Tori pulled herself up by one arm, the other tucked behind her back. She stared straight ahead, not bothering to acknowledge the bleached blonde head in front of her. Her legs were curled under her as she released and pulled up on the bar again. The burn in her arm only drove her on.

"Are you listening to me, Pet?" Spike called to her again.

She shot him a dirty look and then returned her concentration to the hundredth chin-up she was getting ready to perform. He talked too much. Always yammering away when all she wanted was quiet contemplation. And always with the 'love' and the 'pet.' She'd knocked him flat on his ass the first time he'd tried out one of his customary endearments on her. But it hadn't stopped him.

She dropped down from the bar and stretched out her sore arms. He was in front of her in a flash, his cool hands taking over for her, massaging her strained biceps.

"Where were you?" he asked quietly.

"In the kill," she said truthfuly, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

He liked that about her. She was forthright. Didn't lie to him. Didn't run. And she wasn't the least bit afraid of what he was. He tipped her chin up with a gentle finger.

"It's okay, Love," he told her. "That's the kind of focus you need. The First won't be kind. It won't be gentle. And it won't care who or what you've killed. It will only have one thing in mind and that's you dead. Kill or be killed. We know all about that, don't we, Love?"

She nodded, her expression steely and tight as she remembered their first meeting.

"Jamison-Smythe, Victoria Leigh... Sergeant-Major... 42-99521."

The slight girl dressed in fatigues had her eyes fixed on some indeterminable spot on the wall. She had been nearly impossible to trap and had done more than a fair amount of damage to both the Watcher and the vampire before they sedated her.

"I'm getting too old for this," Giles sighed, taking a seat at the edge of one of the double beds in the tiny motel room.

"Not getting much younger myself," Spike quipped.

The only information she would give them was the standard name, rank and serial number.

"Miss Jamison-Smythe," Giles tried again. "Please, try to work with me, here. I knew your father, Merrick. He was with the Council of Watchers. Miss -- Victoria, dear, you are one of the chosen. You are a Slayer."

She shot him a look that sent icicles down his spine.

"Sergeant-Major Smythe," she asserted. "And my father worked for an undercover government op."

"Love," Spike began, trying the gentle approach. "Your father was a Watcher."

She glared at the vampire kneeling in front of her and swiftly kicked out a strong leg, knocking him on his back.

"Not your love, asshole. Sergeant-Major Smythe," she spat at him.

"Bloody hell!" he hollered, scrambling to his feet and as far away from her as he could. "Rupert, show her the journals."

It was the only way. Maybe if she saw the words written in her father's own hand, she'd believe them. Giles rummaged through his ruck sack and produced three hard-bound journals. He cautiously approached the volatile girl.

"These belonged to your father, Merrick Jamison-Smythe," he told her, watching her for any sudden moves.

She looked at the journals in his hands and then back to his face.

"I suggest you sedate me again if you intend to keep me here," she warned him. "Because once this shit wears off, I can break through these cuffs just as easliy as if they were made of foil."

Giles didn't doubt her one bit.

"We don't want to sedate you, Miss... Sergeant-Major Smythe. We want you to understand that it is your sacred duty to heed your calling," Giles explained.

"It is my sacred duty to protect and serve my country from foreign scum who kill Americans in the name of a God who will shun them on sight," she countered. "You stole me from my calling."