Part Six
Buffy pushed open the crypt door forcefully, and its bang against the wall echoed through the crypt, betraying its emptiness before she even looked around and confirmed it. "Spike?" she called out uncertainly, but no one responded.
She walked down to the lower level, and stepped softly onto the floor, so that the dark-haired girl standing at the foot of the bed didn't notice that someone had come into the room behind her.
She was pulling sheets off the bed one by one, casually crumpling them into balls, and dropping them to the floor at her feet. Buffy frowned, wondering how there could be so many sheets on this bed. The last time she'd slept here, there'd only been one or two.
She stood still, silently, at the foot of the ladder, and the stripping of the bed continued, as a small heap of too-white linens thumped onto the floor, where they were quickly marred by dirt. Buffy was unnerved by how natural it seemed for another woman to be arranging this bed. For a while, she'd felt as if it was hers.
But then, this girl – this woman – certainly seemed to have more of a right to be here than Buffy did.
Still, Buffy couldn't help but confront her. "What are you doing here?"
She turned, and her eyes widened as if she'd been caught at something. She recovered from her shock in an instant, and her familiar smirk was soon in place. "Hi Buffy."
"Hi Faith."
Faith spread her arms out and tilted her hips to one side, as if displaying her work. "What do you think?"
"Redecorating?" Buffy asked, the bitterness in her voice clear.
Faith shook her head. "Just cleaning up."
Buffy swallowed hard before speaking again. "Is he dead?"
Faith grabbed the edge of another sheet – the last sheet left on the bed – and pulled it upwards. Immediately the air was filled with a thick, gray dust.
Buffy squeezed her lips together to keep from inhaling it, but still felt a tickle of ash gathering around her nose. Faith had dropped the sheet to the floor, with the rest, and was standing in a pose that seemed so completely Faith, as if she was totally aware of every inch of her body. Her stance was wide, her hips fluid even in her slightest motion, her shoulders high, and her half-smile at once both unarming and aggravating.
"Did I kill him?" Buffy asked softly.
Faith nodded. "Definetly."
"I didn't want him dead," Buffy said, intent on keeping her voice unemotional.
"Don't worry," Faith said quickly. "He's only kinda dead. And as both of us intimately know, kinda dead doesn't count for much. We all wake up eventually." Faith wandered over to a far corner of the room and poked the toe of her boot into a pile of dirty clothes. "That's how it works, right? Good as new?"
"Not at all," Buffy said softly. She looked up at Faith, who'd turned her back. "You know why I did it, right? You understand?"
Faith turned on her heel in one motion and smiled teasingly. "The rush of the kill?"
Buffy frowned at her as if she should know better.
"Kidding!" She said, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. Her face softened, and she looked almost sympathetic. "I could give you a million reasons. I could be your id if that's what you need." She smiled at the challenge she'd posed herself, and straightened her body up proudly. "Do what you want, and damn the consequences. The consequences find you soon enough, believe me." She noticed a discarded bag of chips by the floor and picked it up. "Or how about this? It's your life, only yours, no matter who gave it to you. Some god, or evolution, or that chick Willow. Don't matter. You answer only to you, not them." She sniffed the bag, made a face, and tossed it over her shoulder carelessly. "Or – and this one's my favorite – Say that you saved the world like eight times already. If there's one thing you deserve, it's some guiltless dick, am I right?" She made one last survey of the room and, finding nothing else worth snooping through, turned her face to Buffy's and spoke evenly. "But here's the big reason, big sister. He won't hurt you anymore."
"He could," Buffy said almost inaudibly. She focused her eyes on a far corner of the ceiling. "Wouldn't even take much. A sentence. Less than that. A phrase, a fragment."
Faith stood still, watching her with an expression of confusion until she continued.
Buffy put her hands up to her stomach and nervously knit them together. "He could say, Not worth it anymore. Like I'd want to stick around. Not good. A lot to learn about men. Pretending that I loved you." Her voice became lodged in her throat, and she cleared it. "That's all it would take to hurt me, and he knows that. One fragment from him, and I break into pieces."
Faith raised her eyebrows. "I was talking about the bathroom thing, B." She walked back towards Buffy. "But looks like you got some bigger issues. The least of which is, you got your vamps confused."
Buffy's hand went to the side of her neck unconsciously, and she stroked a patch of tough skin there. "All injuries heal," she continued, ignoring Faith. "Broken bones, vampire bites, even death." She forced a soft laugh through her nose. "I'm totally *over* death. But I can't ever forget…" She took in a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what it's like, to open yourself up, show yourself to someone else completely, and then have them laugh at you? How it destroys you, kills a little piece in you that no black magic can resurrect, when they hurt you, and when they leave you."
Faith put her hands to Buffy's shoulders and pulled her face closer, breaking her long gaze.
"Buff," she said. "How do you think I ended up the way I was?" And she leaned forward and kissed Buffy's forehead.
And Buffy woke up.
*
When Dawn walked in the back door of their house, Buffy was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of Cheerios and reading the newspaper.
"I am so sorry." Dawn said immediately.
Buffy glanced up from the 'Living' section of the paper only briefly. "It's okay," she said, then returned to the Fall Fashion Preview. According to the article, her favorite white jacket had been 'Out' since last winter. Somehow, this information managed to upset her more than last night's dream or Dawn's disappearing act.
"Totally very sorry," Dawn said, putting her bag down on the counter and standing tentatively, as if expecting her sister to start lecturing her at any moment. "You must've been really worried."
"Actually," Buffy said, "I would've been more worried if you'd walked home from Spike's late at night. So better that you stayed." She gave the article one last glance before looking up. Frilly tops – still in. Wardrobe crisis somewhat averted. "So did you guys make up?"
Dawn smiled slightly. "Pretty much. We talked. Well, talked a little, after the me-crying bit."
"That's good," Buffy said. "Because I need you in full form for the battle that awaits us."
Dawn looked at the newspaper on the table with wide eyes. "Vampire attack?"
Buffy shook her head and pointed to the page. "Shopping emergency."
Dawn's face became distorted with grief as she scanned the article. "But I *love* that white coat!"
"Like I've told ya', sis," Buffy said as she stood to wash out her bowl. "The world can be an evil place."
Dawn began playing with a strand of her hair. "Buffy, um…Do you mind if I go out tonight?"
Buffy shrugged as she returned to the counter. "Sure. Don't think there's much going on Bronze-wise, but we could go out to eat with Anya or something." She patted the newspaper. "First though, a trip to the mall to salvage my outerwear."
Dawn bit down on her lower lip nervously. "Yeah, the mall, that would be fun. But tonight, I kind of meant, by myself. Or, actually…with Spike."
"You're going out with Spike tonight?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah," Dawn said, and then quickly added. "No! I mean, not *going out* going out, because, hello, in love with my sister all tragically and forever. It's just that, last night he mentioned that he didn't get me a birthday card this year, and I said he could make it up to me by buying me a present, and he said he had the perfect present for me, and he'd give it to me tonight so that we could, you know…kill things with it."
"Kill things with your present?"
"I'm thinking that means it's a weapon," Dawn explained. "Either that, or a really heavy sweater set."
"Oh, well, that's fine," Buffy said. "I mean, it's not even up to me, right? You can go kill things with Spike if you want; you don't need my permission."
"You don't mind?" Dawn asked hopefully.
Buffy smiled. "Not at all." She stood up. "But if you're leaving me alone tonight, I need serious commitment from you during the day. We're talking comfortable shoes, water bottles for continuous hydration, and total fitting-room honesty."
Dawn giggled and saluted her sister. "Yes, sir, Sergeant Retail!"
"Now march up to the shower," Buffy ordered. "We have a long day ahead of us."
*
Clem groaned and sat back in the chair. It was going to be a long day.
"See, cause he slept with her daughter, filthy bugger," Spike said, gesturing at the television in front of them. "Still, can't blame the guy. He didn't know, what with the amnesia."
Clem sighed put his hand to his face. He'd been at a very pivotal point in "Dressed to Kill: The Unauthorized Biography of Amy Fisher" when Spike had dragged him upstairs to watch soap operas, enticing him with White Cheddar Cheese Nips. But now the Cheese Nips were gone, and Clem was quickly becoming bored. "You know," he said to Spike when the commercials came on. "I think I'm gonna get back to my book."
Before he could stand up, they were both startled by a knock at the door. They exchanged wide-eyed glances.
"Who's that?" Clem asked.
Spike shrugged. "I don't know anyone who *knocks*."
The door swung open, and Spike flinched prematurely from the thin ray of light that entered. The man walked inside, closed the door behind him, but remained in the entranceway.
He was young, probably in his early thirties, but his rumpled clothes and unshaven face gave him the appearance of an older man. He was wearing thin-framed glasses that would have looked nerdy had he been cleaner, but they still managed to give him the air of intelligence. The way he stood conveyed confidence; he knew he had just entered a vampire's lair, but he didn't seem at all worried about this. A long, fresh scar across his neck, and the clear scent of his humanity, made Spike instantly aware that he didn't need to get into a fight with this man.
Still, he stood quickly, shifted into vampface, and growled threateningly at the intruder. "You'll get out now if you know what's good for you," he said.
"Don't try to frighten me, Spike," the man said, clearly unafraid. "I know all about your chip."
"Yeah…well…" Spike looked around the room for something to intimidate the man with, but found only his friend with one hand deep in an empty box of Cheese Nips, searching for crumbs. "Didn't count on my friend here, did ya'? His name's Clem….Clemaronicus. The deadly, bloodthirsty Clemaronicus demon."
Clem pulled his hand out of the box and licked a bit of White Cheddar dust off his fingertips.
The man took a step further into the room. "I'm not here to fight you. I've heard, though various sources, about your recent affliction, and I've come to make you an offer."
"You mean you heard about his new soul?" Clem asked. He grinned up at his friend. "Cool; you're famous."
"Shut up," Spike snapped at him.
"There are prophesies, Spike," the man continued. "And presently you are the only creature on earth that might fulfill these prophecies. They offer danger, adventure, and, above all, redemption." He paused to let his words sink it.
Spike's face shifted back into its human form and he stared at the stranger. "Redemption?" he asked. He furrowed his brow, as if considering the concept for the first time. "Redemption. I…I don't know what to say."
The man took in Spike's conflict and held his head up proudly.
"Oh, wait, yeah I do," Spike said. "Bugger off." He turned around, flopped down on the chair, and turned up the volume just as the show came back on.
"But…" the man said. "You have to at least talk to me. Hear what these prophesies say about you."
"Not interested," Spike said.
"Spike, I'm offering you redemption."
"Redeem my ass. I'm not interested."
"But – "
Spike turned the volume up louder, and he heard a frustrated sigh from the doorway.
"Fine, but this isn't over. It is your destiny, and when the time comes, you won't be able to turn your back on it." The door slammed shut.
Clem glanced at the closed door and then at Spike, who seemed completely undisturbed by the sudden visitor who knew everything about him. Spike leaned forward in his chair and focused intently on the TV screen.
"See, now this girl stole her friend's baby, but the friend doesn't know, since she brainwashed her…"
(tbc)