I didn't fade slowly back to consciousness - I snapped. Cautious and very aware of a residual ache in the back of my head, I explored my environment without moving. Cold and heavy metal encircled my wrists. Manacles, I assumed. It took all my self-control not to jump to my feet, growling and thrashing. Manacles had always been a fear of mine. But there were bigger things to think about.
I could hear the low hum of a ventilation system, but the air in here was still. It didn't feel like a small room. Perhaps it was a large building. A building with power, anyway.
I let my eyes open to slits. The room was dim but far from dark. Certainly gave my night vision no problems. I shifted from the graceless position, facedown on the cold concrete, moving slowly to minimize the rasp of metal against metal.
Now for the smells of the room. Men. Lindsey. Fucker. It was getting harder and harder not to scream. There were faint smells of smoke and leather. Vampires didn't leave much of their own scent, but Spike's habits wove a signature with which I was intimately familiar.
He had been here, with Lindsey, and they'd left. I was also quite familiar with the smell of vampire dust, and there was none here. So I could focus on anger. And escape. And rescue.
I tested my restraints. Reasonably firmly seated chains, with about four feet of give. Standard size, which was good. I worked my trick with my right hand - folding it insanely narrow, and yanking it viciously through the shackle. There was more flesh left behind on the cuff than I'd have preferred, but no bone, so that was good.
Now for the other hand. I looked around the room, inhaled the last traces of Spike's smell, and channelled my anger into one more swift tug. With a firm grip, a good angle, and all of my undead strength I snapped the chain in half. There was a pulling and tearing in my shoulder, but again the bones stayed where they belonged.
I paced the limits of the room, playing with the chain dangling from my wrist. The metal door was locked. It was hung to open inwards, and I didn't think I could force it without making an unholy fracas. I hunkered down beside the doorway to consider my options.
I only came up with one. Kill the next person that came through the door. Not the most complex or far-reaching of plans, but it would do in a pinch.
I heard the fall of footsteps. And then came the smell. Maybe I wouldn't kill him immediately.
The door was open and he was two steps into the room before Lindsey realized I wasn't where I should have been. He noticed this because I was behind him, wrapping the length of chain around his throat.
"Hey cutie." My voice was much rawer than I'd been expecting. I liked the effect. I had the leverage to hoist his chin higher with the metal, so I did. Roughly.
"You don't want to kill me." His voice was always this husky, I supposed.
"Oh, hush with the sweet talk, Lindsey," I purred. "You can't imagine how much I'm looking forward to snapping your neck."
"Kill me, and they have no reason not to stake Spike." His voice rumbled through to my chest and I braced against him, rocking him to his toes. "They don't want his chip. I do."
I'd forgotten how good he smelled. I don't remember all humans smelling this good. Many vampires enjoyed the chemical stink of fear, but I wasn't one of them. Lindsey wasn't afraid. In fact there might have been a whiff of eagerness, perhaps even arousal. Pervert. I was loving it. Hating him, loving it.
"Tell me more."
"I have nothing against you two crazy kids," he continued, calm and persuasive. And sarcastic. "I get the chip, the docs sew him back together, and you two go on your vampy way."
I dragged the chain across his neck to free him. I made sure to do it roughly enough to bruise. Suddenly released, he stumbled, and I shoved him for good measure.
He turned to face me, fingers idly stroking the scratches at his throat.
"He gave up, you know. He's giving me the chip." He regarded me with amusement. I hid my anger by swinging the chain back and forth. Well, perhaps I didn't hide it convincingly.
"Take me to him," I snapped.
He smiled, feeling he'd won, knowing I didn't want to believe him. The chip had seemed important to Spike.
He walked past me slowly. I think the brush against my arm was deliberate. I hope he enjoyed it. Fucker. Under other circumstances, I might have too.
He didn't turn around to see if I was following him, or react when I reached his side and matched his gait. For now I felt comfortable taking him at his word. I could always kill him later.
That was when I realized I'd lost my butterfly knife. I know, I know, fists and fangs, what does a vampire need with a knife? But it was a nice knife, pretty, and very sharp. And Spike had … well, he probably hadn't bought it, but he'd given it to me, and that was what counted.
I must have trusted Lindsey a little - here I was thinking sappy and sentimental thoughts about gift weapons from Spike. Somewhere inside I realized I believed Spike was okay, that I'd find him, and that we'd kill all the people responsible for this. It was almost exciting. My step got lighter and I absently stroked the chains I'd neatly rewrapped around my forearm.
Finally, featureless corridors later, Lindsey paused and exhaled deeply. Self-satisfied little prick. Damn, he smelled good.
"Remember, they're not going to try and save my life," he said. "You kill me, and they wreck Spike, or dust him if you're lucky. Let them do their job, and we'll leave you alone."
Sure. Whatever.
The doors opened onto a makeshift operating theatre. Very spare - easy to do when you don't have hygiene concerns.
Spike was securely strapped to a tilted operating table. His head was braced, and the back of it was tented. Two doctors were hard at work, muttering to each other.
He must have known I was there; ready to kill them all and save him, but he kept his eyes closed. You didn't use general anaesthesia for brain surgery, and I suspected Lindsey only used anaesthesia to get dates.
Everything else fell away as I walked towards him; smug Lindsey, busy doctors, dingy room. I grasped one of his pale hands as firmly as I could.
"No," he said.
No? No?
I waited.
"Don't," he continued.
Didn't he know I'd had a scream building since I'd woken up? Why was he doing this to me?
He squeezed my hand gently. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, he had opened his too, and was looking at me.
"He," I hissed, gesturing with my chin towards where I felt Lindsey was standing, "he said you'd given up."
"Nah, luv," he said quietly. "Not bloody likely."
I was dizzy with relief.
"What, then?" I was still whispering, pointlessly.
Defiance and a touch of contempt washed over his face. I knew it was going to be okay. I even had room for another pang of missing my beautiful knife.
"It's my call now," he said.
"There we go. Thanks for your help." I turned to Lindsey's voice. The two doctors were standing behind him. In one hand was a case I presumed held his precious chip.
I stepped towards him, swinging my chain and smiling. Finally, I thought. His other hand appeared, holding a large cross.
My first reflex was to flinch. My second reflex was to lash out with the chain. The cross clattered to the floor, and Lindsey laughed as he stepped backwards into a sudden shaft of sunlight. I stepped back, victim again of reflexes.
He turned nonchalantly and walked out into the noonday sun, following the doctors. Did I mention he was a fucker?
I closed the door carefully. No need to add crispy to my collection of bloody, bruised and torn. I walked around the gurney. Spike was stitched up very neatly; you couldn't tell anything had happened beneath his tousled hair. My shallow self was grateful.
"Let us out, luv?"
I straddled the gurney, freeing him from the multiple straps. He paused me in my efforts and teased me about my chain.
"If I'd known you liked flashy jewellery, kit …" He laughed, and I had to kiss him.
"But the chip?" I asked, when I was finished kissing and had gone back to untying him.
"Like I told you - long story."
We both turned and looked at the sliver of sunlight leaking under the door.
"I've got time," he said, picking the lock on my cuff. I smiled fondly at him, flung the chain with a crash into the door, and curled into his arms.
He talked. I listened.
He talked of being sired, of running wild. He talked of slayers. Slayers? Nothing I'd have to worry about, he assured me sadly. He talked of Angel and Angelus, of Drusilla and Darla. He talked of the chip and of The Slayer - he capitalized it with his reverence. He talked of love, unexpected and unaccepted. He talked of keys that would unlock the end of the world. End of the world? Not something I needed to worry about, he assured me again, still sadly. He talked of a Little Sister, of understandings reached, of promises made, attempts failed, and a vow renewed over a flower-strewn grave.
He talked, I listened.
The sun set, and we stood in the doorway looking at the new night.
"You have to go to her, don't you?" I tilted my head and looked at him from the corners of my eyes.
"Yeah." He reached over out of habit and straightened my head. I luxuriated in the grip of his strong fingers. "Things have changed. They need to know."
I watched him go, platinum and alabaster and black black leather, disappearing into the familiar night of Sunnydale.
I smiled and stuffed my hands into my pockets. The hand was feeling better, but my shoulder still ached. I set off in the direction of home, walking in beat to the music in my head.
At night when you turn off all the lights
There's no place that you can hide
Oh no, the rhythm is gonna get you
Rhythm is gonna get you
Rhythm is gonna get you
Rhythm is gonna get you
The rhythm is gonna get you tonight