|
|
The Ostara Project - Pieces on a Board -- by Kismet
Rating: G
Series Description: The Ostara Project (La Femme Nikita crossover): A dark fic which examines serious issues focusing on the whole Buffy/spike Slayer/Vampire relationship.
Description: Spike and Buffy wake up chained in a sealed room. What's going on? Nikita is troubled by the whole mission, but Madeleine implies that there may be hope on the horizon....out on an island in the middle of the sea.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, but author retains rights over story, which can only be used with author's permission. A work of amateur fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
He woke to the scent of a mortal, very near. Nice, rich sweet scent of blood and salted skin. A familiar scent, and the source was so close that he could actually feel the warmth of a body radiating nearby.
He tried to open his eyes and it felt as if someone had beaten him about the head with a hammer. With a muffled, rasping oath, he tried to raise his hands to his temples only to find that they were chained together. Instantly he was wide awake.
The bed he was lying in was not his own. Large and softly-mattressed, it was covered with white sheets and a blue-patterned bedspread. The room was in gloom because the windows had been painted black, the only light coming from the lamps on either side of the bed. Nice, ordinary room which might have belonged to the parents of an ordinary family. Except that there were no mirrors and the windows were black behind the lace curtains.
The incidents of the night before returned full force and he jerked up, causing the other occupant of the bed to move in silent protest.
It was Buffy.
He growled in confusion. This was not The Initiative's headquarters. If it hadn't been for the shackles around his ankles and wrists, he would have believed that they had just ended up in someone else's house.
Leaning over the sleeping girl, he carefully checked her. No evidence of wounds or a struggle. She was sleeping peacefully, still in her robe and nightshirt. Carefully, he moved back the thick honey-streaked hair. With her eyes closed and her mouth relaxed and slightly open, she looked younger and more fragile than she was.
His legs were slightly unsteady when he swung them down to the floor. That drug they had shot him with must have been strong enough to floor a bull if it could take down a vampire, whose body could ordinarily dispel everything from cobra venom to mercury to mortal food which he wasn't supposed to eat. He just hoped that they hadn't given the same to Buffy, or she would wake sometime next year.
There was nothing in the closets save a change of clothes for the Slayer. The drawers were likewise empty. No matches, pins or even a mothball. According to his internal clock, it was close to midday now. He felt no urge to feed, and the ebb and flow of preternatural blood in him was just at that thickness which told him the time. He was no expert at vampire anatomy, but as everyone knew they had no pulse or heartbeat. Yet in some mysterious way the blood continued to flow and constantly replenished itself, thickening and gathering in force every time he fed. He could always tell the time from the viscosity of the blood in his undead veins, and the way it became sluggish as dawn neared and quickened when the sun set.
He tried one of the doors and found that it led to a bathroom, well appointed in sea green and gold, with a separate shower and jacuzzi. It was uncanny the way the place looked as if it had been lived in, right down to soap and shampoo. Only there were no windows and no mirrors. The other door was locked, of course.
Backing up, he gave it a powerful kick. The wood gave a little with a resounding 'thump !', but the door itself did not even give. Shifting to game face, he lashed out again and was rewarded this time when the section he hit splintered inwards, only to show him the shine of metal. Tight-lipped with frustration, Spike knelt and felt it. Smooth, cool, strong. Aluminium, he would guess.
Snarling with rage, he ripped a good section out of the door and snapped the panel to pieces.
The hidden cameras recorded every move, relaying it to the team outside and to Headquarters.
Michael watched the screens without a word as the indistinct male tossed the splinters aside and began agitatedly pacing the confines of the room. He was strangely blurred in contrast to the sharp definition of everything else around him. It was evident at a glance, but none of the operatives said a word.
At Headquarters, a darkly-suited woman was likewise watching the little scene, but she had seen the strength and temper before. What interested her was the male's concern about the other prisoner.
Things were heading in the right direction.
In the room, Spike had no inkling of all this. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, hating the shackles that restricted his movement and the confines of the room. He hated being confined just as much as he hated being controlled, traits which drove him to challenge every figure of authority who crossed his path. Already his feet were tapping and his fingers fidgeting. He needed something to do.
A quick search of his pockets found that, while he still had his wallet and its contents including fake ID and money, the keys and certain other hard items had been removed. He still had his lighter, though, and two packs of cigarettes.
The flame rose golden yellow with blue at its heart as he lit the first one and took a pull, the smoke flooding into him and calming him down. He needed to calm down, needed to think, to find a way out of here.
By the time Buffy stirred, he had already gone through half of the first pack, and stubs and ash filled the ashtray on the left side of the bed. He turned around when she flopped over onto her back, grimacing as she groaned, and stubbed out his cigarette.
"Wake up, love." He tapped her gently on both cheeks with his fingers. "Who's a lazy little Slayer now ?"
"Go'way," she mumbled in protest. "Head hurts...too much drink, drunk...must be.. Spike in the head. Uurrghh."
Despite himself he grinned as he turned around and knelt on the mattress, shaking her gently. "Buffy ? Who's the President of the United States ?"
"Mmmffbrrgh....Clinton," she turned over stubbornly. "Chtoo bad."
His shoulders were beginning to shake with silent laughter. "Did Giles go drinking last night ?"
"Giles ish..old. Too old tch dance...toobad." She snuggled into the pillows. "Couldf been ohkay to look at tho."
"You think Giles is a handsome git ?" Wonders would never cease.
"Scch ohkay.....better'n Ohsz. Will's thascte funny." Buffy smiled in her half-sleep. "Mmmmm....Angelsch better."
"Really," he said, voice heavy with sarcasm as he lay propped up on his elbow beside her. "Don't you think he's too broody, love ? Playing Cryptic is fine, but conversation does get depressing."
"Talksch not importe..." she rolled over against him, then smiled at finding something to snuggle up against. "Nisce body...."
"Is that it ?" The laughter was taking hold again. "So he's.."
"But Schpike's nice too. Too bad he's bad. Like Spike....Spikey's talkhin' in my'ead..."
He was nice, was he ? Somehow, it didn't sound too bad from his end. Reaching down, he pinched her nose and held it.
She shook her head after a while, and when it did not dislodge him, one bleary eye cracked open.
"Morning, pet."
The other bleary eye cracked open. Her mouth opened. "What are you doing in my bed ?" She sounded so raspy and disgruntled he flashed her a grin.
"Not your bed any more, love. Take a look around."
She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Then, she said, "We got kidnapped."
"Hit the nail on the head, love. I don't know where we are, except that we can't get out."
She stared some more.
"What's the matter, Slayer ?" He pushed himself up, cursing the chains. "Are you all right ?"She was a funny colour.
"Spike, I think..." She stopped and gulped. "I think I'm going to be sick. Really soon."
"Bloody hell." Hastily he scooped her up, nearly tripping, and made a dash for the bathroom. He barely got her positioned over the toilet before she gagged and regurgitated the remains of last night's food. He had forgotten some of the inconveniences of being human, though it was all coming back to him as he leaned against the wall listening to the sounds of her agony. He had been like that more times than he could remember after a night of too much raw spirits.
When the choking quieted, he leaned over. "Better now ?"
It was a while before she could answer. "I feel like the living dead." One limp hand pushed down the flush as Buffy staggered to her feet.
"Thank you for the comparison."
Ignoring him she wobbled to the basin and turned on the water full force, splashing her face and gargling. "Someone ran a steamer over me, then backed up and did it again."
"Drugs, love. How did they get you ?"
"They knocked on the door." She shook her head disgustedly, bent over the sink. "I've gotten too used to enemies who can't come in unless they ask politely first." She pushed hair out of her eyes. "Who are they ?"
"Not who you think they are," he said quickly. "At least, I think not."
She stared at him cannily till he shrugged in irritation. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself ?"
He stared at her for a moment, then turned around and walked out of the bathroom without a word. She heard the click of the lighter in the room already acrid with smoke.
"Ok, Buffy," she said to her reflection. "That was mean. And stupid. Jumpy Spike in a small room is not something you would want to deal with at the moment." Her face looked pinched and her skin grey, and it felt as if ten little men with hammers and awls were trying to drill out of her head.
She tried to think as she locked the door and slipped out of her clothes. Or tried to before she realised that there was no way her sleeves were coming off the chains. She shook her hands in exasperation, and heard a small jingle from inside the bunched up fabric. Slipping her hands into the pockets of her robe, she found two small keys. "Well, what do you know ?"
What could she remember from last night ? Did she even have an inkling where they were ? All she knew was that her attackers had been human, and that they obviously knew about her, having taken Spike as well. That last bit troubled her. Spike had gone to some trouble to ensure that the vampire population didn't see him actually helping her slay, but someone had been watching them at it. Without their knowledge.
As for The Initiative, from what Spike had told her they normally didn't go after humans......unless they thought she had been 'contaminated'. They also favoured electric stun-guns, not darts.
She sighed as the needles of hot water hit her flesh, soothing her. Thinking could wait till after her shower.
Nikita came out with two mugs of hot coffee as she took over from Michael. A quick glance showed her the tight weariness around his brown eyes, though he accepted her offer without a murmur. "You should get some sleep," she told her mentor.
"In a moment." He leaned back, crossing his long legs at the ankles as he sipped at the hot, dark liquid. "Is there any food in the house ?"
"Lindon's just preparing a tray for them," she nodded her head towards the screen. "Ham and eggs and toast OK ?" The girl had just finished showering and was slipping into the clothes Nikita had taken from the wardrobe in her room. There had been something odd about that, with one section devoted to sheaths and skirts and cardigans in light pastel or pretty prints, normal teenage fashions. The other had held clothes which reminded Nikita too much of her own wardrobe, boots and dark jeans and long coats, with the addition of a good amount of leather. She had chosen from there, feeling a sense of irony as she did so. She kept forgetting that the girl was possibly of the same ilk as the man whose blurred form was sprawled on the bed. She hadn't even seen his face properly yet.
"It sounds wonderful." There was something in his voice that made her glance at him, but his gaze was still fixed on the screen. He adjusted the headphones that allowed him to hear whatever was going on in their improvised containment room.
She shuddered slightly and Michael looked at her.
"What causes that ?" she touched her finger to the blurred form of the man. "What is wrong with these two that could make Section One bother to have 24-hour surveillance ?" She knew the answer to that, but what she needed now, she realised painfully, was Michael's reassurance. And she needed to know what he knew about it. It pained her to have to lie to him. She trusted him, and he should only be able to say the same about her.
"I don't know." He made the admission sound like a passing remark of no importance. "Maybe that itself," he touched the screen just as she had done," Is the reason. If Mr. Fitzgerald feels the need to be able to evade surveillance, it means that there is something he wishes to hide. Or maybe in his line of work it becomes a necessity."
The chill gripped her again, and with it a pang of pity. Genetic experimentation. The pictures and sketches on the desk. Was this why there were no photographs of Lansen Fitzgerald ? Who had he been before this, and had he agreed to take part, or had he just been swept up like she had been by Section? Like all of them. She looked at the girl again, who was drying her hair with a towel. Why was she not blurring ? Was it because she had been let out before it was finished, because she had been equipped with other attributes, or simply because she was an innocent ?
"What will they do with them, Michael ?"
This time his look was longer at the surprising question. "What can we say Section One will do ? It depends."
"I mean, if there was a mistake, about the girl, at least. She's shown no abnormality."
"I doubt there is a mistake. From their conversation I gathered they're familiar with each other."
"What if ?" She met his brown gaze with her blue one, refusing to back down.
"They might cancel her, or even use her."
As another unwilling operative. It lay in the silence between them like a card thrown down on the table.
The clink of glass behind them made both turn their heads. Lindon stood there with a tray. At Michael's nod he proceeded past them to the room where the prisoners were.
Buffy was trying to fold the napkin into an origami swan and failing. Spike was pacing the room again, a restless, unsettling pattern. There was nothing to do.
To calm him down she had tried to make him eat some of the large amount of food that had been put through to them through a raised slot under the door. She knew he didn't need it, but the motions of eating seemed to work. She had no watch with her, but by her guess they had been there for most of the day now, and it should be evening.
She eyed the vampire as the swan fell over. Another problem was coming to mind. If they had known enough to link Spike to her, why had they not provided a blood-bag instead of food for two people with each meal ? And if they didn't know what Spike was, why had the windows been blacked out ? To keep people from looking in ? It was a plausible reason, considering that the house they were in might even be in a quiet neighbourhood somewhere.
With a growl, Spike threw himself down beside her. "I don't bloody think I can stand much more of this !"
Buffy tossed the mutated swan aside. "Will you stop complaining ? I'm trying to figure out how we can get out of here and I can't do that with all your whining."
He snorted. "You can't even figure out who gave us breakfast and lunch; Sherlock Holmes you soddin' aint."
"If it wasn't for you I'd have broken the windows long ago," she returned hotly, the stagnation of the day adding to her irritation. "Maybe I should have just let you fry to a crisp."
"For that, I think I've found my blood donor for tonight," he threatened.
"And I think the bleach has finally seeped in to your brain."
"Look who's talking, blondie. Or should we say not-so-blondie ? Your roots are showing, pet."
Before she could stop herself her hand rose defensively to her scalp. Spike grinned and she thumped him on the back. He retaliated by pulling her hair.
"That's it !" Buffy raged, grabbing him by his short, white-blond locks and rising to her feet, pulling him along with her. "I've had it !"
"Oww ! Let go !" Spike took a swipe at her and immediately pain lanced through his head right through his brain and exploded behind his eyes. "Bloody...umph !" Buffy's fist snapped his head back and before he could scream at his body to stop, his reflexes made him strike her across the face.
This time the pain was tripled, driving him to his knees. "That's so bleedin' brave of you, Slayer," he gritted out. "Hitting a bloke who can't hit back."
Buffy backed away and dropped down onto the edge of the bed as she watched Spike on his hands and knees, shaking his head. "It serves you right." She was sorry inside, though she would have rather danced in a tutu on an episode of the Teletubbies rather than admit it. "Do you realise this means you're useless to me here ? You can't even help me punch our way out; I always knew I would end up having to pull your ass off the fire one day."
"Are you waiting for me to thank you ? As I recall it I was the one who saved your life the last time we were on patrol and you weren't complainin' then, pet." He sat back against the bed with his hands massaging his temples, his knees bent and feet flat upon the floor.
"I was doing fine before you came crawling to my doorstep," she fired back. "I didn't ask for your help, remember ?"
"I wasn't crawling ! I was....lurking," he said for want of a better word. "And just keep in that little brain of yours that I'm the only reason you're alive right now, alright ?"
"And you're probably the reason I'm locked up in here too." Buffy threw a pillow at his head, which he caught deftly with one hand without even turning around. "And I just hope they get us out of here before..."
"....I decide to snack on you."
"...I get bored out of my mind," she finished firmly. "Touch me and you're dust."
"I couldn't bite you even if I was dying to. Not that I am."
Nikita's mobile phone rang, and without taking her eyes off the screen she plugged it into the bank of machinery, transferring the connection to her headpiece. "Yes ?"
"Are you alone ?" Madeleine's voice whispered through the line into her ears.
Nikita glanced around. Michael had gone in to sleep and she could just see Vitchauski's legs through the half-closed door to the den. She was relatively alone.
"Yes," she turned back to the screen, frowning. "Did you hear...."
"I did," Madeleine said calmly.
"What were they talking....."
"A matter of small concern, till they are brought back," the smooth voice cut in. "There has been a change of plans. You are to take the prisoners to G13. Are you familiar with that ?"
Nikita's mind raced. G13 was not in Headquarters. It was, if she remembered correctly, a heavily guarded compound of labs which had just been completed in a top-secret location. "Yes, I..."
"Good, the plane leaves at 2300 hours. You will inform Michael. Necessary documents will be delivered to PO Box - - - - in two hours. And Nikita ?"
The tall blond closed her eyes briefly as she fought to control her frustration. "Yes, Madeleine ?"
"We will not be certain until we run certain tests, but there is a possibility that we may have been mistaken about the girl."
A flare of hope leapt in Nikita's heart.
"You will be given access to the pair under a certain amount of security, of course. I want you to conduct an evaluation of Ms. Summers and I will expect a report from you in two weeks."
"The pair of them ?"
"Yes. Overlook security protocol in this case and don't separate the two. Corresponding arrangements have been made at G13 but that does not concern any of you though you may need to know that your two teams will be the only operatives at the G13 site apart from regular staff and security personnel. Again I will stress that under no circumstances are the subjects to be exposed to sunlight at any time during transportation, but I expect Michael will oversee that."
"We'll need a new mission profile..."
"That won't be necessary. Dr. Goodman will brief you at the site."
"Wait, Madeleine !" Nikita broke in when it seemed the woman would end the call.
"Yes ?"
"What will happen if the girl is.....uncontaminated ?"
There was a pause. "I'm keeping options open."
There was a faint click as the line was cut off. Nikita unplugged her phone, staring at the screen. The two figures in the room had not moved.
In the privacy of her office, Madeleine leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers under her chin. Her face was smooth as always, even quietly amused, but her brown eyes were shadowed. There was an unexpected complication here and she would need to talk to the efficient Dr. Goodman about it. Trust The Initiative to have complicated matters.
She picked up the phone again and punched in a number. She needed more information on the male. There should be a file on him somewhere in the foundering organisation's databases.
Spike was sleeping at last, head resting on her thigh with the familiarity three years of fighting side by side every night had cultivated. Buffy was awake and bored. She'd braided all of her hair in little braids already and she was wistfully fingering the two inch lengths of the sleeping vampire's white-blond hair, wishing it was long enough to braid. How horrified he would be if he woke up to find his hair in dreadlocks.
"Funny, you forget to breathe when you're asleep," she noted, watching the stillness of his chest. Just to make sure, she half-sat up to put a finger under his nose.
There was a faint metallic clink from the door and she stiffened.
"Don't wake him," came the woman's voice very softly, so softly that if she had not had Slayer hearing she might have not been able to make it out.
"Who are you ?" said Buffy, suspicion crackling through her lowered voice. "Where are we ?"
"You may call me Nikita, but more than that I can't tell you."
"Crazy-much ?! You kidnap me from my house at 2 am, nab my...friend...from his place, lock us in here together then say you can't tell me more than your name ? That's crap !" Spike shifted in his sleep, turning over on his side.
"Listen to me," said the unseen woman. "This is no child's game; if you put a foot wrong you're liable to get burnt no matter what advantage you think the both of you have, but it does not have to be that way. Remember that." The little click came again, then she was gone.
Buffy didn't know what to make of it. It was such a small thing, a warning that any idiot with half a brain would have already known the minute he or she woke up with chains on their wrists.
When Spike woke up he was hungry. She could see it in his eyes when they opened on her and in the way he abruptly rolled off the bed. There was more food in a covered tray on the floor, but neither of them touched it. The tension in the room was palpable.
A scant few hours later door abruptly slid open. Spike rolled off the bed and the darts smacked harmlessly into the mattress as Buffy rose from her crouch beside the door, grabbing the shooter's arm and tossing him over onto the floor as she wrenched his arm. Smoothly Spike caught the tranquilliser gun Buffy tossed to him, the both of them moving in perfect tandem according to plan.
They had not planned for the two other operatives who had been hiding on either side of the door, waiting for the bait to bring the two captives into plain shot.
The last thing Buffy saw as she went down was an angel's face with long blonde hair and big blue eyes.
LOCATION : Mandaru Island. Base G13
TIME : 1625 hours.
DATE :April 3rd 20- -
The heat of afternoon had just begun to melt into the cool approaching evening when the plane appeared overhead. High in the canopy of the jungles, colourful birds screeched, taking to wing at the noise of jet engines. Small, nimble animals scampered down ancient trees into the eerie green of the sunlight that managed to filter through layers of leaf and branch. On the jungle floor, pillared by the gigantic breadths of lichen and liana-covered trees, barely any sound was heard at all save for those of the jungle itself.
Like a dark, sleek bird the plane climbed gradually down from the upper atmosphere, flying over the jewel-green shades of luxuriant tropical growth and over the humps of small mountains. There, behind their cover, was the airstrip and the ring of linked white domes that formed the heart of the compound. So far removed from shipping and air routes, they had no fear of anyone suddenly stumbling upon them. After all, anyone who landed on the shores would have to hack their way through impenetrable jungle to get there.
The wheels of the plane touched-down with barely any bumping at all. Draglines were shot out and anchored to lessen the plane's momentum so it wouldn't careen off the shortened airstrip.
Almost gracefully, the plane slowed to a halt near the modernistic, bullet-grey hoods of the hangars. Immediately the trucks appeared, carrying security personnel as well as the ground crews over the hot tarmac. Behind them, two Range Rovers followed.
The steps were wheeled up to the plane's rear exit and locked in place before the door was opened and seven men and one woman exited, nothing in their demeanour suggesting that they had just been on a long, exhausting flight over oceans.
The doors of the Range Rovers slammed as a team of men and women in white lab coats came out. One of them, a tall, spare man with a thick head of finely combed silver-grey hair, approached the bottom of the steps, his hand stretched out in greeting to the tall, dark-haired man and the blonde woman who were just stepping off the last step.
"Welcome to G13, I'm Dr. Goodman. How was the flight ?"
"Fine, thank you," said the dark-haired man in a soft, accented voice. "I'm Michael, and this is Nikita. This is Graham," he indicated the man behind him. We were told you are in charge of this base ?"
"That I am. Operations has already informed me of what we're supposed to do, but no rush. You must all be worn out from the flight. Have the rest of the day off and I'll brief you tonight." The handsome, aquiline profile smiled as the doctor turned to watch his team give instructions to the ground crew. "Forgive me if I seem a little distracted; this is the highlight of a lifetime's research and I want to savour it."
They watched in silence as the hatch in the plane's side opened. Security personnel who had been airlifted up darted in to attach hooks on high tensile steel wires to something unseen. With soft, mechanical whines the winches jerked to life and men shouted to each other as the containment unit was slowly dragged out. The sunlight glinted off its metallic silver sides. Of double layers of sheet aluminium and a titanium-walled inner chamber, it had two floor-layers of variegated grille on the bottom for ventilation but was totally sealed off in all other respects. Slowly and inorexibly the winches pulled it off the inbuilt rollers of the plane's hold onto the raised lift. It was then lowered and carefully manoeuvred into the back of the waiting trailer.
The doctor rubbed his hands together. "Shall we ?"
Tell the author what you think: