Brave New World
Chapter Fourteen
They were quiet, failure weighing heavy on them as they entered the main room. Buffy pushed her hair off her face, noticing abstractly that her palm was bleeding. They were all nursing injuries and Buffy swiftly took each of them in. The injuries were minor, cuts and bruises, split lips. Nothing they hadn't dealt with before. In fact, they were pretty well off; they had sported worse injuries.
"Are you all right?" she asked, sinking onto a stool and leaning back against the wall.
"We're fine," Spike answered.
"We've had worse," Wes added flatly.
"Did, um, did everyone get out?" Dawn asked, her eyes looking strangely large and innocent in her white face. "Apart from those… everyone else?"
"Yeah," Doyle nodded. "They all got away," there was a hard edge to his voice and he threw his sword to the ground in anger. "The bastard! She was only young! She had a kid! Jesus!"
Anya grabbed his hands, wrapping both of hers around his and squeezing. She put one hand up to his hair, gently soothing him before slipping her arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. He slumped against her, sighing and closing his eyes.
"I can't believe it," Tara whispered. "I knew he was bad, evil, y'know. But I never thought he would kill a child."
"Why not?" Andrew asked bitterly. "He killed my brother."
Dawn glanced at him. He was slumped forward, staring at his hands, not looking at anyone. She touched his back and he jumped, looking at her, but allowed her to gently rub his back in reassurance.
"We should get cleaned up," Wes said after a moment's silence.
"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Spike, I want you up about an hour before dawn. You'll go to the Mayor's and once everyone has left, you can take out the vampires, we can't risk them joining the fight if it goes on into the evening."
Spike nodded, shrugging.
"What about the rest of us?" Tara asked.
"Up before dawn," Buffy answered. "You and Willow will work the magicks. I want you to back everyone up. The rest of you will fight."
"And the Mayor?" Wes asked.
"Leave him to me," Buffy said. "I've got a plan. Look, it's late, we're tired and drained. I'll tell you tomorrow when we've had some sleep. It's pretty straightforward, ok?"
"Yeah," Willow nodded. "C'mon, Andrew. Let's see what I can do about that cut."
She stood up and went to him. He stood with Dawn and followed her out of the room, head bowed.
"You too," Anya told Doyle in a low voice, standing and pulling him up too.
Tara watched them, noted the slight frostiness between Buffy and Wesley and turned to Spike. She placed warm, soft hands over his, gently prying his white knuckled grip from his sword. It clattered to the floor, obscenely loud in the silence. She squeezed his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the streets of Sunnydale and back to the mansion.
"You've hurt your wrist," she said, touching the swollen joint gently.
"It'll heal," he answered, voice empty.
"Let's make sure," she answered and they left the room after the others.
Buffy moved from her place by the wall and sat beside Wesley on the couch.
"Before you say anything," he said. "I want you to know that none of what happened tonight is your fault. There was nothing you could do."
"Maybe," she answered quietly.
"No maybe about it," he replied firmly and stood up, leaving before she even realised what happened.
She stared at the door for a moment, before sighing and gathering the fallen weapons together.
Having cleaned up Andrew's cuts, Willow was sitting on her bed, carefully packing everything back into the First Aid box. Anya was in Doyle's room, patching him up and for once, he couldn't be heard grumbling good naturedly at her.
In fact, there was silence everywhere. Guilt weighed heavy on mansion and even as she thought it, the image of the Mayor devouring the woman and child reared inside her mind. But like the others, Willow had seen so much death; she was adept at hiding it away. She knew it wasn't her fault, knew there was nothing she could have done. But it didn't stop her feeling like she should have done something.
She gulped hard, pushing the memory away.
Which only left one other thing to think about besides the war.
Spike.
She pushed the First Aid kit away and leaned back. She had promised to think about it. And she had. Really hard. But every time she got close to a reason why she shouldn't even consider anything with Spike, she remembered the way he made her feel. When he came to her the day before, when he tried to kiss her again. She remembered how hard it had been to push him away.
God, it had felt so long since she had felt that. And right now, she wanted it more than anything. She swung her legs over the bed and smoothed her jeans and shirt. She strode determinedly out of the room and along the hall to Spike's room. She knocked on the door gently and opened it, finding Spike tugging on a new shirt with a bandage wrapped tenderly around his wrist.
"Red," he said, turning around. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she answered. "I just… We go to war tomorrow."
"Yeah, I heard that was scheduled."
"I guess I… I don't want to be alone."
He stared at her, taking a few steps toward her. She did the same, a slight smile on her face.
"Is that right?" he asked in a low voice.
She nodded and sank into his open arms. He held her tightly and for the first time in a while, she didn't feel afraid.
"You should make up."
Wes looked up, bandage clenched in his teeth as he attempted to bind a cut along his forearm. He had only just come into his room after sitting with Doyle and Spike. Spike, having been patched up by Tara, had been talking to Doyle and Wes wanted to make sure they were both all right. Maybe he should have looked for Tara to bind his arm; she had done a good job with Spike.
"Ott?" he asked, voice muffled around the bandage.
Anya sighed, coming toward him, sinking to her knees before him and pulling the bandage out of his mouth. Slowly and carefully, she bound it tightly around his arm.
"You should make up," she repeated after a moment. "With Buffy, I mean."
"We have - ahh!" he hissed as she pulled a little too tightly, she smiled apologetically.
"Not properly," she said. "And I think there's more to it than that."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he huffed.
"I know she hurt you, Spike told me what she said to you, but take a minute to think why what she hurt so much. If it was me, you wouldn't care. It was because it was her."
She knotted the bandage and stood up. She smiled a little at him before bending down, putting a hand to the back of his neck and drew him close to kiss his forehead.
"Think about it," she urged in a whisper.
"Anya," he said suddenly as she crossed the room.
"Yeah?" she turned to him, one hand on the doorframe.
"Are you all right?" he brushed his finger over his cheekbone and she touched the bruise on hers.
"I'm fine," she nodded. "Just remember. Think about it."
He sat perfectly still as she left and for a long moment after. Slowly, he ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled hard. He stood a little shakily and left the room, crossing the hall to knock on Buffy's bedroom door. It swung open and she blinked at him for a second before smiling widely.
"Hey," she greeted. "I kinda hoped I'd see you."
She pushed the door open and stepped aside. He smiled and entered at her silent invitation.
Doyle drummed his fingers on his knee. Spike and Wes had left him sitting alone on the stairs a while ago. Doyle rubbed his fingers over his cheekbone, feeling the Band-Aid Anya had placed there with a smile.
Goddamn Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and William the Bloody. Stirring up things that ought to have been left well alone.
"You know, Doyle, Anya does have feelings for you."
"Don't be daft, Wes, man."
"I'm with Pryce on this one. The girl lights up whenever you're in the room."
"You're both insane. Anya can't stand me, I irritate her. What, you been walking around with your eyes closed?"
"That's how she shows her feelings. It's a bloody terrible way of doing it, but you've got to make allowances for ex-demons."
"And she admitted it. She said she thinks you're hot, she likes your accent, hair and eyes. Oh, and even your damned annoying Irish ways. Which is actually a direct quote. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I ought to see to my arm."
And off Wes went, followed by Spike. Leaving Doyle to take in this brand new, shocking information. Anya. Liked him. In that way. Well, there was a curveball if ever he saw one. He glanced back, saw Anya go to Wesley's room. Now there was a couple he could believe in. What with all their little arguments, teasing, it could easily be more than - oh. He and Anya kinda had the argument and teasing thing.
With a low groan, he leaned his head against the banisters and closed his eyes.
There was no way he and Anya could…anything. No way. They weren't compatible at all. Though he had to admit, she was one beautiful woman. Dear God, what am I thinking?
What the hell was he thinking? That Anya was beautiful? That he was attracted to her? He heard the wooden floor of the hallway creak, Anya was returning to her room and he glanced up. She didn't see him. Without thinking, or even processing the consequences, he got up, ran up the stairs and put a hand on the door as Anya tried to shut it. Anya turned sharply, fist clenched.
"Woah," he said, holding up his hands in defence.
"Oh, Doyle," she breathed, then frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Wanted to see you," he answered. "That so wrong, Anya?"
"No," she answered, walking into her room and raising her eyebrows at him. "Coming in?"
"Uh, yeah," he shrugged, buried his hands in his pockets and shuffled in after her.
"Something wrong, Doyle?" Anya asked. "You can tell me, y'know."
"Look, Anya… This is kinda…. Hard."
"What is?"
"Wes said something…"
Anya continued to just look at him, before her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed and she leapt up.
"I'll kill him!" she shouted. "It was supposed to be just between us! Stupid, stupid Englishman!"
"Hey, hey, now," Doyle caught her arm. "Guy cares about you, thought I oughta know."
Anya wrenched her arm from his grasp, breathing shallow and hard.
"Yeah, well now you do. So get it over with."
"What over with?"
"Telling me that you don't feel that way about me. Hurry up, I've got things to do."
"Can you postpone 'em?" he asked.
"Well, there we - huh?"
"We go to war tomorrow, I don't know about you, but I don't fancy being alone tonight."
"What are… I'm not sleeping with you," she folded her arms.
"Not asking you to," he replied, crooking a finger under her chin. "Though I wouldn't say no to a kiss."
"Alan Francis Doyle, you -" her voice was lost in a whimper as he pressed his lips to her.
He felt her arms wrap around his neck and instinctively tightened his hold around her waist.
"Hey, this seat free?"
"What? Oh, right, yeah."
"I'm Anya."
"Doyle, pleased to meet ya. You waiting for the Sunnydale bus?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Yeah… but, not the best place for a girl like you."
"I know, Hellmouth."
"You know?"
"Oh, yeah. I used to be a demon. Have you been a half-demon all your life?"
"What… Half-demon… I don't…"
"I used to be a demon, I can still sense these things."
"Oh, right. And you… don't mind?"
"Why would I?"
Her easy acceptance then didn't feel half as good as she did in his arms right then.
"I'm sorry," Buffy said after a moment's silence.
"You've said that. I told you to forget it," Wes answered, wondering why this was so very hard.
"I should have told you before," she looked up. "You're right, I do need the help. I kinda learnt that tonight. We would have lost far more than we did if I hadn't had you guys."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "But as it is, we lost a mother and her child. There's nothing to be proud of."
"I know," she answered, sniffing. That caught his attention and his stoic expression melted as he stepped forward and touched her shoulder.
"Buffy…?"
"It's not fair, Wesley!" she burst out and he was horrified to see that she was crying. "You were right. I do need the help. If I had asked for help, if I had talked to you about the plans for tonight, none of this would have happened."
"Don't be stupid," he answered gently. "You did all you could. You accounted for the Mayor's attack and we followed the plan. You and Spike kept the Mayor back long enough for us to reach the border. It's not your fault the Mayor…" he tailed off. "It's not your fault. These things happen. I hate that they do, but that's the way it is. You can't be held accountable for every little thing."
"But maybe if I hadn't been so distracted," she said. "I could have saved her."
"No," he said, griping her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "There was nothing you could do. You were too far away. I saw that. Buffy, listen to me. We're a team, remember? Don't you dare try and shoulder this yourself."
She wiped her eyes then, chuckling a little as she smiled at him.
"I won't dare," she took a deep breath. "But it gets to me, y'know? Sacred birthright, destiny, the Slayer, the Chosen One."
"I know, I learnt the spiel," he replied wryly.
"Well, sometimes, it's hard to get past all that. I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I'm sorry."
"You really are having trouble with the forget it thing, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I know. But I just want to say - and then I swear I'll forget it - if anyone is second in command around here, it's you."
He couldn't stop the smile that spread warmly across his face at her words. Pride swelled beneath his ribs, warm and fuzzy. He dropped his arms from her shoulders in surprise, a goofy grin on his face. She smiled at his delight and patted his arm.
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
"It's the truth," she shrugged. "God, I'm so tired. We'll have to be up at dawn."
"Yes," he nodded, "I know."
"You think you'll sleep?"
"It's doubtful. But I suppose everyone feels that way."
"Yeah," she nodded. "So… are we good?"
"We're fine," he smiled. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a complete arse at times. I should have accepted your apology properly before. I thought that maybe -"
He was interrupted by a thud on the balcony. He and Buffy jumped and looked toward the window. A figure pushed against the French window and stepped into the room. Wes thought his heart might stop in fear as he recognised the way the woman tugged her fingers, those dark leather pants, wild brown hair and large haunted eyes.
Faith.
"B," Faith started and Wes swung his gaze toward Buffy who had dropped into a defensive posture. Faith noticed Wesley and turned to him, pleading. "Wesley, please. I just want to talk. I didn't come here to fight."
"I told you to get out," Buffy gritted out. "I told you never to come back."
"I need to know something," Faith said, fighting the urge to mirror Buffy's defensive position.
"What?" Wes forced out; his mouth dry, his throat felt closed off.
"The… The Mayor…" Faith started, head down, staring at her hands as she tried to figure this whole thing out. "What he did tonight… Was it a… A one-off?"
"A one off?" Buffy mocked. "Are you that stupid? He eats people, Faith. He eats anyone. He doesn't care if they're young, old, a mother, pregnant, a little kid."
She resisted the urge to grab Faith bodily and throw her out of the window. And she ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind that told her Faith needed help. Buffy didn't give a damn whether Faith needed help or not. As far as she was concerned, Faith had done nothing to earn anyone's help. And this stupid little game where she tried to look all upset about that woman and child was not working.
"No," Faith whispered. "No, you're just saying that! He wouldn't hurt -" she stopped, grasping for something to protect her boss. "He wouldn't hurt little kids! It must have been an accident!"
"He ate most of the Sunnydale Graduating class, Faith," Wes said quietly. "And then moved onto their families. From what I saw, he didn't trip and fall on that woman with his mouth open. It was deliberate. You know that."
"He wouldn't…" she said. "He takes care of me. He wouldn't hurt kids."
"Weren't you watching tonight?" Buffy snapped. "That woman didn't even get a chance to scream. Her daughter didn't get the chance to get away. I watched him swallow them whole. Don't tell me you missed that."
"I don't…" Faith shook her head, sank against a battered closet.
"Faith?" Wes ventured.
Buffy watched in horrified fascination as he took a few steps toward her and bent slightly. There was no way he could be falling for this… this stunt!
"I can't… I don't know what to do," she said softly. "I can't go back there… I don't… How can I?"
"You don't have to," Wes told her. "You don't have to go back to him. You can leave his side."
"And do what?" she asked, looking up and meeting his eyes with a ferocity that made him take a step away from her. "Fight with you guys? Like you'd trust me enough."
"You're right," Buffy snapped. "Leave her, Wes. This is just some stupid trick of the Mayor's. Just get out, Faith. You knew he was a monster, you were going to sit at his right hand, remember? Don't act like you've got a conscience now. Now get out before I throw you out. Literally."
Faith stood up, stared at Buffy for a moment, then nodded and took a step back. She should have known this wouldn't help. She was as lost as ever. She had her answers, but she didn't know what to do with them. The Mayor really was evil, just a monster. And Faith was a Slayer. Where did that leave her? Unable to be in the Mayor's presence without shuddering and unable to turn to her one time friend.
That left her where she had always been.
On her own.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't… I shouldn't have come here. I didn't…" she shook her head, chuckled bitterly and slipped out of the window, jumping over the balcony.
"Can you believe her?" Buffy raged; grabbing the French window and slamming it closed.
"Buffy…" Wes said vaguely, forehead creased in thought. Something was familiar, an echo of Buffy's voice recounting something. Something that he was starting to understand.
"She really expects us to believe that she didn't think he'd kill innocent little children? Of all the low-down, dirty, stupid little tricks to pull."
"Buffy…"
"Y'know, I thought for a minute there she was going to ask to help us. If she had, I would have lost it. Really. I swear, I don't know what I would have done if -"
"Buffy!"
"What?"
"Human weakness," he said urgently.
"… But he also accepted her. Took her just as she is. Be careful, Buffy. Faith has always needed someone, somewhere to fit in, some place to belong. Human weakness, remember?"
"You mean…" she frowned, piecing it together. "We need her on side? Accept her, take her just as she is?"
"Her human weakness is needing someone," Wes agreed.
"Will we lose if she's not on our side?" Buffy asked.
"Why else would Angel come to you?" he replied.
"Oh my God," Buffy muttered. "What have I done?"
"Something that can be easily put right," he answered. "Go after her."
"I can't do this," she said. "I can't. She has done things, Wesley… She killed people, tried to kill Angel. She would have killed me given the chance. I can't go after her and beg her to come to our side. Not after all that."
"At the risk of arguing with you again," Wes said carefully. "You did put her into a coma for two years. Yes, she's done things - awful things - but maybe you owe her one chance."
"But -"
"If we are to win this war, Buffy, you have to do things you don't want to do. I understand your aversion to this, but… Maybe you should just talk to her," he grinned at her. "If anything happens, we all know who'll win in a fair fight."
She smiled at that, but ran her hands through her hair.
"I don't know if I can do this, Wesley," she said quietly.
He took her forearms and pulled them away from her hair, gripping them tightly.
"Listen to me," he said. "You're the Slayer. Yes, we're a team and yes, we share the blame and the glory. But it's because of you we've got this far. If you can get a group like us through two years here, you can talk to a young girl that really just needs someone. I believe in you, Buffy. I know you can do this. If I didn't, I wouldn't be this calm about what's going to happened tomorrow."
"You were pretty calm about Graduation Day," she replied.
"You should have seen me before I came to the library. I'm not sure gibbering wreak quite covers it."
She pulled her hands from his and went to the window, pulling it open.
"Wesley -"
"Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on them. I don't think anyone's spending tonight alone. They're fine."
"That's good. Thanks, Wes."
He shrugged it off and watched her go out onto the balcony. She gripped the edge and sighed. She swung a leg over the balcony, then the other settled on the balcony's edge for a moment.
"I mean, you have to make a choice."
Buffy made her choice. Pushing with her hands and swinging her legs, she jumped off the balcony and hit the ground running, determined to catch up with Faith.
Wes watched her disappear and breathed out a long sigh, wondering why he felt like he hadn't said all he needed to.