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The Ostara Project - Relativity -- by Kismet
Rating: PG-13
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: Waking in a closed-off tropical paradise where the staff take blood samples and perform surprise operations along with putting chocolates on the pillows, Slayer and Vampire are forced together in more ways than one. Who is the blond female 'operative' and her male counterpart, and why have they removed Spike's implant?
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.
"Parlieu told us the truth. The mission was successful," Madeleine said in her quiet, confident manner.
"Good," said Operations. He tapped a few keystrokes on his laptop and took off his spectacles.
"Paul."
Operations looked up. "Yes ?"
"You're distracted." Madeleine tilted her head with a knowing smile. "Is there something else you wanted to ask me ?"
A wry smile bent the line of his mouth. "I was wondering, in fact, if you've heard anything from Teams 4 and 12 ?"
"If you mean Nikita, nothing yet. Her report is not due for at least another week and a half. It takes time to establish sufficient rapport with a subject to get even the most basic information. Any word from Michael ?"
Operations took his time adjusting his thin-rimmed glasses. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Reports on the installation of G13 and the mechanics. I've been meaning to send in a team of operatives for some time now to test-drive the Base facilities. More and more our work is moving in a Southeast Asian and South Pacific direction; we need G13 to be able to support a large flow of operatives and projects."
"Undoubtedly."
There was a silence as Operations looked out the glass walls of his office down at the Intel centre below and the steady flow of operatives going to and fro. Madeleine waited.
As she expected, he gave in. "Any word from Dr. Goodman ?"
She smiled at his silent admission of defeat. "From what he's managed to gather so far, he's extremely enthusiastic about this. After all, he was the head researcher on the Ostara Project. He's run some tests."
"What about the problem that cropped up unexpectedly ?"
"They'll remove the chip. Minor surgery. Nothing that they can't overcome."
Operations shifted in his chair. "I don't like having to do it this way. It's too unreliable."
"It's done this way all the time by all living creatures, and it's been done this way for thousands of years with great success," she said with a smile.
"Never across so great a gap. I would have preferred it if we could take what we need and do it artificially."
"That would be impossible. We've tried and failed before, remember ? Even in the cases where there was success, the subjects mutated to a point where continuing life support was pointless. Even with the girl now the only way is..."
"This way, I know." Operations stood and walked to the glass wall, hands in his pockets. "I just don't like the minimal control that we have here."
"The prognosis is good." Madeleine pushed back her chair and stood up. "As soon as Dr. Goodman finishes we begin Stage 2." She paused at the door. "Dinner tonight ?"
"Your apartment ? I'll bring the wine."
"Don't be late." The door closed behind her.
It was happening all over again. The nightmares were becoming real and he was helpless, tied down under the impersonal blue-white lights, surrounded by white walls and people in white who were going to hurt him.
He struggled when they lifted him off the wheeled stretcher, fighting and kicking and threatening to tear apart the straitjacket they had strapped him into. It took five burly orderlies to hold him down and strap him onto the narrow, cushioned slab.
It was not real, it couldn't be real. He turned his head, snarling in panic.
Glimpses of people in white coats and blue lab suits walking on the periphery of his vision. Smell of disinfectant and machinery. The smell of hospitals and sterile places. The lights went on above his head, glaring down on him and reflecting off his gold eyes. He couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything even as he heard the great machine whirr to life behind him.
"Calm down, Mr. Fitzgerald," came that man's voice, filtering into the room through the speakers. "This is not going to hurt. We merely want to take a few scans."
The sheet of darkened glass above him, above all the medical paraphernalia around him. That must be where the bastards were hiding. Up there, watching.
Humans murmuring around him. They had taken him and the Slayer out of that bloody padded room they had been in. She had fought like a very devil but they had strapped her down too. And he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Knocked down a few of the bastards and his head was splitting in two, supernovas streaking across his vision. He couldn't fight for himself, couldn't protect her even when he heard her screaming to him. Even as they wheeled them both in opposite directions.
He couldn't think straight, couldn't concentrate on any one thing. He hated hospitals, hated labs, hated the sight of scrubbed down white...
With a hum the narrow shelf he was strapped down on began moving backwards towards the maw of the circular chamber that was the machine. He freaked as his eyes rolled up and glimpsed the white-lit interior, the banks of blue light on the inside of the upper curve.
The howls of rage and fear bounced off the walls at impossible decibels, making the staff still inside the room block their ears with their fingers. Above, those looking down into the room winced and Dr. Pierce Goodman quickly strode over to the speaker unit and turned down the volume, cursing whatever the inept people at The Initiative had done. Of course, his own studies had been based largely on their findings and he was not above resorting to certain methods if required to do so, but whatever those idiots had done were now complicating his project. All they were doing was CAT-scanning the subject and he was practically foaming at the mouth already! For the operation he made a mental note to double the doses of sedatives.
He clicked his tongue in irritation as he watched the machine begin its revolutions slowly. In this state of paranoia, how was the subject ever going to calm down enough ? Whatever Madeleine intended, he hoped she had a very good plan in store.
It was a pleasant if clinically clean room. The walls were painted a cool mint green and the curtains at the tightly shuttered window were a cheerful green and white print. There was minimal furniture, though, and she was strapped into the bed. The light from the lamps glistened on the bag that was connected to her arm by an IV tube.
Buffy's head whipped around on the pillow when the door opened.
It was the tall blond. The woman who had spoke to them from above in the padded cell they had woken up in. The woman who had given her that warning in the room.
With a snarl that would have done Spike proud Buffy curled her fingers and tried to sit up before she remembered that she was strapped down. She had never wanted to hurt anyone as much as she wanted to hurt this woman now, big blue eyes, gold hair parted in the middle and held back by a headband like a girl's and all.
"Hello," the woman said with a smile as she pulled up the only chair in the room to Buffy's bedside. "Haven't you gotten any rest ? You look tired."
Buffy was almost too amazed to laugh. "That's one weird way to put it. I've been dragged out of the room by male nurses or something in lab coats who look like linebackers, knocked out, and woken up in a hospital bed in special hospital pajamas with an IV tube in my arm. I hurt in places I shouldn't be hurting in and I don't know whether my kidneys have been removed or I've been injected with an experimental anthrax vaccine. Yes, I'm just spiffy, thank you. What have you done with Spike ?!"
The woman just considered her, crossing her legs. She was wearing a plain, impeccably cut black dress and killer black boots. She was built like a supermodel and there was an expression that was almost like concern on her face.
"You're angry."
"Bingo, go to the head of the class," she said with heavy sarcasm. "I'll ask again, what have you done with Spike ?"
"Shouldn't you be asking what has been done to you ?"
Good God, they've really done something crazy to me, Buffy thought in minor panic. She glared daggers at the woman, Nikita, was it ?
"If you mean Lansen Fitzgerald, he's safe. They just need to do a few scans, nothing that's going to hurt him."
Buffy stared at her. "Lansen Fitz-what ?"
The woman smiled. "Spike." She leaned forward. "Once they're finished we'll move the both of you to your proper rooms. They're much better than this, with access to the aviaries and you can take walks if you like. Security will be less intrusive."
"And we'll have cameras dogging our every move too, won't we ?" Buffy shook her head. "Just who are you people anyway ?"
"All you have to know is that we're called Section One." The woman fixed her baby-blues on Buffy almost earnestly. "I know you're angry, I know you feel trapped and cornered but really the best thing for you to do is to cooperate. If you fight you'll only make it unpleasant for yourself."
"How could you possibly know how it feels ? You're on the wrong side of the line, dear !"
"Believe me, I know how it feels," Nikita said quietly. "I was once in your shoes myself."
Surprise forestalled Buffy. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask further but Nikita was already continuing, "You can't escape even if you got past security. You're on an island in the middle of the ocean, and even if you get out of the compound we are surrounded by tropical jungle. If that doesn't get you the sunlight will." Her look was piercing. "You don't like sunlight, do you ?"
Buffy couldn't help it. The situation was so ridiculous she laughed. "What on earth made you think that ? That's why you blacked out the windows, isn't it ? Whoever you take your orders from is majorly scrambled in the brain department. Have you even fed Spike yet ?"
Nikita's brow creased slightly. "Fed him ?"
"You don't even know what you're dealing with, do you ?" Buffy shook her head. "Blood. That's what he needs. Blood."
LOCATION : Base G13, Secured Section 21- 4
TIME FRAME : 1915 hours. Two days later.
"Why was this kept from me ?" said Nikita furiously to Pierce Goodman in his office. "I can't work without knowing everything that you can give me !"
"Madeleine thought you would be capable of performing your duties based on what she told you." He didn't turn from his work at the computer. "She probably knew it would come out sooner or later."
"The intel I was given wasn't just faulty, it was an outright lie ! I was informed that the male, at least, had been the subject of a genetic experiment but Buffy tells me that he's a vampire !" Nikita banged on the table for emphasis. "A vampire !! Good God !"
"It wasn't a lie." Dr. Goodman snapped shut one of his files and opened another, tapping at his keyboard. "Hostile 17, as he was known as, escaped from an organisation known as The Initiative which works with non-human creatures. We've known of their existence for some time and of their studies on vampires, among other things.
"Vampires don't exist!" Nikita pushed up and paced the room.
The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "You haven't been to see the girl since your talk with her, have you ? Why don't you go down in 15 minutes and you'll see with your own eyes what I can't describe to you. Bring someone with you to lessen the shock. Michael, perhaps."
Nikita shot a look at the grey-haired man. How much did he know ?Had Madeleine spoken to him about their suspicions about her and Michael ? "You know that Madeleine said that I was to keep this from Michael."
"You were supposed to keep your objectives with the girl from him, not necessarily this."
She went back to the table and leaned over him, bracing her arms on the glass surface. "I need to know what is going on. Why are they here in the first place ? What do vampires have to do with Section, and if the girl isn't a vampire, why is she here ?"
He looked her in the eyes. "That's classified information. You'll need clearance to access it." He held her gaze for some time, a feat not many could achieve.
Without a word, Nikita left.
They were housed in what looked like a large dome. Their rooms were built in this aviary, surrounded by gardens full of strange and exotic plants. There was even an artificial stream linking several little pools to one where they could swim and free flying birds. There was a large bedroom with a king-sized bed, a bathroom, a den with an extensive entertainment system and a library, all furnished tastefully as if in a normal household. There were, of course, no computers and no phones. During the day the dome was mechanically sheeted over with some sort of covering and the lights came on. At night the covers peeled back and they looked out at a sky full of stars.
It was like some fantastical holiday resort. Only there was a viewing passageway all around the perimeter of the dome where armed guards moved at regular intervals and which could only be accessed via plate-glassed doors with key-slots and number pads .The lab-coats had been coming once a day for the past two days for blood samples. They were always tranquillised first, of course, ever since Spike had attacked one of the guards.
It had been a shock to find that the implant didn't work anymore. The reason for this was simple: it had been removed.
Buffy would always remember when they had wheeled him in, holding her at gunpoint as the orderlies lifted Spike off the gurney. The worry and panic that had risen in her at seeing him deathly still (even though she knew he was dead anyway), with his head bandaged had been like nothing she had ever felt before. It had been as bad as when Angel had been sucked into Hell.
There had been no scars, of course, when she took off the bloody bandages. The only thing to tell her where they had cut him was the patch of dark brown hair that had grown back, startling amidst the white blond. She had her own scar, a neat line down her lower belly. Worse, she had no idea what they had done to her.
He had held her as she cried, stroking her hair as he soothed her. "Sssh, pet, don't. We'll get out of here, I promise. Then I'll make them pay, whoever they are. Bloody hell, I'll make them pay. Don't cry anymore, love, please don't." And even as she clung to him some part of her had realised that if they ever escaped everything would change. Spike could kill now and nothing tied him to her any longer. Nothing forced him to spend his anger on demons any longer; what was to keep him from going back to what he had been ? He would kill again, wouldn't he ? And would she stake him when he did ?
She looked across at him where he sat in a deck-chair on the patio adjoining the library, thoughts scrambling in her head. He looked the same as ever. The Spike she had come to know over three years, whom she had patched up sitting on the bath-tub ledge on innumerable nights. She had barely realised how close they had become after living practically in each other's pockets all the time.
Spike's head rose out of the book he was reading and tilted to one side as he listened. "Feeding time at the zoo."
Buffy's eyes narrowed.
Together, wary as hunting wolves, they made their way down the winding path towards the door where food and other necessities were delivered to them. They had already memorised the time by Spike's internal clock. At eight o'clock sharp every morning, 1.30 pm and seven at night the basket of food and other supplies were left. The guards took about twenty minutes to walk the perimeter of the dome from one point to the other. They passed each other at ten minute intervals. The dome covers went up at 4.30 am and opened again at 7.30. The misters came on at 12.00 midnight, as Spike had discovered much to his disgust.
Buffy frowned as she walked along in the gloom. So many little details which were all quite useless. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she tripped over a raised stone in the path and would have landed flat on her face if Spike had not caught her.
"Are you alright, love ?" he asked with the concern that had appeared since the day she had discovered the scar.
She made a face. "It's the flats." Whoever picked out their clothes had an ironic eye for style where she had been expecting white pajamas. Spike had an assortment of slacks, jeans and tight knit shirts in neutral dark colours and collared overshirts in brighter colours, often satin or suede in the way he favoured. She had a selection of long, floral summer dresses or straight pants and an assortment of tops, all stylishly casual. Great, she had thought when she first looked into the wardrobe. I'll be sure to win the fashion-award for lab-rats in captivity.
"They could have at least given me some trainers."
"Maybe that's the point, pet. You can't do as much damage in thongs." He grinned at her with a flash of white teeth in the dark.
"Want to test that theory out ?" she mock-threatened.
"Don't rush it, ducks. I can knock you flat on your back now." He couldn't hide his joy at that. Whoever Section One were, they had made him whole again and he didn't care why they had done it, only that they'd actually done it.
"I know you're all hot and bothered, honey," she said sweetly. "But save it till we get back, will you ? Then I promise I'll give it to you a hundred percent."
He waggled dark eyebrows at her. "I'll keep you to that, pet."
The two baskets were sitting on the flat rock a little way from the door set into the wall. No sign of the guards who must have brought it in.
"Let's see what's on the ala carte menu today." Buffy flipped back the basket cover. "Hmm...pumpkin damper and fresh butter. What looks like cuts of lamb with mint sauce, peas and carrots. Strawberry tart for dessert. And for the gentleman a warm tureen of mulled chateau le swine, plus for variation a few blood bags. A, AB and O. Do they come flavoured or something ?" She yelped when Spike hit her on the back of the head with the rolled up newspaper he had taken from the other basket which also held fresh towels, toilet paper and the accustomed selection of music and VCDs.
"These buggers have a strange sense of humour," Spike growled. " The service is like a bloody five-star hotel, only the bellboys come in once a day and dart you then take a test-tube full of blood before changing the sheets. They even provided a complimentary bottle of wine and two glasses."
"Good," said Buffy, snatching the bottle. "I intend to get sloshed tonight."
"Two glasses, Slayer."
"You drink blood."
"I wouldn't mind a little wine."
"And what if I don't want to share ?"
"Then I'll just have to find a way to persuade you, love."
She shrieked when he suddenly tickled her in a very ticklish spot. "Spike, don't you dare !"
He growled at her and advanced. With another shriek Buffy turned and fled down the path, kicking off her flat thongs as Spike pounded in pursuit.
In the observation room, Nikita wondered why it had not struck her before. "They're in love," she said with a little surprise. Michael turned his dark head to look at her.
"Does that make a difference ?"
Her mouth firmed. "I would like to think that there are some things in this world that Section can't change or contaminate. And I would like to think that even if they're not aware of it now, one day they'll realise it." Her words were a double edged sword, and Michael turned back.
"What exactly did you call me here for ?"
Nikita's hands gripped the rail. "That's what I'm waiting to see." Above them she could see the sky through the clear roof. It was a beautiful night and the dark sky was speckled with stars. A night made for lovers. She swallowed her thoughts. She loved Michael and maybe he even loved her a little in return, but he had told her once that there was no place for love in Section. All relationships between operatives always ended in disaster. She had to bite down on the surge of anger that flowed through her. Sometimes she just wanted to slap that expressionless calm off his face, scream at him that she didn't care if it failed, she wanted to try it at least !
They stood side by side, watching as the laughing pair reached the lighted house. The man reached out and swatted the girl with the newspaper just as she jumped up on the patio, and she dumped the basket and whirled on him. Good-natured horseplay soon turned into a real skirmish and Nikita felt Michael shift beside her in some surprise at the change that had come without warning. The vicious blows that they were landing on each other seemed designed to hurt and maim. She herself was staring. She had never seen anyone, not even the best operative, move with such speed.
Buffy leapt up into the air, both feet thumping squarely into Spike's chest. He merely jerked back for an instant before coming at her again with a flurry of swift blows that she blocked. Like a pair of fencers they advanced and backed away, all the tension and confusion suddenly flooding out as they fought. They didn't hold back on the strength of their blows and after Buffy managed to knock him to the ground, Spike let his game face appear, ridges rippling over his face as he snarled at her with distended fangs.
"Mon Dieu..." Michael whispered. Nikita gasped, her fingers rising to her mouth.
He leapt at her and they hit the ground together, rolling over and over as they struggled. And somehow they ended up with Buffy at the bottom and Spike on top of her, both breathing hard, gold eyes staring into hazel ones. They stilled.
Spike leapt off her, turning away abruptly and passing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in. The urge to bite her had been overwhelming. To distract himself he went up the steps to the discarded basket and snatched up a blood bag, ripping it open with one hand and gulping the thick red liquid. It was a poor substitute.
Nikita felt the bile rise in her throat as the demon closed its yellow eyes, squeezing the bag with both hands. The labelling on it was clear.
Buffy rose rather shakily, her cheeks flushed and uncomfortably hot. "I guess you win half the wine after all."
"What the bloody hell do you want ?" Spike's antagonism was barely held in check as he glared at the two operatives.
"Just to talk," Nikita said. She indicated the other chairs at the long table, glad of Michael's silent presence at one end of the room. She could not have him in here always if she was to talk to the girl, but after what she had seen last night it was a comfort to have him there. They were in a monitored high security room and she had a gun loaded with five tranquilliser darts in case anything happened before the guards posted immediately outside the door got in, but she was still unnerved. In all her time at Section she had never had to face anything quite like this. Fairytales made flesh.
Buffy moved forward and Spike's hand shot out to touch her shoulder. She looked at him. "It's alright."
Nikita watched impassively as the male leant arrogantly against the wall. His protectiveness of the girl was evident.
Buffy yanked out a chair, turned it around and straddled it, resting her arms on its back defiantly. The stare she fixed on Nikita was challenging. "Now, let me take a stab at how you think this is going to work. You ask and I answer, right ? No go."
"Then how do you want it to be ?"
Michael was suddenly reminded of Madeleine as he watched Nikita calmly close her notepad, put down her pen and lean back in her seat. The same air of quiet amusement, the calm control. From across the room the man the girl called Spike was staring at him in animosity.
"I ask and you answer."
"That's hardly a fair trade, is it ? I would suggest this instead: for every answer I give you I get one in return."
"Oh, we're doing the share-and-share bit now?" the vampire sneered. "I'd like to hear what you say, love, after you wake up with a scar across your stomach or bloody stitches in your head."
"We could get the answers in other ways," Michael said softly. "It's your choice, but believe me when I tell you this is the most painless way."
Spike bared his teeth in a smile that had nothing to do with humour. "And I could rip your sodding spine out through your chest right here, you pillock."
"Violence will not get you answers," Nikita said coldly. "But talking with me might. Do you want to know, or would you rather go back in there ? It's your choice."
Spike and Buffy shared a look, then the Slayer turned back to Nikita. "I start."
The smile that came over the blond operative's face was like sunrise, in direct contrast to her previous hard tone. "Please do."
"Why are we here ?"
"Because some people want to gather information on the both of you."
"Like the Initiative ?"
"It's my turn. What are you ?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Classic case of kidnap first ask questions later. Have you ever heard of Slayers ?"
"Why don't you tell me ?" Nikita remained pleasant, unaffected by the sarcasm.
"Well, you obviously know what he is now, don't you ?" She nodded to Spike. "OK, here's the spiel." She cleared her throat dramatically, making the corner of the vampire's mouth twitch in something suspiciously like a smile. "In every generation a girl-child is born to fight the forces of darkness and protect mankind. She shall be given superhuman strength, speed and skills to aid her in hunting down and squashing all the manner of supernatural baddies from bloodsucking demons..."
"Thank you," said Spike.
"...to werewolves, ghouls, goblins and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night." Buffy finished. "I'm the girl of this generation. Comprendo, amigos ?" She didn't wait for an affirmative. "My turn. What did you do to us ?"
That was something Nikita didn't have the answer to. "We removed a microchip at the base of his medula oblongata."
The teen snorted. "Tell me something I don't know. Like why I have a scar and why you people think you can just nab us and study us like orchid specimens ?"
She had backbone, Michael noted. For someone her age....
"We needed some samples. Nothing vital was removed or harmed and I assure you that you're in perfect health," Nikita said with a note of finality. "And Section never answers to the 'why'." She sipped from her glass of water. "If what you say is true..."
Spike snorted rudely.
"...then why are you, the Slayer, familiar with him ?" Nikita indicated Spike with a nod of her head, ignoring the snort.
"Because I want to," Buffy snapped with uncharacteristic short-temper. "Private issue, so can we move on already ? When are you going to let us go ?"
"When we're finished." Buffy shot a measuring look at Michael when he answered her.
"Tell me, Buffy," Nikita sat up. "Since you say you were born to protect mankind from the supernatural, that would mean you kill every night. Our information tells us that your methods are quite bloody, so to speak, with ample physical contact with the victims..."
Spike said something very rude. "You knew all the time ! Just like the bloody Initiative ! What's the point of this..."
"How does it make you feel ?" Nikita pinned Buffy with her gaze. "When you kill ? Does it make you feel good, feel powerful ?"
Buffy paled. Then she got up. "You have no right to ask me that," she said hoarsely, backing away as Spike came forward, putting an arm around her shoulders as he glared at the two operatives.
"This delightful little interview is over !"
The chair Buffy had occupied was flung clear across the room to smash into the wall not three feet from Michael who automatically brought out his gun. Nikita's own weapon slid into her hand and locked on the vampire. She could not control the shift of her expression at the sight of the naked ferocity of his game-face.
"Let us out." Buffy's voice was tight with rage.
"Of course." Slowly Nikita lowered her gun and reached under the table, pressing the button to alert the guards that the interview was over.
Only when the door whizzed closed behind the pair did Nikita allow her shoulders to slump. She felt mentally shaken and physically exhausted from the stress of her first evaluation of the subject Buffy Anne Summers. Michael's hand on her shoulders made her look up at him.
"Are you sure you can do this by yourself ?" he asked her. "You must not let them involve you too deeply or get to you." Of course, all he knew was that at the briefing she had been ordered to question the subjects.
"I'll do it, Michael." She put her head in her hands. "You trained me to do this, remember ?"
"You mustn't let her get to you, pet," Spike was saying to Buffy as she flopped down on the grass beside the large pool. "That's what they're trying to do. Break you from inside."
"I know, Spike, but..." Tears shone in her eyes and she blinked them furiously away. "What she said..." She did not need to elaborate.
The rest of the day was blanketed by a sombre mood. They hardly spoke, each tangled in his or her own thoughts. Spike watched a little TV, a movie and the flashing, five-minute videos of MTV. Buffy read, or tried to read. Finally she could stand the inactivity any longer and left the house.
The chirp of crickets and the soft calls of the birds in the softness of solitude calmed her somewhat as she walked through the grounds, one hand defensively over her lower belly, fingers fanning over the scar. They had invaded her body but she would die before she let them invade her mind.
She was off the path, in the undergrowth when the lights flicked off and the dome was plunged into temporary darkness. Buffy raised her face to the sky. Sure enough a sliver of grey-blue light appeared up above, rapidly widening like the Cheshire Cat's smile and bathing her surroundings in twilight colours as the stars appeared in the sky above. As she moved through the plants past the dark shadows of bushes and trees, she saw herself in a flicker in her mind, a stalking shadow through the dark. Hunting.
*Do you enjoy killing ? The power....*
She shuddered as she moved on. The instinct to kill was in her, the urge to let it all out in violence. She had a purpose when she was the Slayer, a calling in life. Without it, who was she ?
The pool glittered in the moonlight like a sheet of dark glass. Shivering a little with the night chill, she hugged herself, then unzipped the long dress. The light linen puddled in a pale pool on the grass as she walked towards the pool, her body silvered in the moonlight.
As is the case in the tropics, the water was warmer than the air as she slipped in, caressing her skin like a silken envelope. Silver ripples shivered around her as her hair floated on the surface, then broke into a thousand reflections when she dove cleanly. The water was silent and warm and being immersed in it was like being returned to the womb to heal. To make a new beginning in Rebirth.
Her head cut above the water, sleek as a seal's before she dove again, stroking strongly under the water. The only sign that she was there was the furrowing pattern caused by the backflow as her body clove through to the very bottom of the pool. It washed away worry and trouble and dark thoughts as if she was an eel shedding its skin and swimming cleanly away, curving through the water till she ran out of breath and it seemed that her lungs would burst before she broke surface again.
She rose in a spray of droplets, her back arching as she tossed her head back to get her hair out of her eyes, gasping as the air rushed into her lungs. She trode water before slipping over onto her back to float on the surface, spreading her arms upwards like an angel's wings as her hair coiled around her like kelp. The sky was so clear that the stars were out in their millions, faraway galaxies streaking across the sky. Places where you could lose yourself and everything would be possible.
Sighing, she turned and swam slowly back to the bank. Feeling wondrously lax and empty, she pulled herself up and stood, letting the water run down her body as she made a rope of her hair and squeezed the water from it. Then she turned and started back in shock.
The burning eyes fixed on her did not blink. They stood, staring at each other for what seemed like hours before at last he stepped forward as if drawn by a magnet.
The breath caught in Buffy's throat as he closed the space between them, electricity tingling the skin of her arms and back. If he touched her...
"Here." Spike wrapped the towel around her then jerkily stepped away. "You'll catch cold."
She could not move because her wrists and ankles were locked down to the cold steel of the surgical table. Panic clogged her throat as the fluorescent lights came on above her.
Help, she mouthed, but no sound came out. The fingers of her right hand spread out, scrabbling at the metal till she touched something warm. Someone else's hand.
She turned her head and saw Michael, similarly bolted down beside her. They were both covered in green cloth as if prepared for surgery.
"Session 19. Subjects: Michael, Level 5 Operative. Caucasian male, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes. 31 years of age." It was Madeleine's voice. Nikita scanned the white room with her eyes but could not see anyone. "Nikita, Level 2 Operative. Caucasian female. Blond, blue eyes. 25 years of age." There was a pause and a crackle of static, then, "Proceed."
She raised her head and saw two small forms swathed in green at the foot of the table. They were masked, gowned and capped like doctors, but their proportions were all wrong. Too small...
One of them pulled off mask and cap and a spill of straight blond hair came tumbling down. She was a little girl of perhaps seven years of age, with big serious blue eyes and an elfin face. Nikita felt a jolt of recognition. She had seen that little girl before. Beside her, the dark-haired little boy pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.
"Please..."her own voice shivered out, sounding very forlorn and lost in the echoing largeness of the white room.
The little girl smiled as she came up to Nikita's side and the little boy went up to Michael. The bank of round lights was lowered down by a robotic arm, and the beep and whoosh of machinery was all around them. Plastic tubes and wires snarled them in a tangle that was like a spider's web.
"Don't worry," she said in a lilting, pretty voice. "It'll only hurt for a short while.
"Begin," crackled Madeleine's voice around them. The beautiful children smiled as they picked up gleaming scalpels which flashed in the light.
"No, please..." Then Nikita screamed as the pain began.
She sat bolt upright in bed still screaming.
Throat tight with horror, Nikita got out of bed, pulling the silken sleeves of her robe over her sweat-soaked shoulders, her movements jerky as she tied the belt and left her room.
There was a breeze on her second-floor balcony, making her shiver as she bent over the railing, closing her eyes. She knew that little girl. She had seen her once before on a level in Headquarters that she wasn't supposed to have access to. Only once, but the resemblance had been remarkable enough to imprint the memory into her mind forever.
That little girl was her child. Hers alone. Just as the boy she had seen was Michael's. And in that one hour the fabric of her life had been torn to shreds. She had known that Section had its own genetic research programs, but the enormity of it had overwhelmed her. Had Section been secretly harvesting the genetic material of selected operatives for cloning ?
The question had never been answered. When she brought Michael there no trace was left. No children. Nothing but bare walls and floors. Sometimes she even thought it was hallucination. Maybe it had been, following the stress she had been under then and her worries that her eggs had been harvested by the lunatic doctor that had been the target in that particular mission. Michael and Madeleine had reassured her that all the lab contents had been destroyed after the doctor had been eliminated.
She kneaded her temples. It was the evaluation that was doing this to her. She had already had six interviews with Buffy Anne Summers, and the more she spoke to her the more wrong it seemed for Section to hold her. There were too many factors to consider; she did not even know what to think of the fact that demons and vampires actually existed and she did not want to think about it...but Buffy had more promise than any other young person she had ever come across. She had intelligence, courage, compassion, a strong spirit and an emotional maturity far beyond her years. For her to be here simply because Section wanted to....wanted to what ?
She had talked to Birkoff already, but there was nothing the computer whiz could do about the access codes on Base G13. He did not handle it to such detail and himself did not have clearance to the inner database of G13.
Nikita bit her lip. She HAD to know what was going on here. What were they working on ? Why had Dr. Goodman called this the 'culmination of lifetime's research' ?
All sense pointed her in one direction: Michael. As an operative of the highest level, he might be able to access the information she needed. Would he do it if she asked, and did she even dare ask such a thing of him ? She knew he disapproved of her even working with Buffy, and he disliked the extra time she spent poring over the puzzle even more.
The night could give her no answers. With one last glance at the round, heavy moon, she turned back into her room, sliding the doors closed behind her.
Across the courtyard, hidden by the darkness on his own balcony, Michael sat still in his chair, watching till the light went out in Nikita's room and her silhouette on the curtains disappeared.
She had been having one of those bloody dreams again, whimpering and tossing in her sleep.
Spike frowned as he held Buffy. The dreams had been happening regularly every night now and the only way to calm her was to hold her. In his arms she would subside into less troubled sleep, his fingers massaging away the lines etched in her face. He could never bring himself to ask her about them when she was awake; for some reason it struck him as too personal.
He said a rude word and carefully slid her out of his arms again before turning on his side, burying his head into the pillow to try and recapture sleep.
She snuggled up against his back, her arm coming up around his waist.
"Bloody hell," he groaned as he fought to control himself. He held stiff for a minute or two because if he moved he knew he would roll her over, strip off her pajamas, kiss her into oblivion and take her, all sense flying out of his head. "That's it, Slayer. Tomorrow I'm sleeping on the floor. A man can't survive being tortured every night like this !"
There was a soft sound from her as she shifted, rubbing her cheek against his back like a kitten.
Spike called himself ten different kinds of fool, then lifted her arm and turned around. She fitted perfectly in his arms, her head tucking neatly under his chin. He felt her smile against his chest. All was well again.
High up in the corner made by wall and ceiling, in a hidden aperture the camera lens captured the idyllic picture.
Hundreds of miles away on another continent, a woman sat in her office, considering what the satellite feed was beaming onto her screen.
The controlled environment was not having the effect they had hoped it would. The subjects were resisting conditioning. Fortunately, though, Nikita had already managed to establish a rapport with the female. She had always had faith in the blond operative. Nikita's weakness was compassion. Every weakness could be exploited to good effect.
Phase 3 would have to be initiated.
It only took her fifteen minutes of access to the mainframe to shift the clearance codes. That done, Madeleine turned to another folder. A potential situation was brewing on the Iranian border, and as usual it was Section One's business to defuse it.
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