Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Sixteen days yesterday. Seventeen today.
Spike entered the crypt as dawn broke, flinging himself on the cot. Rupert would want him to show up at the shop around three or four. Much too early after a night filled with violence.
But he would be there.
When Faith heard the tapping at the door she assumed that meant her Watcher expected her to be up. "I'm up," she grumbled, climbing out of the bed.
"I left some clothes for you," he called through the door.
She lifted the plastic bag off the floor, glaring blearily at it. Had it been there last night? It must have; unless he had come in and left it. She shook the clothes out onto the bed. Jeans, a white tee, underwear. Most of it was not quite her size, but a surprisingly good guess. Did he have good eyes, or did that have her bra size written down somewhere? Either way, it was creepy.
She pulled on her leather jacket over it. It wasn't quite up to her usual style, but she was hardly rolling in clothes.
She staggered her way out of the motel room. She was still amazed that he had sprung for two, especially considering her past. He was waiting for her outside, at the car.
"I have plans for today," she told him, stretching.
"Okay," he said. He'd bought a newspaper somewhere and was reading it. "We'll need to talk about the details of patrolling and the current threats out there sometime soon. Would you like to meet me somewhere for lunch?"
That was a good reaction, at least in her opinion. If he started freaking out and trying to micromanage her this early, he was never going to be able to go the distance.
"I thought I'd go see Giles. Ask him...a few questions." She managed to say it calmly, despite all the turmoil burning up inside her.
"Why?"
She quailed just a bit. "It's business," she said brusquely. "I need to know what killed Buffy. You know, see if I need to worry about it."
"It's my understanding we don't," said Gwinn. "Or he said we don't, at any rate. But, as you say, knowing more about that is a good strategy. Would you like a ride?"
Ah, tacitly asking to come along instead of protesting. Faith smiled. This Watcher was flexible, and that was a good trait. A very good trait. "Yeah, that'd be good."
There, she said firmly to her inner Angel. I'm making nice with the new Watcher. Letting him in, not holding him at arms length. Making nice.
She followed him out the door and to the car. "He'll be at his shop this late," said Gwinn.
"Shop? What shop?" She climbed into the passenger's seat, already out of the loop. He started it up and headed out, squinting at her out of the corner of his eye.
"He bought a store specializing in magical items and materials. More or less a recent development. I believe it also serves as a headquarters of sorts for the group."
"Right," said Faith, a bit annoyed.
"Things are a little different."
"Oh, I don't think they're that different. You have vampires, demons, and human. Kill the vampires and demons, don't kill the humans. Right? Or was it the other way around? I'm always forgetting."
Gwinn looked at her sharply with his good eye. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, lighten up." She leaned back and crossed her arms.
"Here we are," said Gwinn stiffly.
And Faith had forgotten how small Sunnydale was. And there was the shop, and she could see Giles inside. And now why was it so hard to move?
The Watcher got out and headed in, and that broke the spell. Suddenly she had to move, had to follow him. She couldn't show this weakness in front of him, couldn't let him think she was afraid. Not of Giles.
And then Giles saw them, and she wished she were back out in the car.
"Faith," said Giles, with a tiny smile. One he didn't really mean, she could see. She stuffed her hands in her pockets.
"Hey." She followed Gwinn through the door and stood there, at the door, ready to bolt away at the first sign of trouble. She refused to get any closer to the counter he was standing behind. And, standing there, what was there to say? Spike was right; she couldn't replace Buffy.
That reminded her of something else. "Did Spike kill Buffy?" she blurted out. Giles actually flinched. Faith felt her stomach turn at the look on his face.
And now she was intruding on his grief. Why had she come here?
"No," said Giles, surprising her. "No, Spike's...it's complicated." He glanced at Gwinn, who stared owlishly at him with his good eye. "Peter," he greeted the Watcher.
"Rupert," said the other, his voice tight. Of course, he didn't trust Giles. Giles was a renegade, just like Faith. The thought almost made her laugh out loud, the idea that they were anything alike.
"I met Spike. Last night," said Faith. "He seemed dangerous."
Giles shook his head. "I can't explain Spike," he said, turning away. "I can only describe him. I don't understand him, not any more."
Faith raised an eyebrow, but bit back the caustic comment on the tip of her tongue. She didn't want to drive him further away. She could see the wariness in his eyes, and also the pain.
She didn't want to be here.
"Just describe, then," said Faith. "Cause he made big with the threats."
Giles sighed. "He won't—he was stalking Buffy." Faith's eyes narrowed. "He was obsessed with her. But before she died he promised to take care of her sister."
"Sister?" said Faith. "What sis—" And for a second Giles' face stiffened, but then Faith trailed off. "Right, Dawn," she said, surprised that she hadn't remembered the little sister. "Of course. He was stalking her? And she didn't stake him?"
Giles hesitated. "He's been...helping us," he said. When he wasn't chaining Buffy up and professing his undying love to her, he added silently.
No, Giles didn't think he'd mention that just yet. It might tip her off that Spike wasn't really a good vampire. Or, on second thought, maybe he should. Did he want her to fall into the same mental trap he was falling into, labeling the vampire harmless? No vampire was harmless.
Hadn't Angelus taught him that? "He was so obsessed with Buffy that he chained her up and told her he loved her," Giles added. And he'd just used her name without crying. That was good.
Faith's eyes narrowed. "Chained her up? I reiterate, she didn't stake him?"
"He took a beating for Dawn. From a hell-god who nearly killed him," said Giles. As long as they were having the inevitable Spike discussion, they might as well discuss it all. For the sake of fairness. "He's still Spike. Still evil. But he's been helping us. We can't explain it. Can hardly understand it."
Faith shrugged. "So I should keep an eye on him, I guess. Where's he living?"
"Er, when he's not watching Dawn?" asked Giles.
"Watching Dawn?" asked Faith, shocked. Yes, she'd heard the part about promising to take care of her. But they let him?
Giles squirmed. Yes, he knew it was wrong to leave the girl with a monster without a soul. A monster that could kill her. But what choice did they have? Besides, none of them were powerful enough to keep the girl safe.
Spike was.
He'd already taken over the Slaying duties. Taken over patrolling the Hellmouth. Although Giles knew it was as much about the violence as anything else.
Faith shook her head. "So he's an undead babysitter. Got it." Her face was hard, though, and Giles felt a twinge of relief. She understood well enough not to approve, well enough that she would probably kill Spike.
Which was good, because even if the Scoobies decided to kill Spike, Giles wasn't sure they could.
Peter Gwinn remained quiet. That was all Giles could remember of the man, anyway, from England. A perennially quiet man. He tried to remember what Peter had been doing all these years, but couldn't.
"Peter. How've you been?" he asked, trying to assess the Watcher. Trying to figure out what kind of man the Council had sent, what they thought they were doing with him.
"Fine," said Gwinn. Giles studied the ruined eye, wondering what had done it, but didn't ask. It didn't seem fair.
Faith was fairly twitching. "You said hell god. Is that still a problem?"
Giles didn't jump, or reply immediately, or anything that would have marked him as guilty. Instead he sighed, looking downward. "Buffy took care of it," he said simply.
Faith twitched. That had elicited the reaction he'd hoped for, Buffy's death distracting her from the entire question of Glory's death. With any luck it wouldn't come up again.
"Okay," said Faith, breathing out. "We'll, um, we'll be fighting evil, then." She began edging towards the door.
"We're staying at the Farraday Motel," said Gwinn. "I'm in room 15. Ring me if you hear anything."
Giles let out a sigh. "I'm shoving off in a week or two." Or five or six, he added to himself bitterly.
Faith coughed. "You're what?"
"My duty here is done. I managed to get my Slayer killed." His smile wasn't pretty. "And that would be the final word for a Watcher."
Faith swallowed. "Right." She walked away, not having anything more to say to that; not after having tried to kill Buffy herself. Gwinn followed her after a minute.
"Where are we going?" asked Gwinn, once they were well outside the shop.
"Anywhere," said Faith, angrily, walking past his car. He continued to follow her, taking off the tweed coat in the warm sun. She didn't take off the leather jacket. She liked the too-hot feeling, the prickling warmth in her skull.
It helped drive back the cold in the pit of her stomach.
She walked faster, not caring where she was going, and then she had to stop, because someone was standing in front of her. She glanced up, took in the dark, dorky hair, and almost laughed. Or cried. And she backed up quickly.
Xander stared at her, his mouth gaping open, and then he snapped it shut. "Faith!" he squeaked, backing up. He was wearing jeans and a sweaty tee, and was covered with flecks of sawdust and dirt. He was wearing work gloves.
"Hey," said Faith, not meeting his eyes.
"Uh, hey." He edged around her, and then headed for the Magic Box. Faith sighed.
Gwinn glanced at her, probing at her with that eye of his, trying to understand. "That was odd."
"Yeah, last time I saw him I tried to kill him. Started choking him. He was saved by his least favorite vampire."
She walked on, then stopped, looking around. She had no idea what to do now.
"No, I wasn't," said Xander, from behind her. She turned, glancing at him with surprise.
"What?" said Gwinn, turning around a little more slowly, trying to figure out the dynamic between them.
"I wasn't saved by my least-favorite vampire," said Xander. He shrugged. "Spike stole that title a while back."
He turned and hurried on into the Magic Box. Faith frowned, not sure what to make of that.
"This Spike...he strikes me as dangerous. You called him William the Bloody," said Gwinn. "Is that the same William the Bloody that killed two Slayers?"
Faith shrugged. "Could be."
Gwinn nodded thoughtfully. "I have some research to do. Ah, it's a bit early for lunch, still, but I'll need to unpack to study; we need to talk about patrolling and what-not before I do that... would it be okay if we ate now?"
"You buying?"
"Yes." There was a little gratitude hidden in that too-proper voice. Faith glanced at him, surprised by his tone. He glanced at her. And for just a second she realized the delicate balance he was trying to, trying to be a Watcher and a warden at the same time, trying not to box her in, trying not let her fly too free.
She hated him a little bit for it.
"Good. Real food, not some crappy Watcher substitute," she said, heading for a promising looking restaurant.
Spike sat alone in his crypt, brooding.
Well, no, he wasn't brooding. Because that was what Angel did. That was Angel's gig. Not his. Angel was a stupid vampire with a soul. And a huge forehead. And stupid hair.
He was a vampire. A monster with no soul, who couldn't feel regret.
Which was precisely why his dream had been about saving Buffy.
No regret.
"Every bloody night," he complained, taking out a cigarette.
And this was the only place he smoked now, following a long lecture on the dangers of secondhand smoke by the Witches. He couldn't even smoke in peace.
A promise to a lady.
Sixteen days yesterday. Seventeen today.
It was nearly four o'clock. Spike had slept in a little. He needed to be there when the Bit got out of school. Be there in the evening for her friends. Watch her till they got back.
Then he got to kill something.
Dreary, monotonous days stretched together into dreary monotonous nights. All blurred by lack of sleep.
At least he was eating properly, he thought to himself.
Speaking of which, it was feeding time. He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a mug of pig's blood. He wished he had a microwave, but that just wasn't to be.
Not for now, anyway.
He sipped the lukewarm blood, and wished he at least had a refrigerator that worked.
But, again, not for now.
He gulped down the blood as quickly as possible and headed out. He had more stashed in the house, and there was a microwave there, too.
He headed out, swinging a blanket over his head and shoulders, running through the sunlight. Through the midst of death itself, dancing with death just a heartbeat away, shining through his blanket in prickly waves.
It was poetic, and it was stupid.
Stupider yet to run into somebody, with all that deadly sunlight around. But how was he supposed to see with a blanket over his head?
They fell to the ground, and he was on top of the person he'd run into, and for a brief second he said a prayer. Please let it not be Xander, he said.
And then he was thrown off by strong arms, arms too strong for someone walking in daylight, and he knew it wasn't Xander. It was somebody with arms that could bend steel.
It was the Slayer.
He scrambled around, searching for shadows, and found himself at the door of the Magic Box. He opened it up and scrambled inside, heading for the counter. It was always dark behind the counter.
"Spike?" said Giles, a voice from far away, and Spike threw the blanket off, returning his vision to himself. Giles was standing behind the counter, and Faith stood in the door. Spike scrambled back, away from the indirect sunlight that prickled at his skin, into the darkest shadows.
"So this is Spike," said a coolly analytical voice from the door. Spike squinted at the figure. White hair, a whiter eye, a scar, tall and lean. And a Watcher, from the clothing.
Faith moved closer, in front of her Watcher. The Watcher continued speaking. "William the Bloody, who's killed two Slayers."
Spike shifted into gameface quickly, letting his human façade vanish. "Falling behind, Watcher-boy. If you count Buffy, the number is up to three."
Giles elbowed Spike in the stomach, moving in front of him. "You can't count Buffy."
"I can too," countered Spike. "If it weren't for me, she would still be alive."
Giles elbowed Spike in the stomach again, not liking the look on Faith's face as she stalked closer. "You tried to save her!" he said sharply. Was it guilt that made him try to save Spike? No, it was need. He didn't trust Spike, but he didn't trust this Slayer either, saw Spike. And he wanted a weapon to hand if he had to face her.
"Well, I couldn't have been trying very hard, could I have? You, you never had a chance, Watcher." He put a hand on Giles' shoulder to push him away, but grimaced and let the hand fall. "None of you had a chance. I had a chance!" He glanced at Faith. "And Dawn's waiting for you." That part was directed Giles, despite the direction of his gaze.
Giles hesitated, not wanting to move. Anya was nowhere to be seen, meaning he would be leaving Spike behind, facing Faith, and he was sure how that would end if he left now. "We can call Willow. She can pick up Dawn today."
"She and Tara have a witch-group meeting tonight." Spike finally shifted back to his human face. "You have to pick her up. I'll watch the shop till you get back with Dawn, then take her home."
Giles winced, watching Faith's face. "All right."
He hoped Faith and Peter would watch the shop after they dusted Spike, but it seemed a bit much to ask them outright, so he simply fled.