Comment: Or rather - warning!! There is some pretty nasty stuff in here, and I don't mean NICE nasty stuff. Readers expecting things to move on to the final big, hot scene between Willow and Spike will be disappointed - for now.
As for Spike himself... all I can say is: more chapters are coming up soon, and he's been dead for so long - a day or two won't hurt him too much, will they?
Chapter 3
No matter how hard she tried, Willow would never be able to remember what she was dreaming when they came. And she tried very hard, because she knew that was one of the best, sweetest dreams she had ever had. Maybe it was the best, and certainly it was the last good dream in a long long time. After that afternoon, where she had walked through a grey haze to Spike's crypt and had fallen asleep on his shoulder, dreams were not so sweet anymore.
They were on them in a second. Yells, black boots, flashes of green cloth and metal. Willow was pushed aside and her head knocked against the wall. Someone yanked her to her feet. Sleep still on her eyes, she grabbed for Spike, but they already had him halfway to the door.
"Hey, won't he turn to green goo if we expose him to sunlight?"
"That's the X-Files, you moron. Vampires turn to dust. What do you do with the research-files we get, paper dolls?"
"Shut up. The Colonel wants this one alive. We'll have to wait 'til dusk."
Spike tried to turn around to where Willow was standing. He struggled against the soldier that was holding him, and immediatly doubled up in pain.
"Don't, Spike! I'm ok."
"What do you want with her? Let her go!"
"Shouldn't have been here in the first place. Nice girl like this, snuggling up with the likes of you. You're no better than animals in a cave. I wanna puke all over this place."
"Very inspirational", snickered Spike. "Really, you're moving me to tears here. And nowhere else, at least for a good long while, as your adorable collegue here so brightly and justly remarked. Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen."
Think, think, he needed time to think. If it had been just him, he would have run out into the sunlight without hesitation, or fought them until the chip killed him - anything before returning to the white cell. But Willow was here, what did they want from her? Her demeanor was calm, but Spike could feel barely controlled fear raging though her.
"We'll just pull a blanket over you, what do you think we are, stupid?"
"Well, now that you mention it - yes, the thought had crossed my mind."
"That's enough, put him out! And the girl too, we don't need her screaming and howling all the way down home."
"No, wait, I won't scream, I won't-"
--------------
It was a smooth operation from the inside. Riley had his men in all the right places, and as soon as word reached him that they were ready to leave, he had them move into position. He had the feeling this was the last time he would get a chance to use all his military skills, and he certainly would never again work with the kind of resources the Initiavtive offered him. So, he intended to make a show of it. This was personal.
--------------
They were killing them. Methodically, one after the other. This wasn't experimenting anymore, it was not what they called "research", and they didn't have the time to torture them for fun, either. This was a routine, the final routine. Willow could hear the cries coming closer at a measured pace that almost had a rythm to it. Capture demons, put them in cells, kill all the demons in cells, start all over. Like a videogame at beginner level.
The fact that the soldiers talked about what they were doing openly in front of her scared Willow more than anything else. They had been carrying the bodies of the dead creatures past the glass front-panel of her cell for hours and hours. This wasn't some under-cover, top-secret, hush-hush operation. This was "get outta here fast and nasty". This was defeat.
The order had come unexpectedly. Well, yes, things were not running so smoothly. There had been various instances of prisoners escaping, that college-witch-girl hacking her way into their security system, a good man like Riley running off with another of those college-sluts, the one who called herself a Slayer... Well, they knew they weren't signing up for some nice nine-to-five office job. Worse things had happened in the Inititiative's long and turbulent history.
But now, the big shots, HQ and all the heavy brass had decided the Sunnydale base was no longer worth it. At least for now. Too many hostiles, too many unexpected variables. So, the order was to do as much damage as possible in 24 hours of non-stop duty for all hands, then pack up and leave. The machine was working, and whatever got in its way would be grinded to dust.
Or whoever.
The heavy atmosphere of adrenaline, testosterone, human and non human fear, and sweat had Willow ready to faint. She knew that somewhere, in some room with bare walls, some men in uniforms would be deciding what to do with her. And she knew the deliberations wouldn't be long. One civilian "casualty" was very acceptable under these circumstances. Under ANY circumstances, actually. Besides, they had a personal grudge on her. She wondered vaguely how they would do it: use the same instruments they were using with the demons and vampires (stakes, knifes, spikes - yes, spikes), or actually have the grace to waste a bullet on her.
She couldn't care less. At this point, Willow had ceased to care. If this was the world she lived in, a world of white cells, cries of pain and anguish, and drops of blood on boots so perfectly polished you could see your reflection in them - then she was beyond caring. A world where a 200-year-old man whom she had given her blood to drink had vanished into dust just because someone was in a hurry. A man on whose shoulder she had been peacefully sleeping a whole lifetime ago. A man with eyes blue as a true heart.
And it was the same soldier who had commented on Spike's death casually, passing outside her cell half an hour ago, who now entered her own cell to kill her. Willow rose to her feet.
He was nervous. Willow could see sweat pearling his upper lip and temples. There was a gun in his hand, and it was shaking. Willow smiled, and her lips began to move, barely producing any sound.
"I... I'm here to... my orders are..."
The boy was not yet out of his teens, there was a burst of acne around his nose. He kept looking anxiously over his shoulder. There were undefined noises, shouts, bumps, and the sound of running feet, coming closer. When he looked back at her, Willow's smile made him shiver. He forgot what he wanted to say, he forgot what his orders were. He froze.
"I know who you are. You are the hunter, and the queen has sent you out to bring back Snow-White's heart."
Her lips continued moving, but the soldier couldn't hear a sound. Suddenly, he felt a hotness trickling down his throat. When he wanted to speak, he only produced a few chortled, gurgling noises. Gripping his throat with both hands, he stared at Willow in unbelieving horror.
She continued to murmur, blood started to spurt forth underneath the soldier's hands - and Riley and Buffy came running around the corner just as his head was hitting the ground with a soft, unremarkable "thump".
"Willow! Are you - oh my GOD!"
The body of the soldier crashed to the floor beside his severed head. Willow spoke the final words of the spell and looked up. Buffy had turned her head in disgust, and Riley's unnaturally wide eyes were fixed on Carter's head, which had rolled into the far right corner of the cell. Carter, that was his name. Riley could remember that he always had scrambled eggs with ketchup for breakfast and wore a lucky Saint Christopher's medal around his neck. His mother had had it purified with holy water from Lourdes.
When his eyes finally met Willows, he only saw confusion. Her voice was low, and her tone that of a person who wants to be polite but isn't really interested in the answer to her question.
"Who is God?"
As for Spike himself... all I can say is: more chapters are coming up soon, and he's been dead for so long - a day or two won't hurt him too much, will they?
Chapter 3
No matter how hard she tried, Willow would never be able to remember what she was dreaming when they came. And she tried very hard, because she knew that was one of the best, sweetest dreams she had ever had. Maybe it was the best, and certainly it was the last good dream in a long long time. After that afternoon, where she had walked through a grey haze to Spike's crypt and had fallen asleep on his shoulder, dreams were not so sweet anymore.
They were on them in a second. Yells, black boots, flashes of green cloth and metal. Willow was pushed aside and her head knocked against the wall. Someone yanked her to her feet. Sleep still on her eyes, she grabbed for Spike, but they already had him halfway to the door.
"Hey, won't he turn to green goo if we expose him to sunlight?"
"That's the X-Files, you moron. Vampires turn to dust. What do you do with the research-files we get, paper dolls?"
"Shut up. The Colonel wants this one alive. We'll have to wait 'til dusk."
Spike tried to turn around to where Willow was standing. He struggled against the soldier that was holding him, and immediatly doubled up in pain.
"Don't, Spike! I'm ok."
"What do you want with her? Let her go!"
"Shouldn't have been here in the first place. Nice girl like this, snuggling up with the likes of you. You're no better than animals in a cave. I wanna puke all over this place."
"Very inspirational", snickered Spike. "Really, you're moving me to tears here. And nowhere else, at least for a good long while, as your adorable collegue here so brightly and justly remarked. Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen."
Think, think, he needed time to think. If it had been just him, he would have run out into the sunlight without hesitation, or fought them until the chip killed him - anything before returning to the white cell. But Willow was here, what did they want from her? Her demeanor was calm, but Spike could feel barely controlled fear raging though her.
"We'll just pull a blanket over you, what do you think we are, stupid?"
"Well, now that you mention it - yes, the thought had crossed my mind."
"That's enough, put him out! And the girl too, we don't need her screaming and howling all the way down home."
"No, wait, I won't scream, I won't-"
--------------
It was a smooth operation from the inside. Riley had his men in all the right places, and as soon as word reached him that they were ready to leave, he had them move into position. He had the feeling this was the last time he would get a chance to use all his military skills, and he certainly would never again work with the kind of resources the Initiavtive offered him. So, he intended to make a show of it. This was personal.
--------------
They were killing them. Methodically, one after the other. This wasn't experimenting anymore, it was not what they called "research", and they didn't have the time to torture them for fun, either. This was a routine, the final routine. Willow could hear the cries coming closer at a measured pace that almost had a rythm to it. Capture demons, put them in cells, kill all the demons in cells, start all over. Like a videogame at beginner level.
The fact that the soldiers talked about what they were doing openly in front of her scared Willow more than anything else. They had been carrying the bodies of the dead creatures past the glass front-panel of her cell for hours and hours. This wasn't some under-cover, top-secret, hush-hush operation. This was "get outta here fast and nasty". This was defeat.
The order had come unexpectedly. Well, yes, things were not running so smoothly. There had been various instances of prisoners escaping, that college-witch-girl hacking her way into their security system, a good man like Riley running off with another of those college-sluts, the one who called herself a Slayer... Well, they knew they weren't signing up for some nice nine-to-five office job. Worse things had happened in the Inititiative's long and turbulent history.
But now, the big shots, HQ and all the heavy brass had decided the Sunnydale base was no longer worth it. At least for now. Too many hostiles, too many unexpected variables. So, the order was to do as much damage as possible in 24 hours of non-stop duty for all hands, then pack up and leave. The machine was working, and whatever got in its way would be grinded to dust.
Or whoever.
The heavy atmosphere of adrenaline, testosterone, human and non human fear, and sweat had Willow ready to faint. She knew that somewhere, in some room with bare walls, some men in uniforms would be deciding what to do with her. And she knew the deliberations wouldn't be long. One civilian "casualty" was very acceptable under these circumstances. Under ANY circumstances, actually. Besides, they had a personal grudge on her. She wondered vaguely how they would do it: use the same instruments they were using with the demons and vampires (stakes, knifes, spikes - yes, spikes), or actually have the grace to waste a bullet on her.
She couldn't care less. At this point, Willow had ceased to care. If this was the world she lived in, a world of white cells, cries of pain and anguish, and drops of blood on boots so perfectly polished you could see your reflection in them - then she was beyond caring. A world where a 200-year-old man whom she had given her blood to drink had vanished into dust just because someone was in a hurry. A man on whose shoulder she had been peacefully sleeping a whole lifetime ago. A man with eyes blue as a true heart.
And it was the same soldier who had commented on Spike's death casually, passing outside her cell half an hour ago, who now entered her own cell to kill her. Willow rose to her feet.
He was nervous. Willow could see sweat pearling his upper lip and temples. There was a gun in his hand, and it was shaking. Willow smiled, and her lips began to move, barely producing any sound.
"I... I'm here to... my orders are..."
The boy was not yet out of his teens, there was a burst of acne around his nose. He kept looking anxiously over his shoulder. There were undefined noises, shouts, bumps, and the sound of running feet, coming closer. When he looked back at her, Willow's smile made him shiver. He forgot what he wanted to say, he forgot what his orders were. He froze.
"I know who you are. You are the hunter, and the queen has sent you out to bring back Snow-White's heart."
Her lips continued moving, but the soldier couldn't hear a sound. Suddenly, he felt a hotness trickling down his throat. When he wanted to speak, he only produced a few chortled, gurgling noises. Gripping his throat with both hands, he stared at Willow in unbelieving horror.
She continued to murmur, blood started to spurt forth underneath the soldier's hands - and Riley and Buffy came running around the corner just as his head was hitting the ground with a soft, unremarkable "thump".
"Willow! Are you - oh my GOD!"
The body of the soldier crashed to the floor beside his severed head. Willow spoke the final words of the spell and looked up. Buffy had turned her head in disgust, and Riley's unnaturally wide eyes were fixed on Carter's head, which had rolled into the far right corner of the cell. Carter, that was his name. Riley could remember that he always had scrambled eggs with ketchup for breakfast and wore a lucky Saint Christopher's medal around his neck. His mother had had it purified with holy water from Lourdes.
When his eyes finally met Willows, he only saw confusion. Her voice was low, and her tone that of a person who wants to be polite but isn't really interested in the answer to her question.
"Who is God?"