16

"So it's here, and down here, and then I think we go here…" Xander was mumbling to himself as he led Jade and Faith down the hall. Jade didn't think Faith was aware of Xander's mutterings, but she could hear every word.

"Have you been here before?" Jade asked to break the silence, because even Faith hadn't been saying much, toying with a sharp knife she'd pulled from her belt.

"Yeah, yeah. Know it like the back of my hand. I just haven't been here in a while. And it was just the once. Didn't really expect to be using it so soon." Xander answered.

"Well that's your bad," Faith commented. "Don't you gotta be ready for anything? Since you're one of the top guns now?"

"Are you jealous?"

Faith snorted. "Not a bit."

She was grateful to be the shadow, at least for right now. They weren't talking about her, just bickering among themselves, old banter that she could ignore. She could see how Faith favored her broken arm, how it was tied tight to her stomach in a makeshift sling, until Slayer healing could accelerate it a little, still, a broken arm wouldn't exactly heal overnight. And she was tempted to apologize, but what good would it do, even if she made it sound sincere. She'd killed a close friend of Faith and countless others, and she doubted excuses were what anyone wanted to hear out of her mouth.

She didn't know what to say so it was better not to say anything. Silence would be a welcome change. It'd allow her to listen to the drumming in her head, the outcry that she should be focused on, and not was going on around her. The thought of staying in a room until Buffy told her otherwise didn't bother Jade as much as it could have. She was sore all over. It hurt to move, to breathe if she still did that. And she wanted to be alone. Not to have anyone look at her with the ire she deserved. She didn't want pity either. She just wanted some quiet.

She was relieved when Xander finally stopped at the door. "This one."

"Are you sure?" Faith sounded bored.

"I'm sure." Xander turned reached for the door and opened it. Like much of what she'd seen so far of the underground, it had an old look about it. Carved stone walls, and flickering candles. There was even a tapestry on the wall—somewhat unnerving, until she stepped closer into the room and found a modern looking bathroom with a shower, sink and a toilet in it. And mirrors, not that she'd have any use out of those. All in all, it was fine. No windows. A large enough bed and a couple of chairs, mirroring the hotel rooms back in the Slayer's base in San Francisco. Nothing but the necessities. No TV either, but there was a book shelf. She didn't care. It was fine. She noted there was no fridge, no real appliances of any sort, but that was fine. Just as long as they remembered to bring her blood.

Thinking of blood, she was reminded again of her hunger. It was only a small nudge, but she didn't want to see it grow any further. Her wounds hurt badly, especially her shoulder, where she'd must have been hit by—

—A crossbow bolt hit me? Actually hit me. Ow, fucking hell my hands are burning. Holy shit. Assholes covered the bolts in water so I can't even grab them out of the air, think they're so clever, do they? This holy water burning my hands and of course so many of them are wearing crosses in case I get too close. So annoying. Ah, vampires, so fucking invulnerable, except for fire, crosses, sunlight, holy water, wood, even a stupid pencil. I should be unstoppable. I am. They think an arrow in my shoulder can stop me—fucking should have aimed for the heart. Ow, damn shit, at least it's out now, burning my good hand to do it. Well I only need one hand. Or one arm. A damn toe is enough. Won't stop me, I'll kill them all—

Jade shuddered. Not unlike the memory of Gunn dying—not dying but being killed. Pain and rage. That's all there had been. So hateful. Just wanted violence. Jade glanced down at her hands, which bore the marks, both fresh and older burns. It was like knowing the picture on the puzzle box, and now she was trying to find out where the pieces fit in. So that's where she got that cut from or that burn, or that…

And soon enough she'd get to relive, in all detail, just how Spike had gotten his too.

She made her way to the bed and sat down heavily.

"I'll get you the blood," Xander said, and she was grateful she didn't have to ask again, although there was no mistaking the slight distaste that crossed the man's features at the thought of blood as sustenance. She knew she'd been like that once. She hadn't liked when her lips were chapped and biting at the dead skin would cause her lip to bleed. She hated the taste, the iron tang. Blood in her medium rare steaks were okay, as long as there wasn't too much, but her own blood, the taste of it had just been repugnant to her. And now she craved it. Could hear the thump-thump-thump in the room as Xander walked loudly out of it, the only sound now was Faith's beating heart.

And Faith looked back at her, calculating, thinking. She didn't have much blood on her, at least not from any of her own open wounds, and for that Jade was grateful. She didn't need anything else to stir her hunger.

"I'm not one for the big long silence," Faith admitted only a minute after Xander had left. "I'm no mind-reader, either. Tend to say what's on my mind even though most people don't like to hear it, you know?"

"So what's on your mind?" Jade asked. Though last time she and Faith hadn't exactly seen eye to eye, Jade realised why that was. It had been on the mission to rescue the Slayers and fight Mandy, and Jade had gone along with Spike, but Angel hadn't allowed Faith to come with him. So any anger Faith had shown then, towards Jade, Jade understood. She would have reacted the same way if she hadn't been allowed to come with Spike.

"I guess I owed you a thanks," Faith started, as if she'd been reading Jade's mind, thinking of the last time they'd met, too. "I was all gung-ho about the killing Slaypire-bitch—no offense—back then, but it might have ended me with doing the whole dead thing and I don't think I could pull it off. I like to look edgy without looking too Goth, you know? And I don't think I could pull it off as well if I was as white as—"

"Me," Jade supplied.

"You or the pasty twins." Faith laughed, then her expression grew more solemn. "Look, I'm pretty pissed off that you killed my friend. I'm not going to get over it like that," she snapped her fingers. "But I also have moved passed the kicking people while they're down stage, so you don't have to worry about me trying to stake you in your sleep. Not really my style, anyway." She twitched her large, full lips into a slight smirk. "Plus, it's not good for Buffy's ego if everyone goes along with everything she says all the time, so I'll have a bit of fun with that."

Jade nodded, for lack of anything to say. She hadn't really expected Faith to be lenient towards her at all, especially after the killing of Gunn, and it was comforting. She might not have had big sway with the Slayers, since she spent her time in Angel's crew instead, but Faith was still a powerful friend to have. Or at least a friend, of which Jade didn't think she had many left.

"Well. You good by yourself? As I said, not a happy camper about Gunn, so don't expect me to keep you company in this hole."

Jade smiled, or perhaps it was a grimace. "That's okay. I don't mind being alone." She preferred it really, even now, in the company of not-a-friend but not-going-to-tear-her-throat-out-either Faith. She didn't want to push it. She had a truce, and for now, that was comforting enough.

"Good. I'm sure your boy toy will be along soon anyway." Faith moved towards the door.

"He's not my—" Jade felt compelled to say, although it was just to the Slayer's back.

"Whatever," Faith threw back in a disinterested, tone, and she had stepped up to the door and through it before Jade could say anything else. She found it didn't matter. She hadn't felt embarrassed by Faith's comment, as she might have been, and the whatever resonated through her. She just felt resigned. It didn't matter. She laid back on the bed, then sat upright again as her back protested painfully to being used. She remembered Spike told her she made that hole in the floor, or she guessed it had been the ceiling from where they had been at first, and she could tell. She was sore all over.

But she was still alive—sort of. She supposed it was only fair that it hurt this much. She was lucky. Lucky. Her hand curled into a fist, as least as much as it could before her pained fingers refused to bend further. She didn't feel lucky. She felt… well, she felt angry. Furious. A deep, simmering rage that should have shut off, shouldn't it? It's what she felt in all her memories, but it shouldn't still be here.

She was so glad for the silence. She stretched out on the bed again, this time on her side, but avoiding the shoulder that'd been burnt by the crossbow bolt. That was better, but not by much.

It wasn't long enough before she heard footsteps and voices outside her door. Normally, curiousity got the better of her, but not now. She had enough sound in her head, so that she covered her ears with her hands. Silence. She just wanted quiet, and…

The door was creaking open again, and she could tell it wasn't Xander. Humans were easy to smell. Blood, sweat and tears. That's all they were. Especially blood.

And there was blood now. She could hear it in the clinking of familiar jars, and she sat up immediately, drawn to it. And there was Spike holding the box of blood, as she knew it was him. But she felt disappointment, not relief, and it didn't make much sense. She knew no-one was really 'on her side'. They were sympathetic, mostly. And angry. Spike was the one, he'd defended her repeatedly. Vehemently. And seeing him always brought comfort. But not now. Not while he bore cuts and bruises from her. Not while she felt like this, shamed and disgusted, and she couldn't bear his pity or his understanding. Could barely look at him right now.

"Brought y'something to eat," he said casually, stepping over to one of the end tables and setting down the box. His shirt was still open. He hadn't had a chance to change yet. Neither had she. A dress. Whatever persuaded her to put one on? At least she wore tights under it, but she didn't have the breasts for such a low neckline. She wanted to rip it off, but she had nothing to replace it right now, so she pulled the top layer blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself, hiding every last trace of the red dress. Spike's blue gaze flickered to her but he didn't say anything, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on opening a jar with only one hand. It was easy enough for him, and he held it over to her as he sat in a chair next to the table.

"Pig's blood. Bit more options, if y'like, but none you've tried before."

"Pig's blood is fine." And it would have to be, because she was hungry. There wasn't a way she could see to warm it up, although surprisingly, the jar wasn't that cold to touch when she wrapped her fingers around it. She tipped the edge of the jar to her lips and took in a large mouthful.

And promptly spat it out.

"Bloody hell!" Spike swore, and she swore too, dismayed to see that she'd gotten some on the blanket around her. She went to rip it off, but there was no point now, it was already dirty. "What is it? Gone bad?" He was concerned, like he thought the blood had been poisoned, and he'd stood up from where he'd been sitting and promptly walked over to her and took the jar out of her hand before she had a chance to say anything, sniffing it himself.

"It didn't smell past due," He was muttering to himself.

"It isn't." She said. Quietly, too quietly. She resisted the urge to blanch, to spit every last bit of it out, to get the disgusting taste off of her tongue. She couldn't look straight at him, and she felt his hand tighten around her arm through the blanket she wrapped around her and he jerked her, and unintentionally, she raised her gaze to look at his. His eyes bore down on her with such a grasp of their own, tighter than the fingers curled around her arm.

"Then what is it? Bloody hell, Super Girl, what's the matter with it?"

She wouldn't cry. She was disgusted she even felt the impulse to, felt her eyes watering and her bottom lip trembling. She wouldn't cry. She'd cover it with fire instead. "It tastes awful." She forced out between gritted teeth. Let the understanding dawn on him then.

"'Cause you've had human blood," He said. And it wasn't necessary to say aloud. She knew that, of course, and he'd known it, because it was inevitable. She'd lost her soul. Of course she'd tasted human blood. Probably went right out looking for it

—Oh finally. What does it taste like? He's so small he's barely amouthful. He'll do. Won't fill up and then I can move on to the next one. Find my favorites. He's succulent and mouthwatering. Mouthbloodying? Should really coin a term. Drink, drink, drink, and that heartbeat flutters. Fluttering and now it's stopping. Oh, I need more. So much more. That was young blood, was it? Then I have to find a girl too, and I have to sample all the blood types of course. God, there's an energy. Drinking from a person, sucking their life away. And I've been drinking from fucking jars all this time, well never again—

She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She'd killed a boy. A ten year old boy. She didn't know his name, and she didn't know if that should make her feel worse or better that she hadn't known who he was. She'd broken off his glasses and let them lay in the dirt and she'd drank from him until his body went still. He'd only begged once, and after his cry of pain, when her fangs had sunk into his throat, he'd whimpered, and then his breaths grew ragged, and then cut out completely.

"And Slayer blood," Jade couldn't help but say, her tone hoarse.

Spike was still standing there, watching her, hand, gripping her arm. "Salright," he said, his eyes carrying sympathy now. Sympathy! As if she deserved that. Hadn't he known what she'd done, who she'd fed from? "S'not the best. You'll get used to it. Here." He snatched the jar from her hands and put it back in the box, closing it up tight and twisting the jars around, looking for labels. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she could get the taste out.

Human blood would do the trick.

And she closed her eyes tight, but it wasn't until she felt a slight pain across the back of her hand that she realised she'd slipped into game face. Probably had when she'd started drinking, although the shock of the revolting taste had beaten it back, she could feel the ridges form on her forehead. Just at the thought of human blood.

"'Ere's some Marmoset. 'Sposed to be pretty close to human blood." Spike was lifting the jar and handing it to her, open.

"Marmoset? The tiny monkeys?" Jade couldn't help but snap, the words tumbling from her in a scathing tone. "Are you sure you don't have kitten or puppy blood in there?"

His dark brow furrowed, lowering closer to his captivating blue gaze, his forehead wrinkling. "Jus' take it. Need some bloody food in you."

Yeah, or I'll eat the next human to come near me, the thought was bitter, and her fingers shook with barely contained anger. Here he was, treating her like someone who needed nursing back to health. Was all wrong. She took the jar from him, choosing to obey him but in a jerky snappish way that didn't really satisfy her at all. No defiance there, but she raised her lips to the glass, feeling her teeth scrape it. Liquid poured into her throat, and she felt her stomach tighten in a tremor, and she resisted the urge to wretch. It wasn't as bad. Wasn't as bad as the pig. She told herself that as she forced it down, just one large gulp, swallowing hard.

She didn't think vampires vomited. She at least really hoped they didn't.

"Better?" He tried his best to keep the triumph out of his tone but she envisioned it there anyway, like she was a good little girl who'd done her homework.

"Yes." She forced the word from between her teeth. And because she knew he'd make her drink more to help speed the healing process, and since he knew how much blood she normally needed to uptake, especially to heal herself, she forced another three mouthfuls down, hating every drop. She thrust the jar back at him, half-empty. "That's enough for me."

She watched him pass his tongue across his teeth, something he did while his mouth was closed, which always made his lips skew a little and his jaw tighten, his cheekbones somehow more prominent. He was debating, and then relented, taking it back from her, and going to the Pig's blood she'd neglected and opened it for himself.

She sat back down on the bed, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself as if it was a protective barrier. She watched Spike sip at the jar, a surge of irritation rising in her as he slowly drank. He meant to sit there then, and she found she couldn't stand company, not now.

"I'm going to try to get some sleep," She said.

Spike tilted his head. "Might be best ta see to your wounds first."

He was one to talk. He was covered in more blood than her. She had burns more than anything else, but those were closed wounds. Except for her shoulder… and she noticed his eyes glancing there too. Damn it all, sometimes it was like she still had him in her head even without those stupid rings.

"I can do that." Myself, she wanted to say, but she lost courage for the last word. She didn't want to push him away, make him think he wasn't wanted. He just wasn't, right now.

He frowned again. She knew she wasn't all that good with subtlety, but she didn't care.

"I'm here. Better make some bloody use of me. I still got one hand." And he meant it as a joke, a casual comment as he raised his hand and twiddled his fingers while his other laid limp, due to the broken wrist he had been cradling to his chest. That chest—would have been enough to take her breath away if she still breathed. It was like one of those perfectly carved marble statues, one she would have loved to reach out and touch. Except it was a little bit marred by spots of black and blue and purple.

"No, I'm fine."

This time he didn't try to defuse her with humour. His eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter in his chair. "What's this 'bout?" He sounded wary.

"About?" She scoffed. God damn him for acting so casual, trying to be understanding while he was confused. Being so. Damn. Gentle. "What do you think it's about?"

His teeth showed in a light grimace as his jaw grinded. "Look, luv. I know your head's a bit muddled at the moment, all sorts of things in it, so 'f I did something wrong, I'm bloody sorry, and—"

"Stop." She raised her good hand and curled it into a fist, knocking her brow against it as she leaned into her hand. Closing her eyes, at least she didn't have to see him. "Stop treating me like I'm the victim, alright?"

She moved her hand away to see him staring at her. He looked lost, contrite, then his dark eyebrows gathered closer together in a frown. "This in't your fault."

Yes it was. "Yes it is, Spike. It is exactly my fault." He opened his mouth to argue, and she didn't want it to turn into one of those 'yes it is', 'no it isn't' debates because she was frustrated enough already. "I did it. Just me. You're right, I haven't got the whole picture yet, so I'm sure there's some bloodshed and mayhem that I've missed. Can't wait to catch up on those episodes. And no, there was no magic involved, nothing that turned me into a puppet. It was me. I did this. I killed a child." She felt her throat tighten. "Gunn. I tried to hurt you. Who knows what else. That was me. So I don't need you defending me, damnit. I'm not the one who needs defending. I'm the one who did all that. They're the ones who need protection from me."

"You weren't in your right mind," Spike said quietly.

"Actually, my mind was just fine."

"Soul, then. Y'know what I bloody mean."

"I don't want to see you right now, Spike." She sighed, feeling weary. If there was anyone who shook her up and twisted her upside down it was him, and she was just too tired. She couldn't look at Spike without feeling that guilt twist around her, tighter and tighter. She looked at him, tried to stare him straight in the eye so he'd know she meant it. She saw the hurt flash through his blue gaze, and she felt guilty, but at the same time, pleased. Maybe he'd find it harder to pity her now. "I just want to be alone."

"Yeh." He said, surprisingly tame. Too tame, pushing himself up from the chair, and she felt hopeful for a moment, that'd he just leave and that'd be it, but he took a step towards her instead, his duster sweeping behind his legs, the piece of clothing that had suffered the least in whatever had transpired.

"Easier to feel sorry for yourself if you're alone, innit?" He said then, and her eyes snapped away from his dark jacket back up to his face. His eyes were unwavering, though not inexorable; he wasn't being cruel. He was just being his normal honest self, where he said what he was feeling no matter how brutal it was. And she couldn't handle it, not now, because he always knew what to say to pierce through her walls, like he could see her so clearly and she couldn't hide a thing in the world from him, and she didn't want to be vulnerable, not now.

Her throat closed up before she could force words out, which might have been a blessing, for she had nothing intelligent to retort with. Nothing but short, snappish statements, because she wasn't as eloquent as Spike was, couldn't get to the heart of the matter of it all with just words. She had nothing to say that surmised how she was feeling.

"By all means, bloody turn out the one who's on your sodding side so you can wallow in your guilt."

Now her anger gave her ammunition. She rose to her feet as well, though it was no graceful bounce, but an awkward lurch, the blanket around her constricting movement, and the various aches and bruises that had done their best to make her legs feel stiff and awkward. "I didn't ask you to be on my side," She snapped.

"Yeh," Spike deadpanned. "You didn't have to."

"They deserve the comforting here, not me!" She couldn't get it through his thick skull. He was still just standing there, the picture of loyalty, his face not enough to mask the pity he felt for her, and she couldn't look at him anymore. "I want to be alone." She repeated. There wasn't enough command in her tone, not like in Buffy's. Jade didn't have that aura of a leader, that was for sure. She couldn't even make Spike leave her alone. And that should have made her feel light and happy and warm inside, but not now. Now it just twisted the dagger further in.

"Fine." Spike forced out. There was no hurt in his eyes anymore, just indignation and annoyance. She was surprised that he relented, but she wouldn't allow herself to be disappointed. He went to the box, taking out the remaining Marmoset blood and leaving it on the table, taking the rest of the blood into his one good arm and swirling towards the door. He paused right before he reached the doorknob and turned back towards her, his eyes narrowed. "Jus' be bloody thankful that it's only three days y'got to remember. An' not a hundred and twenty two." Then with a muted 'buggering hell' under his breath, he pushed at the door knob with his bad hand and stepped through, the door slamming closed behind him.

She sank back onto the bed, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders. She wasn't sure how long she just sat there. With Spike's absence, she felt an ache, but it wasn't as big as the one she felt in his presence. And seeing her handiwork, all over his body, the bruises, the blood. She closed her eyes, but it didn't block out the image of it, no, that one she kept seeing in her mind, along with too many others.

Eventually, she let out a ragged sigh, it might have very well been a sob to match the tears on her cheeks. Sitting here and trying to remember could only do so much, since she was remembering and hated every second of it. She was exhausted and drained and she hoped sleep could bring her some quiet. But first she ran her fingers along the hem of her dress and ripped it, the whole thing off of her. She didn't want a trace of it. But since she didn't have a garbage bin, or wanted to try to flush it down the toilet, she balled up the remains of the dress and flung it into the dark corner where she didn't have to look at it anymore. Next were the tights, even if they were something she'd actually wear, she didn't want to see them anymore. She didn't want a trace of what evil her had chosen.

And she wished it was so simple, imagining she'd simply been an evil clone, some sort of changeling. If it wasn't still her. But she didn't want to think of it anymore. The leggings were exiled to the same corner of the room, and she laid back on the bed, in nothing but her bra and her underwear. That she didn't feel fit to remove, because she felt small and vulnerable enough right now, she didn't need to add being naked to that. She brought her hand up to her shoulder, feeling tenderly along the skin, a shudder in her stomach. God, that hurt. The holy water had burned away flesh from the inside and out, and she wondered how long that would take to heal.

She pinched it hard, then, gasping a bit at the agony, but it was comforting too. Deserved that. She stared up at the ceiling as she pulled the blanket around herself, hoping desperately that she'd be able to get some sleep now.

Deserved that and more.

AN: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews I've been getting. It's really nice to have feedback that makes me think and motivates me, especially since lately I've been having a harder and harder time getting writing down. But you all keep me going, and I hope to eventually make it up to you for your patience, for this slowest of slow burns :). Thank you to all my readers, and to ViviH88, sunmaster14, xXbriannaXx, LovingAnything, MarshWolffe and BarbyChan4ever. for your lovely reviews that I look forward to after posting, and sorryforruiningyourlivesallthetime. 3