"So. Vampires."

Nick shook his head, letting out a nearly silent laugh as he ran his hand through his hair and met the eyes of his guest across his kitchen table.

"Don't know why that's so hard to wrap my head around, given all the things I've seen in the past two years. But – somehow it is."

The girl – Buffy, and that was something to get used to, too, the idea that any rational parent would ever name their child Buffy – smiled, nodding. "Oh, believe me, I know. I didn't believe it either the first time I saw one. Thought I was losing my mind."

"That… sort of sums up the way I felt a couple years back," Nick agreed. "I thought I was crazy. Seeing things. But – it's all real. Even vampires, apparently. Why not? I met a real Bigfoot last year."

"Bigfoot? Really?" Buffy only seemed mildly surprised. "Now that, I thought was fake."

Nick wasn't really sure why he'd invited her home with him, so soon after meeting her. She was clearly very physically powerful, with fighting skills that drastically outweighed his own – and he had no real guarantee that she was actually on his side. Maybe he should have thought better of it, taken her somewhere public and neutral and well-lit so they could talk – but then, this topic of conversation was better discussed in private, and he was pretty sure if she'd wanted to kill him, the alley where they'd met would have been a more convenient place.

He tried not to think about the other reasons why he might have brought her here – like the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a conversation with another person that wasn't related to a homicide, or simply heartbreaking. Or the fact that a part of him, deep down, just didn't care as much as he used to if some mysterious stranger did show up and murder him in his own home.

Who was there left to miss him, anyway? What was left in this life for him to miss?

"So, what else have you seen?" Buffy asked, taking a sip of the bottled beer that had been the only thing he'd had to offer her, grimacing a little, but then raising it to her lips for another sip. "What kind of… creatures, other than Bigfoot?"

Nick hesitated, his instincts piqued just a bit by her questions. She was clearly seeking information – but he had no idea yet exactly why; and while he might have been a bit careless these days with his own safety, he was far less willing to put the Wesen community at large in danger. If she was an enemy, then Buffy might prove to be far more formidable than any of the threats he'd faced in the past.

"I think before we talk about that," Nick suggested, raising his own drink, "you should tell me a little more about you, and why you're here. I'd feel a lot better knowing that, first."

"Fine." Buffy shrugged. She paused, tilting her head to the side a little as she looked him over again. Her tone was mildly confused, a little disbelieving, when she spoke again. "You really don't have any super powers at all? You're just – an ordinary guy?"

Nick felt unreasonably defensive, his shoulders straightening slightly, automatically. "Well, apparently someone doesn't think so. You came here looking for me, right?"

Buffy nodded. "That's part of it. I came here because the seers who are in contact with my Watcher told him about some big bad evil thingy that's supposed to show up here. In Portland. And – they also told him that you're the guy that's going to help me stop it."

Nick frowned, shaking his head. "There are seers now? And… evil thingy? That's… specific. And… what's a Watcher?"

"He's like… my teacher, sort of. Or he was, back when I needed one. He helped me learn all about this Slayer stuff."

"Slayer…?"

"Me, Slayer." Buffy pointed her bottle toward herself before taking another sip, then made a big display of how much she apparently hated the stuff she was drinking. "You know. I fight the monsters. And – he taught me how. Didn't you ever have anyone like that? Someone who taught you all the weird stuff you know about all the monsters and everything? Helped you learn how to… do what you do?"

A sharp pang struck Nick's chest, and he looked away, swallowing hard. "I did. A while back. He's… gone, now."

"Oh." Buffy set her bottle down, and when Nick glanced up at her, she was watching him with sad eyes. "I'm sorry."

Nick didn't reply, just nodded in acknowledgement of her sympathy before looking up again expectantly, impatient for her to go on and leave this awkward moment behind.

"Anyway, the – the reason I'm here," Buffy continued, looking down at the table, a bit uncomfortable, "is… the more the seers told my Watcher, the more familiar this big bad evil started to sound. See, there's this secret government organization I ran across a few years back, called themselves the Initiative. They know all about the supernatural stuff we think is so secret, and they – they hunt them. Monsters, demons, vampires – anything that's not human. And now… we believe that they're here."

"In Portland." Nick frowned, a vague unease building in the pit of his stomach.

Buffy nodded. "Yep."

"But… the creatures I deal with here… they are human," Nick pointed out. "There's… another side to them, yeah. They're supernatural all right, but – they're still people."

"That's true for some of what I deal with, too," Buffy agreed with a little grimace. "But these military guys – they don't care. Once they see any display of anything even a little bit… not-normal, all they can see is a monster. And according to my Watcher, they've been hunting them down in your area for at least the last six months, maybe longer. Capturing them. Studying them, doing… experiments."

Nick felt a little sicker at the thought of his Wesen friends, subjected to this kind of treatment. "Why?"

"They want to find ways to bring their powers under human control, so they can use them. Probably as weapons. Maybe for other things." Buffy looked down, shaking her head. "Which is… stupidly dangerous at best. The last time they tried it, it resulted in a bloodbath, humans and monsters alike. Anything they can't control, they destroy. Exterminate. And… that's just the beginning. What it results in at worst is…"

"Slavery," Nick finished, his voice low and troubled. "Genocide."

Buffy nodded slowly. "And you're the one who knows these creatures. You're the one they talk to… the one they trust. I need you to help me help them… and stop the Initiative before they can hurt anyone else."

Monroe lay on the bare cement floor of his cell, his entire body trembling with cold and pain. He couldn't find a position that was even a little bit comfortable – couldn't find a place on his body that didn't hurt – and every time he closed his eyes, he felt that he was back in that terrible place, back in the lab where they'd tied him down and burned him and injected him and set off shock waves of agony in his head that left his entire body thrumming with a searing heat. And yet, he couldn't seem to get warm, shivering miserably, without any clothing or covering to provide even the slightest comfort.

He wished they'd just killed him this time.

When the door to his cell creaked open, Monroe shuddered, turning his face down into his folded arms. He knew it could only be one person – and it was the last person he wanted to see.

It was the only person who scared him more than the ruthless doctors in the lab.

Monroe tensed at the sound of slow, measured footsteps approaching, and then flinched at the feeling of a rough, callused hand against his bare side, the gentle touch making his over-sensitized skin feel as if it was on fire. When he instinctively pulled away from the pain, however, his master's hand tightened firmly, the unspoken warning clear.

He didn't have the right to pull away. Master could do what he wanted with him, and any attempt to prevent him from doing so would be met with brutal punishment. Monroe went still, shivering and tense, waiting for the worst. But when Master spoke, his voice was soft and sympathetic.

"I tried to keep this from happening to you," he said sadly. "I told you what you had to do."

As he spoke, his hand trailed lightly down from Monroe's side, around to stroke over the tender spot at the base of his spine in a touch that was barely even contact at all, but still made Monroe's blood run cold, his breath stolen away, his stomach roiling dangerously at the terrifying threat that lay behind it.

"Please," he whispered, shaking his head. "Please, don't."

"Shut up."

Master's voice was quietly commanding, and Monroe immediately bit down on his lower lip to stifle his instinctive pleas. Master was quiet for a moment, bearing down just slightly with his hand – just to prove that he could – before moving his hand again… only to place it over Monroe's damaged hand in front of him. Monroe's breath caught in his throat with overwhelming terror, and he shook his head, burying his face in his arms again to silence himself before he could cry out. It didn't really hurt – not yet – but he knew all too well that this man was always just a single wrong word, a single imagined offense away from inflicting brutal agony.

"You didn't have to go through any of this, 74," Master pointed out, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "You didn't have to suffer like this. All you had to do was answer my questions." He crouched down, his hand tightening cruelly around the shattered bone and broken flesh of Monroe's abused right hand, and Monroe bit back a cry of anguish, struggling to be obediently silent. "You were doing so well," Master whispered with a falsely sad smile, "for so long. Why can't you submit in this one little thing? Why'd you have to go back to constantly pissing me off?"

Breathless with agony, Monroe struggled to respond, his words shaking and broken and stumbling over each other. "P-please," he gasped out. "I-if I could… could do w-what you want… I would, but… but I can't. He… he's too… he means too…" He looked up, shaking his head, silently pleading – his words not defiant, not challenging, merely desperately honest. "I'll die before I'll give him up."

Master studied his face for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly. Then, a cruel, ugly expression twisted his features – Monroe's only warning before he clenched his powerful fist around Monroe's hand, crushing it and forcing a helpless, strangled scream from his lips. Master's free hand reached down to grab Monroe's hair, pulling him up a little. His hand gentled slightly, running through the hair at the back of Monroe's neck in a gesture that was disturbingly possessive.

"Yeah," he said softly, false sympathy in his voice and expression, as he nodded slowly. "Looks like you will."