So sorry for the long delay in updates. Real life kind of got the best of me. I hope there are people still reading and enjoying this fic :)
Chapter 13~ Chasing Light
He was trapped in a vicious tangle of indecision.
Ever since she had run out of here as if nothing had ever frightened her more than kissing him, he had remained rooted to the spot. Transfixed. Astounded. And more than a little turned on. What in the name of Hecate had possessed him in that moment; propelling him to reel her in and hold her tight, to instigate that assault on her delectable mouth? Had it been jealousy over Spike, over the words that seemed to flow so easily between them, while he could barely bring himself to string a sentence together these days? Had it been that irrational sense of possessiveness that sometimes reared its ugly head inside him— his entirely hypocritical judgment of the life she had created, because he had sacrificed everything for her to have said life and had somehow gotten it into his thick skull that he had any say at all in how she lived it? Had it been the call of the moon stirring something within him, making him ache to feel a little like his old self again? Or had it been simply because she was Buffy, and he still wanted her like he had never wanted anything else in his entire existence? He couldn't answer. It didn't matter. The bottom line was that he had kissed her. That the fire that raged between them still burned, still hot enough to consume them both. She'd run out the door before they'd gone up in flames, and that was probably a wise idea. The wisest idea right about now, he suspected, would be a very cold shower.
And yet…
And yet the demon inside him had unfurled its claws, testing. His arm was still a mangled mess, taking far too long to heal for his liking. His shoulder hadn't mended completely. He still slept more than he ever had unless severely injured. But the need to hunt, to fight, to exercise that re-sparked heat simmered within him. If he couldn't be here with her, he longed to be out there, stalking the things that went bump in the night. It was that damn moon calling to him again, beckoning him with her siren song. Reason told him, lay low, stay here, rest. Wait for Buffy. But his gut, that part of him he had come to know and trust over decades of it being his only companion, the part of him that saw his basest urges through unfiltered eyes, marshaled him out into the darkness.
Go. Fight. Be what you are— the thing in the darkness that demons fear.
The eternal struggle between brain and brawn raged on, locking him in place. Hence, the indecision.
"Angel?"
Well, that settled the issue of whether or not to continue standing around like an idiot. He turned towards the voice in the doorway.
"Where is everyone?"
Angel cleared his throat, testing a voice he wasn't sure would obey.
"Illyria's disappeared somewhere. Faith went out with Spike."
Connor stared, then let out a whoop of laughter.
"Oh, that'll definitely end well." A small, sly smile claimed his mouth. "And Buffy?"
Sighing, Angel ran restless fingers through his hair.
"She went out."
Connor shook his head, the hair falling into his eyes. Angel considered suggesting he cut it, then remembered his place. He'd already crossed enough lines for one night.
"What'd you do?"
Angel made a face, offended.
"Why do you assume I did something?"
"Well, lets see…. She's been practically glued to your side for the last three days. Now all of a sudden, she's not here. You're moping. But you didn't do anything. Right, Dad. Next you'll tell me you're not really a vampire."
The word had slipped unconsciously from Connor's lips. Angel felt it run through him, all the way down to his toes, reverberating to his very soul.
Dad.
It lifted his spirits in a way nothing else could. Shaking off the uncertainty, he let his hand rest on his son's shoulder, guiding him gently towards the door.
"Come on. Lets get out of here."
"Now you're talking! Where to?"
"We'll see where the night takes us."
***
They wore the darkness as if it were tailored to them. The shadows embraced them in their pursuit, cloaking each silent step.
"No offense, but I really wish your hair wasn't so radioactive."
Spike's hand instinctively reached to pat the gelled mass on top of his head.
"Well, what's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, if you're trying to draw as much attention to yourself as possible."
"Now you're getting it. Whoever said slayers were slow on the uptake?"
"You're also blinding me."
They both fell silent, staring thoughtfully at the building across the alleyway. It had been about ten minutes since the strange duo had entered, and the time had come to make a decision about the next move.
"So, we waiting for Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum to come out, or can we get this show on the road?"
Spike looked around, smiling to himself. It wasn't often that he was the rational, patient one.
They eyed the large iron door speculatively. Graffitied slang and obscenities marked the building's exterior, the street housing it a playground for elements of L.A.'s seedy underbelly. The muck beneath the glamour, this was a place that even the demons deemed beneath them, leaving it to monsters of the human variety. Faith sighed. No matter how many supernatural uglies they felled, no matter how many apocalypses they thwarted, humankind would still continue to race headfirst towards its own destruction. She hated them for it.
"There's the girl whose cautionary tale they tell young unruly slayers everywhere. I was wondering if I would ever have the pleasure."
Faith scowled. He seemed to be reading her mind, digging deep into her darkness. Buffy had been right; Spike's perceptiveness was both strangely comforting and endlessly irritating. She looked at him, brown eyes boring into blue, sensing the intensity that stretched like a tightrope between them.
"You play your cards right," she answered seriously, fearless in maneuvering that narrow tautness, "and the pleasure might be mutual."
His eyes widened slightly, the moment charged with something beyond the playful tequila-soaked banter of earlier in the evening. The cocky smirk that was becoming so familiar touched his lips, and an irrational desire to trace it with her tongue flared hot in her belly. She smirked back.
What was it about these damn souled vamps that stirred her blood dark and dangerous?
He read her mind again.
"Take what you want later, Slayer," and his voice was cool water streaming across scorching flesh.
She made a mental note to keep him to that statement, and took the lead.
***
It was an old warehouse, left now to the business of junkies and smugglers. It reminded her of a battle fought and lost not long ago, of the Beast and Angelus, and foreboding flooded her senses. Spike saw the sudden tension, the muscles jumping beneath her skin. He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder, reminding her that he was there. That she had backup. In a rare moment of wavering confidence, she longed for that old reckless fearlessness, the one buried somewhere in the crater of Sunnydale with an exploded bomb and a handful of dead girls. She'd have to settle for what was left. Taking a deep, calming breath, she forged on.
They were in a large open space, scattered into makeshift tunnels by hundreds of boxes and crates stacked twenty feet high. The smell of excrement assaulted their nostrils, and rats skittered between their feet, small gray armies in search of sustenance. The lazy trickle of dripping water echoed through the windowless space.
"Damn," Faith muttered. "Why does it always have to be rats?"
"Sets the proper mood, if you ask me."
He sensed them first, just at the periphery of his hearing. Motioning to Faith, he set out towards the sounds, astounded when her hand gripped his arm through the leather.
"I know you won't like it Spike, but you need to hang back and let me deal with this."
He stared, aghast.
"The hell I do."
She tried again.
"You can't come out there."
"The hell I can't." The tone was even more petulant.
"Man, you XY types are all the same. No matter how old you get, you're still giant babies." Faith let the sharpness seep out of her voice. "Look. What if those chumps actually do have some tie to Wolfram and Hart, or know someone who does? Wouldn't be too smart to have them face to face with a suspiciously pale bleached blond, in a leather duster, who just happens to have a bite fetish. People tend to remember things like that."
"As gratifying as it is to know that you find me memorable, I think—"
"Don't think Spike. Do what I ask. Just this once."
The look in her eyes told him this was non-negotiable. And since he wasn't in the mood for a tussle with a pissed off slayer, at least not the kind of tussle he was on the verge of inciting, he testily conceded the point.
"So, how are you going to play this?"
"I was thinking maim first, ask questions later."
"Thought you'd gone cold turkey with the human torture bit."
"For these two losers, I'd gladly take a dive off the wagon."
She moved away from him, down the path she would walk alone.
"Good luck," he called out, and meant it. Then, "You sure you got it then?"
Her voice floated back to him, soft, deadly.
"Five by five."
He melted back into the familiar arms of the shadows, acutely aware of the potential danger of setting Faith loose on the humans. No matter how securely caged, the demon still lurked inside, always on the lookout for a means by which to escape.
***
She sauntered into the open space as if she were doing nothing more taxing than enjoying a midday stroll. The targets she had been tracking half the night could be seen about fifty feet ahead, attempting to move a large crate across the concrete vastness. Her step was light, carefree, and she whistled softly. The men looked up at the sound of the footsteps, surprise written plainly across their faces.
"Good evening boys."
She was all business, voice as sharp as a knife. But they didn't know. All they saw was a pretty girl, alone in the dark.
"You lost girlie?" The fat one. Already, his eyes held a predatory gleam.
Faith looked around, motioned with her arms expressively.
"Just checkin' the place out. Quite a lovely dump you have here. And trust me, I know from dump."
The smirk left the portly face, features reordered into dismay and anger. The other hadn't moved, but was now beginning to inch backwards, a deer knowing danger by nothing more than its basest instinct to survive. The other had no such intuition. He stepped towards her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? This place is off limits. Or maybe," his voice dripped with meaning as he moved forward again, "you want us to show you what we do with trespassers."
His partner's voice, pitched high in fear, cut through the air.
"Frank, maybe—"
"Shut up Ray! I can handle one little who—"
Her hand shot out before the word could leave his mouth, closing around his throat in a vicelike grip.
"You were saying, Frank?" She used his name pointedly. He struggled in her grasp, hands flailing out uselessly, clawing at her, his fat physiognomy turning crimson. Ray, for his part, turned and ran off into the tunnels. Faith could hear his footfalls echo throughout the expanse, fading. Suddenly, the sounds of a struggle, followed by a weight hitting the floor. She hissed through clenched teeth. So, Spike was only mostly staying out of this.
A pitiful croak drew her attention back to the task at hand. She gave his trachea one last painful squeeze, then released him with a force that sent him stumbling backwards. Landing on hands and knees on the cold concrete, he succumbed to a fit of coughing. Looking up at her through bleary eyes, he thought he could manage a few hoarse words.
"What do you want?" Voice like sandpaper.
"Information."
He laughed, bringing on more coughing. Retching too, but Frank didn't care. He had been around the block a few times. A few blocks, actually. He knew this city, this world. Bitch wasn't gonna get nothin' outta him.
"Don't know nothin'."
Her dark eyes narrowed, the only sign of the turmoil raging within. He knew that look too well; punks who couldn't hold their wad, anger management issues. Mouth open to say so, he closed it again, the words dying in his throat. The power that radiated from her set his teeth on edge. He shuddered.
"Don't know nothin'," he repeated, although she hadn't said anything. There was less conviction behind it this time.
Hands, impossibly strong, yanked him up by his collar. Gripping the back of his neck roughly, she pulled him to his feet. Warm breath caressed his face, escaping lips that were mere inches away.
"Let me put it this way Frank."
The dagger appeared suddenly, lighting in her hand. In the next instant, the blade was at his neck, pressure applied, curved steel biting into the tender flesh. He shuddered again, and felt the warm trickle from where the metal had made its mark. And when she spoke again, beautiful lips belying the coldness of her voice, he knew that she had inflicted true suffering. That she was more than willing to inflict it again.
"You talk fast, I play nice."
He told her everything. Eventually. Not soon enough. When he finally did, his anguished cries still bounced off the brick walls, obscuring the words.
***
She left him bound and gagged somewhere in the tunnels, and headed the way she had come. The stillness only amplified the screaming inside her head, getting louder the more she tried to push it away. So it was a relief when he appeared before her, the creature of darkness who wielded his words like a weapon. He had leapt off his perch ten feet off the ground, duster catching the wind around him like a cape. She smiled at the thought. Spike the Superhero.
"Nice work." He eyed her seriously, looking for… something she couldn't quite grasp.
"For all the good it did." She couldn't meet his gaze. "He's not exactly privy to the plans for world annihilation."
"We know more than we did two hours ago. Got someplace to start, now."
She bumped his shoulder with hers, grateful.
"Do we tell Buffy?"
Spike mulled it over, shook his head.
"Not yet. Let her babysit Peaches a while longer. I'll follow up on what that bloke said, sniff out if there's anything to it."
They headed toward the Hyperion, racing against the coming dawn.
The silence became too much again.
"You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Spike."
The words were jovial enough, but the vampire looked at her strangely, almost like he knew that what she really meant was that she had enjoyed this just a little too much.
***
Back in her bed, Faith lay awake for a long time, watching the sun rise over the city, a bright yellow fire consuming the sky. She was beginning to forget what it looked like, she realized, beginning to forget the feel of its warm caress across her skin.
For the first time, she understood Angel with perfect clarity.
Between the light imprinting itself on her retinas and the guilt imprinting itself on her soul, it was a long time before she drifted off into a restless sleep.