What the fuck?” Spike stopped wiping the blade of his kukri on the demon's dead body, pulled something from its belt, and stared at it in amazement.
“You all right, Willow?” Buffy asked, once sure that her opponent was dead. She rose, and turned to Spike. “What you got there, Spike?” The vampire didn't reply, just passed the item across to her. It was a small plastic folder. Buffy glanced at it, did a double-take, and examined it more carefully, moving into the light of the DeSoto's headlamps.
“What is it?” demanded a shaken but unhurt Willow.
“Us.” Buffy passed it to the witch. Willow opened it and saw photos of herself, Buffy, Spike, and Giles. “I think we're ‘Wanted, Dead or Alive’.”
“Think Finn talked, love?” Spike suggested doubtfully.
“He's only met Giles once, at my party. No demon fighting connection. He does know Xander, Anya, and ‘Michelle'. Can't see him rating Giles as more important than them,” Buffy pointed out. “I think maybe they captured somebody who knows us. Maybe one of Willy's clientele. Or maybe they intercepted our phone calls or bugged my room or something.”
“They are like super-scientists big with the techno stuff,” Willow agreed. “They could be doing that, sure.”
“So we'll have to be sodding careful how we use the phones in future,” Spike grumbled. “I was just going to ring Giles. Best get over there instead. Coming, Red?”
Willow hesitated, and then decided against it. “I think I'll pass. I'm going to see if I can come up with a spell to spot bugs, or screen our rooms against them. Not cockroaches, spy bugs that is.”
“Okay,” Spike said, with a sly smile as if he was party to Willow's secret. Except that Willow didn't really have a secret for him to be party to. She knitted her brows briefly, but decided she must have misread his expression, and headed off towards Tara.
please let me wake up and this not have happened god please
“So where's Mickey then?” Spike asked.
Xander shrugged. “Still at the Bronze, I guess. Is Willow definitely okay?”
“You left her by herself?”
“She's a big girl. And a vampire. She can look after herself. How's Willow?”
“Mud on her jacket, is all,” Buffy told him. “Of course, the whole being on a reward poster for demons thing means that may not last for long.”
“Not demons. The commandos,” Giles said with absolute certainty. He held up the electrical blaster weapon retrieved from a dead demon, and read out the legend on the barrel. “Made by ‘Tactical Electric Weapons Inc, Albuquerque’. Not a likely supplier for the infernal legions of Hell.”
“But a likely supplier for a secret government organisation.” Buffy's expression was grimly determined. “It might be time for me to have a little talk with Riley Finn.”
cold dirty hurt blood feel sick crying hurting
Riley left the Bronze by the back door. That was the exit by which the girl with the dark red hair had left, quite a while ago, according to the barman. With two young men. If the chip had malfunctioned it was far too late to do anything to save them. Their lives would be on his conscience. He had recognised Hostile 17 and kept his mouth shut. All he would be able to do would be to terminate her and ensure she kept silent about his mistake forever.
No sign of her in the alley behind the Bronze. There was something out of place. A cell phone lying on the ground, broken and crushed. He ignored it, and walked on, pulling out the pheromone detector programmed with the chemical signature of Hostile 17. Contact. Not far. He followed the signal to a nearby alley. His heart sank as he saw a body slumped in the shadows.
It moved. He pulled free his tazer. Then its face came into view, and he saw the blood, the bruises, the torn clothes. The hilt of the knife sticking out from the throat.
“Your fault ...” the figure croaked. “Your fault. I couldn't fight back.” Harmony Kendall crawled towards him. Her naked breasts showed through the ruin of her blouse. The shredded remnants of her pantyhose trailed behind her ankles. “Humans,” Hostile 17 went on. “I couldn't fight back. Couldn't stop them. I couldn't fight back.” She slumped to the ground once more and sobbed.
They were deep in discussion when the knock came on the door. Xander rested his hand on an axe. Anya moved to shelter behind her man. Spike slipped his hand inside his coat to the hilt of his kukri. Buffy came to her feet and moved clear of any obstructions. Giles made his way cautiously to the door and opened it warily.
Riley Finn stood there. Pale. Sweating. Eyes wide and staring. He looked as if he had either vomited or was on the verge of vomiting. “She told me to bring her here,” he muttered. “Couldn't take her to a hospital.”
“What do you want, Riley Finn?” Buffy demanded coldly.
“Buffy.” It was not a greeting, just an acknowledgement of her identity. “It - it's bad. Really bad.”
“Worse than your bosses sending demons to kill ...” Buffy began, and then realisation began to sink in. “She? Ha - Michelle?”
“Where is she?” Spike demanded. Energy seemed to crackle through him as he came erect.
“M-my car.” Riley gestured.
Buffy, Giles, and Spike rushed to the car. In the apartment Xander and Anya turned worried eyes to each other. They heard Buffy's anguished “Dear God!” and Xander paled. Spike re-entered carrying the girl wrapped in his leather coat, Giles and Buffy following close behind, and laid her down gently on the couch. Xander took one look and felt the gorge rise in his throat. Anya cried out and buried her face in his shoulder.
Buffy bent over Harmony and touched her face gently, trying to comfort her. Her fingers met something slimy. It was only then that the Slayer, who had had sex only twice in her whole life, realised what the smell was which clung to Harmony. An odour that the others had recognised immediately. She spoke gently. “Who did this to you, Harmony? Were they human?” She already knew the answer.
“I couldn't fight them,” Harmony wept. “Hurt. Couldn't fight. Couldn't push them off so I could run away. Hurt. They kept hitting me. They made me ... they made ... couldn't bite ...”
Anger flared in Buffy's eyes, and she stormed back outside, where she seized Riley by the jacket. She heaved him bodily into the room, his two hundred pounds nothing to her. “I hope you're proud of yourself,” she spat. “Behaviour modification. Neutering. Taming the beast. Take a look at where it leads!”
Riley wasn't looking at Harmony. His gaze was fixed on Spike. Buffy followed his stare and saw that Spike was in game face; forehead ridged, nose pinched, fangs bared. Yet somehow his expression still conveyed tenderness and concern, and he was trying his best to comfort the battered and despoiled girl.
“There, there, pet,” Spike soothed. “Let me put this ring on your finger. Take the pain away. Then we'll get that knife out of your neck. Be brave, my girl.” He tugged off the gloves he wore for fighting and removed his ring. Harmony held out a trembling hand, and Spike slipped the Gem of Amara onto her finger.
Xander was as white as a sheet. “My fault,” he mumbled. “Look after the girls, you said. I left her there.” A tear trickled slowly down his cheek. “She can take care of herself, I said. God, what have I done?”
“I'll run her a bath,” Giles offered.
“Yes. She'll need it,” agreed Anya. There was a terrible certainty about her words. Every one of her eleven hundred and twenty years as a Vengeance Demon, answering the prayers of mistreated women, showed in her eyes. “And she mustn't be left alone. She may try to kill herself. I'll stay with her.”
“Spike's a vampire,” Riley said at last. Slowly, uncomprehendingly.
“Well, hello? Notice much?” Buffy responded. “And that matters exactly how? Really not feeling big with the racial superiority just now.”
“Brace yourself, pet. Gonna take this knife out. Hang on to me.” Spike drew the knife from Harmony, bringing an agonised groan from her lips.
“They laughed. ‘Bitch's got a knife but not the guts to use it.’ They laughed at me,” Harmony whimpered. “They cut my clothes and they cut me and they made me ... do it. Then they said ‘Bitch ain't gonna tell anyone. Gonna stick her with something else now’ and they stabbed me and they laughed.”
“Not going to be laughing for much longer.” There was a dreadful promise in Spike's soft words. “All over now, love. Rupert's running a nice bath for you. I'll carry you up, and Anya will help you get clean.”
“I'll never be clean again. Dirty.”
Spike carried her upstairs, still in game face. Anya went with them, talking gently, trying to find things to say that would help now that she could no longer arrange to have the rapists' intestines filled with maddened hornets. Xander stayed sitting on the couch, looking helpless and ashamed.
“Spike's a vampire,” Riley repeated. “But - how?”
“Drusilla drank his blood, fed him hers,” Buffy explained. “The usual.” She knew Spike was going to kill Harmony's attackers. She knew she should stop him. Now she was trying to summon up a reason to stop him that she would find even halfway convincing. ‘Let the law handle it' didn't exactly carry much weight when the victim was legally dead. The forged ‘Michelle McNab’ identity documents were the best Angel had been able to procure, but they wouldn't stand up to a rigorous check. The whole ‘bursting into flame in sunlight’ thing would be a bit of a handicap, too. Not to mention the mad scientists wanting her terminated with extreme prejudice. Her and, it would seem, Willow, Giles, Spike, and Buffy herself.
“When?” Riley continued, interrupting Buffy's train of thought.
“1880,” she said absently.
“But - college? I saw him walk across the softball pitch yesterday. In the sunshine. How?”
“It's a kind of magic.” Buffy wasn't willing to go into any further detail about the source of Spike's immunities. “He used to be bad. Now he isn't. End of story. Now let's talk about something else. Two demons went after Willow tonight. Eight feet tall, faces like squids. Battleaxes. Pretty standard stuff for us so far. Except they were carrying a laminated set of photos of Willow, and me, and Spike, and Giles. And a sort of electric shock gun made in Albuquerque. I'm thinking someone wound them up like clockwork mice, gave them a pretty toy, and pointed them at us. And I'm thinking it was someone you work for.”
“You're going to kill them.” There was no question in Giles' voice.
“Damn right.”
“I suppose there's no point in me asking you not to?”
“None whatsoever. Why do you even care? I mean, sick fucks like that, what difference does it make that they're technically human? If they were vamps you'd be racing me for the privilege of dusting them?”
“It doesn't make a difference. I know I swore an oath to protect humanity, but that's not why. They won't last long, anyway. Sooner or later the girl they pick on will be a vampire without a handicap. If she's a nasty character like the late Darla, or Sunday,” Giles avoided mentioning Drusilla, “and if she finds them amusing enough, they won't merely die, and there'll be a whole new horror in Sunnydale. On the whole I'd prefer them to just die now. It's not for their sake that I don't want you to kill them, Spike. It's for yours.”
Spike shook off his game face. A perplexed frown appeared on his human visage. “For my sake?”
“You've come such a long way. Achieved so much. But killing humans will change things. It might not change you; the distinction between humans and intelligent demons is not what I once thought it was, and I don't see it as a line that can't be crossed any more. But I think it might cause problems between you and the others. Especially Buffy.” Giles engaged in his habitual displacement activity, removing and polishing his glasses. “You must decide for yourself. But I would much prefer you to leave them to me.”
Spike looked into eyes as cold as his own. Giles' ‘Ripper’ persona was back. “You would do that? Kill humans?” The vampire tilted his head and looked quizzically at the Watcher. “I was all ready for you to make a speech about the sodding sanctity of human life. Was ready to get angry. Expecting you to think that they mattered more than Harm because of them being human and her being a vampire. Thought you'd think she was less than them. I was misjudging you, Rupert, and I'm bleeding sorry.”
“There was a time I would have thought exactly that,” Giles confessed. “It is you who have shown me that I was wrong. And, to some extent, Harmony. I must admit I have grown rather fond of that irritating young woman. Shallow, petty, vain, chattering, she is all those things. But likeable nonetheless. And I really see no reason why the so-called humans who did - that - to her deserve any more consideration than any other evil creatures. DNA and such be damned. They are the demons, not Harmony. If you sniff them out for me, I'll snuff them out for you.”
There were less salubrious nightspots in Sunnydale than The Fish Tank, but none that catered to human clientele. He had to push past tattooed bikers, dock workers, and sailors to get near the two young men. Well dressed, although the clothes weren't all that clean. Dust, sweat, dried blood. They were leering at the stripper, making comments about her silicone enhanced breasts and her barely concealed pussy, making gestures. She took no notice except to give a false smile; this was her job, it was what she was there for, it meant no more to her than if she was typing or slinging burgers or filleting fish. He couldn't ignore it the same way. He knew what they'd said a few hours previously.
He stood beside them, sipped beer from a bottle, tucked a five dollar bill into the stripper's thong. Once she'd moved away he spoke, making sure the young men heard. “Bitch's got a knife but she hasn't got the guts to use it.”
They froze. Turned. Stared at him. “Bitch ain't gonna tell anyone,” he went on.
“What are you getting at, mister?” one asked him, menacingly.
“Oh, I think you know,” he replied. “You were saying it three, four hours ago. Near the Bronze.”
“You'd better keep your mouth shut, if you know what's good for you,” the other young man threatened.
He laughed. “Bring it on. I'm not a helpless girl.” He moved away from the bar, beckoning them towards him.
“Take it outside.” The bouncer loomed. Big, muscled arms with an Airborne tattoo, baseball bat swinging negligently from one hand. No reflection in the mirror behind the bar. They obeyed.
They didn't charge him as soon as they were outside. Instead one pulled out a knife, the other something worse. A squat, short barrelled, heavy calibre revolver. Charter Arms Bulldog or similar. Probably .44 Special, or maybe .357 Magnum. Not to be sneered at.
“You keep your mouth shut, pal, or you're dead meat.” The young man brandished the revolver in what he thought was a threatening manner.
He had intended to make this last, to beat them around, to make them realise what it felt like to be the victim, but that wasn't practical any more. Time for Plan B. The Beretta came out with practiced ease, and he fired before the revolver could be turned towards him. Double hammer, just the way he'd been taught, target centre chest. Good solid hits. The target reeled, dropping his gun. Time for the one with the knife. Stomach first, ride the recoil, chest, head. Five shots. Target destroyed.
The other one was on his hands and knees. Coughing up blood. Scrabbling for his revolver. No way, José. Another volley from the Beretta. Three more bullets. Chest, head, head again. Mission accomplished.
Wearily, Riley Finn holstered his pistol and walked quickly away.