Brave New World
Chapter Eight

"What happened?" Dawn asked, grabbing a blood bag from the refrigerator and pouring it into a mug.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Spike mumbled, eyeing the empty cigarette packet morosely.

"Yes you do," she retorted, putting the mug in the death trap of a microwave. "What's going on with you guys? We go out and everything's fine, we come back and everyone's glaring. What happened?"

"Nothing," he answered.

He looked up when a chair screeched across the floor and Dawn sat down, chin in hand, fixing him with a determined look.

"Tell me, Spike," she said softly.

"I kissed her," he admitted, avoiding her gaze. "Willow, I mean. I kissed Red."

Dawn blinked. She stood slowly to take the blood out of the microwave; she set it before him and sat down again.

"Oh," she said. "And how does this affect Tara and Doyle."

"When Tara and Willow tried to do that spell, Tara saw it. She got upset and Doyle went to check on her. The Irish bastard hit me," he rubbed his jaw, but the bruise had faded. "Huh. And I thought he was my friend."

"He is, but he cares about Tara," Dawn shrugged. "He was probably just angry. What about Willow? What are you two going to do?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Told her it didn't mean anything," Dawn straightened up suddenly, staring at him. He looked up from the mug of blood and frowned at her. "What?" he asked.

"You don't get it," Dawn breathed. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" he snapped in irritation.

God, but he was sick of everyone interfering. First, it was Doyle, walking into the room and clocking him without a word or reason. Then it was the odd looks Tara was throwing him. He didn't need Little Bit having a go at him. He had already alienated most of the people who were actually friendly towards him; he didn't need to do it again.

"Willow hasn't ever looked at anyone since Oz," she told him. "She loved him so much. Buffy and Wesley had to practically hold her down the night he died. She was that close to tearing the Mayor apart. She didn't care if she got killed. It wasn't until you came along that she focused on something apart from this dumb war. Willow is my family," her voice hardened and she pointed a trembling finger at him. "Everyone in this mansion means something to me, even you. You guys are all I've got. How dare you do this to her."

Spike didn't let her harsh tone affect him, instead he leaned back in his chair, smirked and ran his eyes lazily over her.

"Well, look who's all grown up all of a sudden," he said in a low voice.

"Don't," she hissed, standing up and glaring at him. "Don't do this, Spike. Don't be like this because you can't handle your feelings."

He didn't move for a moment, he reached across the table and ran a finger along the handle of the mug.

Then he leapt out of his chair with superhuman speed, looping his finger into the handle of the mug and hurling it against the wall. Dawn dodged the arc of red as the mug shattered against the wall with a frightened yelp. She didn't see Spike reach out and grab her. She turned fearful eyes to him, even as she reminded herself about the chip and noted that his grip on her shoulders was firm, but not hard. She could pull away if she wanted to.

"I'm bad," he told her. "The only reason I'm here is because of this chip and because that smarmy git's minions put me back in a wheelchair. I don't give a toss about any of you. So don't you dare tell me how I feel, because you, Niblet, don't know the real me," he shook her slightly. "Get it?"

She dragged herself out of his hands and pushed him hard away from her.

"Never," she stated. "Never touch me again," she stalked away from him, tall and tough, but he saw the shake in her hands. She clenched them into tight fists and paused by the door. "I know you're the one that broke it off, but she's the lucky one."

She didn't look back again as she left the kitchen.

Buffy didn't answer as Faith walked towards her. Just the same as always, that swagger, smirk, the whole package. Buffy remembered how she envied Faith, the way Faith didn't give a damn about anything.

"Want. Take. Have."

She remembered how easy that had been. But out of the two of them, who was the evil one?

Yeah? But who's the one stuck in a grimy mansion surviving on military rations while the other lives it up at the Mayor's? her mind sneered at her and Faith frowned.

"You know, B," she commented. "You never used to be so quiet," she continued her slow prowl toward Buffy. "Cat got your tongue?"

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked in a low voice, making no attempt to push Faith away, though she was only inches from her face. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Wanted to thank you," Faith shrugged. "Two years out of the game. Y'know, I was after a vacation. Though I woulda wanted to be part of the fight. Heard it was fun. Load of you died, right?"

Buffy swung out, her sudden move catching Faith off guard. The force of punch lifted Faith off her feet and sent her sprawling. Faith touched her mouth with a chuckle.

"Ouch," she commented. "But no blood. Not like last time, eh?"

She stayed where she was on the floor and lifted her tank top up, revealing a scar. Buffy gulped hard and stared at it.

"You did it, B. You killed me."

"Yeah, that's a good one, isn't it?" Faith said, noting Buffy's eyes lingering over the scar. Faith ran a finger over it. "One to tell my grandkids about. See, kids," she jumped up then, starting to pace, waving her hands dramatically. "There was this bitch, right? Now, not only did she steal my wicked cool knife, but she stabbed me with it. But you know what? I got back at her."

"Oh yeah?" Buffy mocked. "How did you do that?"

"I was thinking kill all your friends, y'know? Strip every little thing away until all that's left is you," she stopped her pacing then and stared Buffy in the eye. "And me."

Buffy chuckled, keeping her eyes on Faith; she crossed the room to her bedside cabinet. It was old and shook a little as she opened the drawer and Faith snorted in disdain. The laughter stopped abruptly though as Buffy pulled out the knife and held it up. The curving double blades glinted in the late afternoon sunshine and Faith's smirk froze on her face.

"That's mine," Faith hissed.

"Yeah?" Buffy asked. "I gave it to you once, remember? Stuck it in your gut," her face hardened as she ignored the sickness that rippled through her stomach as she remembered that night. "And I will do it again, Faith. Get the hell outta here and don't you ever come back. There'll be a fight, don't worry. But it'll be on my terms, not yours. Now get out."

"Give it back," Faith stated firmly, holding out her hand.

"No," Buffy answered, running her fingers over the blade.

"I mean it, Buffy. Give it the hell back."

Faith approached her menacingly, fists clenched. She slammed her fist into Buffy's jaw and Buffy stumbled back, but regained her footing as Faith came at her again. Faith made to kick her, but Buffy's foot met hers in mid air, crashing into her leg.

Buffy hadn't been in a coma for two years, so she had a little more strength behind her. The kick knocked Faith off balance and Buffy took advantage of this, slamming her other foot into Faith's stomach. But Faith grabbed her foot, twisting sharply and sending Buffy sprawling to the ground. She dived over Buffy and grabbed for the knife that had clattered to the floor as Buffy fell.

Buffy rolled over as Faith reached for the knife and wrapped her arms around Faith's waist, tugging her away from the knife and rolling them over. She pulled herself up so that she straddled Faith's hips. Buffy pinned her hands above her head and leaned in low to Faith.

"I warned you," she hissed. "I told you to leave. I've been in the game for two years, Faith. So I'm a little bit faster than you are, little bit stronger. My reflexes are a little bit better."

Gripping Faith's wrists with one hand, Buffy leaned forward further and grabbed the knife. Faith struggled beneath her, but Buffy had been right. Buffy was slightly stronger. Fear gripped Faith's stomach as she remembered the chill as the knife pierced her stomach, the way the cold had taken her breath away.

Buffy trailed the blade across Faith's throat slowly and Faith refused to let her breath hitch, so she met Buffy's eyes defiantly.

"I could kill you right now," Buffy told her, and through Faith's fear, she heard the tremble in Buffy's voice. "I could, y'know. And then you'd stop being a pain in my ass."

"Then do it, B," Faith urged. "Just do it right this time. I couldn't stand waking up in another two years again."

And Buffy seriously considered it. She could just quickly run the blade across Faith's throat, watch the life bleed out of her and that would be it.

No more Faith.

Buffy could fight the Mayor and all his nasties and not have to worry about the other Slayer. It would be that easy. Faith would do it if she were in Buffy's place. She wouldn't hesitate. She would do it with a smile on her face.

All it took was one motion and the war would be a lot easier. No humans to worry about except those on her own team.

"I mean, you have to make a choice. Faith is a Slayer, Buffy. She's still a Slayer, no matter what she's using that power for. Part of her is still good."

Angel's voice echoed through her mind. She had forgotten to tell the others that part. She had told them about the human weakness, about the Slayer part of Faith. But she had forgotten the choice part.

But she remembered now and she made her choice.

She stood up, letting go of Faith, keeping an eye on her as she moved away.

"Go," she told her.

"You letting me go, B?" Faith asked, sitting up and raising her eyebrows.

"Yes," Buffy said. "Unlike you, I'm not a killer."

Faith stood up then, warily; watching the knife Buffy clutched.

"It'll be me or you one day," Faith warned her.

"But that's not today," Buffy answered. "Go on, get out. You'll get your chance at me, but not today."

"Gotta wait 'til it's on your terms?" Faith asked sarcastically.

"You got it."

"You haven't changed a bit," Faith chuckled, backing away toward the window. "G'bye, Summers. Can't wait to see you again."

And she vaulted off the edge of the small balcony and Buffy listened to her land and run across the grass. She didn't move until she heard the sound of Faith's boots hit the street beyond the small stretch of grass behind the mansion.

When she heard that, the knife fell from her hands and she fell to the floor, shaking, forcing herself not to throw up. She held her shaking knees to her chest, dimly aware of the bang of the kitchen door and the sound of Dawn storming into another room.

She stared out of the window, Faith's mocking grin floating in front of her face. She couldn't do it. One day, she knew she would have to.

She knew that.

But what if I can't?