3.
What an enjoining spell did three years earlier, stress and newly awakened Slayer powers did to almost the same extent the first night after Sunnydale disappeared. Unsurprisingly, the primal Slayer force wasn't any kinder to her new Slayers than she'd been to Buffy, Xander, Willow and Giles three years before. But these dreams had more than one purpose.
Vi dreamed... of kisses.
Of kisses and groping, and nerves, and hormones singing like demented pop divas in the back of her head (now baby now tonight's the night now). The girl in the dream had known Michael forever, since he gave her a valentine in 8th grade, and it was right, tonight was perfect, it was exactly---
*crack!*
"Holy crap."
"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I can't believe I broke your stick shift---"
But he was laughing way too much to be mad at her. "Forget it. Just the excitement. Kinda flattering. Come back over here, Jackie."
Vi didn't even notice the name wasn't hers. "Oh. Okay, yeah...."
Rona dreamed....
Of bouncing on a bed, jumping higher and higher with glee, because she'd made the home run and won the game and the Little League championship, and she had the pennant pinned to her wall and now Dad was going to take her out to dinner to celebrate, and she RULED! And cool, she could touch the ceiling! Danielle had just hit it for the sixth time when the bed collapsed and her dad came in and gave her a *look*....
Ivy dreamed... of shakily crawling to the bed, and hauling herself up.
Of balancing on legs that were still weak and uncertain. Of letting go, and being able to stand. And bursting into tears, because it had been three years, three long impossible years of therapy and hand-holding and trying not to give in to fear, and it had all paid off finally, finally, Shira's legs weren't damaged anymore....
Phen dreamed... of equations, dancing through her head as she got out her bike lock key.
Was that a footstep, behind her? Laughter? Quickly, she unlocked her bike and mounted it, just as someone (Some *thing*? What was with this guy's (vampire, it's a vampire, run!) face, what was going on-- ) tried to tackle her off of it. Reflexes she didn't know she had kicked in. She reversed, lashing out with her foot and sending him sprawling, and then she was pedaling, faster and faster, shaking with fear and anger and leaving her attacker in the dust behind her....
Rebekah dreamed.... of dreams.
Sariko knew she was dreaming-- but it was so vivid (monsters and ghosts crawling out of the walls at the subway station, a pale woman with long fingernails stalking commuters and smiling as she poked out their eyes). It was important, she knew it was, but she didn't know why, and even in the dream, she sensed she wasn't alone....
Faith dreamed.... of blocking a punch from her father, for the first time ever.
Forget that he'd left before she could remember his face, forget that it was her mom that always used to hit her (except that no, she knew her mom was just sad and pathetic, too scared to stand up to him), this was her father, and it was so damn familiar, and so damn *old*, and there was no way she was putting up with this shit again. This was it, he was staring at her in surprise, and she wasn't afraid any more. She grinned, tightened her fist around his hand, saw him flinch, felt the bones begin to grind against each other, and thought, *I could snap it right off if I wanted to.*
*Do it, and you'll regret it.*
*I hate him! He deserves it! I don't care!*
*You will. Let it go, kid. He's not worth the grief. Trust me on this.*
And she opened her hand, letting him fall, and turned away from his blubbering... and as she did, Faith caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror: fourteen and stocky, baby-fine hair and uncompromising face, and her name wasn't Faith, it was Lisa....
She woke up.
"Jesus."
In the hotel room bed, Robin shifted next to her, then settled back into sleep, and Faith took a deep breath. Slayer dream. God, she hated those. Let Buffy and the newbies have that part of being the Slayer, she'd take the fighting. The dreams creeped her out, confused her, made her feel stupid--
(As stupid as being hit, as helpless as being fourteen and alone, as scared as an abused kid--)
Oh, shit.
Faith shivered. Somewhere, some Potential-- no, Slayer-- had just woken up and laid a smackdown on her dad. And was she wrong, or had she stopped the kid from going too far?
The girl's name was Lisa Hackett, she was fourteen, she lived in Memphis, at 1413 South 10th Street... Damn, this was too weird. Had to be a side effect of the Slayer spell Red did. She knew the kid's phone number. Faith could call her right now, tell her to get out of there, tell her what had just happened, explain the whole Slayer deal to Lisa, but she was too freaked out to do any of it.
Faith eased herself out of bed, not wanting to disturb the man next to her, but way too shaken up to go back to sleep. Silently, she put her shoes on and grabbed the hotel room key before creeping out of their room, and walking down the hall.
Their room. Jeez. First time in... well, ever, maybe, unless you counted Riley, that she'd slept the night through with someone. And Riley sure as hell hadn't known who or what was in bed with him. Robin had collapsed so easily, not even worried about her strangling him in his sleep, or wondering if she was going to leave in the night. He trusted her.
Big time Twilight Zone. Oh yeah.
Usually when she was this messed up she'd go out slaying to take the edge off, but they hadn't exactly had time to check out where the nearest cemetaries were yet. Robin wasn't going to be up for a re-match for a while - and she wanted to be better prepared for that, when it happened.
When, not if.
She padded down the hallway to the emergency stairwell, then took the stairs down, as fast as she could, images pounding through her head with the slap of her feet on each step.
Robin's face, so still in the bus, then smiling at her a few seconds later, asking if she'd been about to close his eyes, teasing her about it. The armies of Turok-han closing in as Buffy handed off the Scythe to her, realizing again that becoming a Slayer wasn't worth losing a friend, and wondering how she'd ever thought she could kill B.
Faster.
Busting out of jail, diving with Wes in her arms to the ground-- how long would she be out this time? And if she was going to stay out, what was she going to have to do? She couldn't stay in California, where could she go--
Faster.
All those girls, all of them, were Slayers now. They could do it right, they wouldn't make her mistakes, she'd make sure of it--
Faster.
And she wouldn't, she would *not* think about how terrified she was, realizing that she was really out, she was free, she was a good guy again. It had all happened so fast, none of it had sunk in until now.
Stop.
She landed at the bottom of the staircase, breathing hard, then turned and began to climb back, only a little slower.
She'd have to call Angel tomorrow, let him know how it all worked out. Let him and Wes know that they'd been right, she could make a difference. Maybe not the difference-- that had been Willow's mojo and Buffy's crazy plan-- but still. Enough to justify not going back to Stockton; at least to them, and Buffy and the other Scoobies.
It just would've been nice to think that she'd be done paying for her mistakes, that someone would tell her it was all clear. But Angel had been right, when the Orpheus was burning in her-- you just had to live with it....
She rounded the bend in the staircase, swinging by one hand on the railing as she gasped at the figure blocking her path. "Christ, you scared the crap out of me! What are you---"
Andrew was huddled on the stairs, crying. Tears were dripping off his chin, leaking into his mouth, and his eyes were red and unfocused.
He was clutching a shining medical scalpel in his hand.
"--doing here...?"
Oh, fuck.
He didn't answer her, just rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and swallowed, hard. He wasn't even looking at her, but it was so freakin' obvious what he was doing. Or going to do. Sesame-Street-picture-clear.
Faith let out a shaky breath. "Hey."
"Hey." Tiny voice, hunched shoulders, eyes on the glinting sharp thing in his hand.
What was she supposed to say? God, don't let her sound stupid, don't let her screw this up.
"Nice blade. Can I take a look?"
Andrew didn't say anything, just thought about it for a second, then held it out to her, handle first. Faith gently took it from him and put it down on a step far out of his reach, not letting herself sigh in relief.
"Where'd you get it?"
He sniffed, shrugged his shoulders, still not looking at her. "Sunnydale. When we went for medical supplies."
"Oh."
Andrew glanced up at her, then away, fast. "I wasn't going to use it for-- I thought we were all gonna die in the last fight, I didn't think of it until we got here... I wouldn't chicken out before it was all over. I wouldn't do that."
Faith nodded, and wished intensely that anyone else had found him. Anybody who was good at talking people down. Giles, maybe, Buffy definitely, but not her.
"Why...?"
"You have to ask?" He glared at her, a sad little chipmunk ready to walk into traffic, and she winced.
"No, I mean..." Shit. She was screwing this up, she knew it, two words and she was blowing it. "I was gonna ask, why here? Kinda strange place to do it."
He rubbed his eyes. "I didn't want Xander to find me. Not after... Willow's in our room with him. In case he wakes up. And she might stop me, she's like that." He sniffed again. "So I thought I'd go somewhere else. Outside the hotel. But then I thought, I'd better leave a note, so people know where to find me...." His face twisted up, and he choked, breathing hard for a couple minutes until he got control of himself.
"And then I remembered there's no one to leave a note for. 'Cause Anya's dead, and Xander probably hates me, and everyone else just puts up with me, and..." He put his hands over his face and just let it out. "I killed my best friend last November! And I deserve to be dead!"
Aw, hell. Faith climbed up to sit next to him, and put her arm around him. Comfort was so not her thing, but you'd have to be stone or souless not to pity the guy. And it wasn't like she hadn't been there. She just held on to him while he lost it, until he was breathing little easier again, and wiping his face on his shirt sleeves. And she still didn't know what to say.
But maybe she didn't need to talk. Maybe she could just listen.
"It's a lot harder to kill yourself than it is to kill someone else," he muttered. "I thought it would be easy, but it isn't."
Pouring rain, pounding fists, Angel holding her so tight she couldn't fight.... "Yeah. I know what you mean."
He drew a long, jagged breath. "I was *supposed* to die. I was okay with it. You know? It was going to be like Darth Vader at the end of 'Return of the Jedi.'"
Faith blinked, then cocked an eyebrow at him. "Darth Vader? You think you're *Darth Vader*?" Oh, this boy needed so much more help than she could give.
"Uh, no. 'Cause I wasn't a super-warrior for the Dark Side who could kill people with a thought," Andrew said, sounding annoyed and a little more alert. "It was going to be like that." He sighed. "He died saving Luke, and was redeemed and all, and then his ghost was with Obi-Wan and Yoda, and it was okay. You know?" Faith nodded, getting a hint of what he was saying. "But I don't want to see Jonathan any more, because of the First, and I don't want to be wherever Warren is, 'cause I'm not sure it's a good place, and... I thought it would be--- over. And it's not."
He shook his head, eyes big and lost, not even seeing her. "I don't know what happens now."
She didn't have a clue either.
This was going to sound so lame. "Uh. Well. If Darth Vader had lived, what would he do?"
Andrew sniffed, and actually seemed to focus on her for a second. "I don't know. That's my point. His whole *life* was leading up to him getting killed--"
"But yours didn't," she interrupted. Better to keep him off that line of thought. You could get really obsessive and stupid if you were convinced you were evil and had nothing to live for, so... "So, uh, stop thinking of the Darth thing." Faith quirked a smile at him. "Get another geek role model. Somebody who didn't end up dead. What would they do, if they were you?"
He looked almost intrigued by this idea. "I dunno. There really aren't enough geek role models."
"There have to be. Bill Gates, maybe?"
"True. But he likes being evil," Andrew pointed out. "Microsoft is a multi-layered application of demonic energy possibilities. He's not redeemed. That won't work."
"Oh." She really didn't speak enough nerd-words to be very helpful here.
"And I can't have you for a role model. You're a Slayer. And a girl."
"Gee, thanks."
"I just mean that someone's always going to *want* to save you, and help you out," he said quickly. "'Cause you used to be good, then you were bad, then you got better. And you were always hot. I started out as a pathetic geek and went evil. There's no comparison."
"Uh... shit." Why did everything have to be a movie or a comic book with this guy? Her shrink would've had a field day with him. "You can't do it by yourself? Just... keep going? Fight the good fight, or whatever, and figure it out as you go?"
"Maybe." He was silent for a minute, his expression exhausted. "But I don't think I could stand it. 'Cause if it's just me, there's no point."
Okay, that was depressing. Crap, what was she supposed to say? "Forget role models and heroes, okay? You know, lots of people have done worse than you and come back. You're not that bad of a guy now. Look at Angel, if you want real evil. Okay, he got a soul back after losing it, it's not really the same, but still...."
"Spike," Andrew said suddenly.
"What?"
"Spike. He can be my role model."
Way to set that bar. "Uh, he can?"
"Sure. He was evil for a long time, and then he was forced to be good-- like me, when Buffy just tied me to the chairs and wouldn't let me leave, only he had a chip-- and then he fell in love with Buffy, and he made himself be good for her... Like I was when I started liking everyone and being scared of dying.... And then he went and got his soul, and came back to help, and then he saved the world." For the first time since they started this conversation, Andrew was showing a little enthusiasm. "If you pretend to be good long enough, it gets to be real. So that's what I'm going to do. Be like Spike."
She was not going to laugh. And after a minute she didn't want to, because she got it. And it was pretty familiar. She was beginning to know that she'd never be able to forget all she'd done. Never be able to be "okay" about the people she killed. But this, this was familiar.
She squeezed his shoulder. "Fake it 'til you make it."
He nodded vehemently, and she nodded slowly, thinking of the phone call she still owed Angel; and the one to Lisa, that she'd have to make even sooner. Just so maybe, just this once, the badness could stop before it started.
*** CLK
kikimariposa@prodigy.net
What an enjoining spell did three years earlier, stress and newly awakened Slayer powers did to almost the same extent the first night after Sunnydale disappeared. Unsurprisingly, the primal Slayer force wasn't any kinder to her new Slayers than she'd been to Buffy, Xander, Willow and Giles three years before. But these dreams had more than one purpose.
Vi dreamed... of kisses.
Of kisses and groping, and nerves, and hormones singing like demented pop divas in the back of her head (now baby now tonight's the night now). The girl in the dream had known Michael forever, since he gave her a valentine in 8th grade, and it was right, tonight was perfect, it was exactly---
*crack!*
"Holy crap."
"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I can't believe I broke your stick shift---"
But he was laughing way too much to be mad at her. "Forget it. Just the excitement. Kinda flattering. Come back over here, Jackie."
Vi didn't even notice the name wasn't hers. "Oh. Okay, yeah...."
Rona dreamed....
Of bouncing on a bed, jumping higher and higher with glee, because she'd made the home run and won the game and the Little League championship, and she had the pennant pinned to her wall and now Dad was going to take her out to dinner to celebrate, and she RULED! And cool, she could touch the ceiling! Danielle had just hit it for the sixth time when the bed collapsed and her dad came in and gave her a *look*....
Ivy dreamed... of shakily crawling to the bed, and hauling herself up.
Of balancing on legs that were still weak and uncertain. Of letting go, and being able to stand. And bursting into tears, because it had been three years, three long impossible years of therapy and hand-holding and trying not to give in to fear, and it had all paid off finally, finally, Shira's legs weren't damaged anymore....
Phen dreamed... of equations, dancing through her head as she got out her bike lock key.
Was that a footstep, behind her? Laughter? Quickly, she unlocked her bike and mounted it, just as someone (Some *thing*? What was with this guy's (vampire, it's a vampire, run!) face, what was going on-- ) tried to tackle her off of it. Reflexes she didn't know she had kicked in. She reversed, lashing out with her foot and sending him sprawling, and then she was pedaling, faster and faster, shaking with fear and anger and leaving her attacker in the dust behind her....
Rebekah dreamed.... of dreams.
Sariko knew she was dreaming-- but it was so vivid (monsters and ghosts crawling out of the walls at the subway station, a pale woman with long fingernails stalking commuters and smiling as she poked out their eyes). It was important, she knew it was, but she didn't know why, and even in the dream, she sensed she wasn't alone....
Faith dreamed.... of blocking a punch from her father, for the first time ever.
Forget that he'd left before she could remember his face, forget that it was her mom that always used to hit her (except that no, she knew her mom was just sad and pathetic, too scared to stand up to him), this was her father, and it was so damn familiar, and so damn *old*, and there was no way she was putting up with this shit again. This was it, he was staring at her in surprise, and she wasn't afraid any more. She grinned, tightened her fist around his hand, saw him flinch, felt the bones begin to grind against each other, and thought, *I could snap it right off if I wanted to.*
*Do it, and you'll regret it.*
*I hate him! He deserves it! I don't care!*
*You will. Let it go, kid. He's not worth the grief. Trust me on this.*
And she opened her hand, letting him fall, and turned away from his blubbering... and as she did, Faith caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror: fourteen and stocky, baby-fine hair and uncompromising face, and her name wasn't Faith, it was Lisa....
She woke up.
"Jesus."
In the hotel room bed, Robin shifted next to her, then settled back into sleep, and Faith took a deep breath. Slayer dream. God, she hated those. Let Buffy and the newbies have that part of being the Slayer, she'd take the fighting. The dreams creeped her out, confused her, made her feel stupid--
(As stupid as being hit, as helpless as being fourteen and alone, as scared as an abused kid--)
Oh, shit.
Faith shivered. Somewhere, some Potential-- no, Slayer-- had just woken up and laid a smackdown on her dad. And was she wrong, or had she stopped the kid from going too far?
The girl's name was Lisa Hackett, she was fourteen, she lived in Memphis, at 1413 South 10th Street... Damn, this was too weird. Had to be a side effect of the Slayer spell Red did. She knew the kid's phone number. Faith could call her right now, tell her to get out of there, tell her what had just happened, explain the whole Slayer deal to Lisa, but she was too freaked out to do any of it.
Faith eased herself out of bed, not wanting to disturb the man next to her, but way too shaken up to go back to sleep. Silently, she put her shoes on and grabbed the hotel room key before creeping out of their room, and walking down the hall.
Their room. Jeez. First time in... well, ever, maybe, unless you counted Riley, that she'd slept the night through with someone. And Riley sure as hell hadn't known who or what was in bed with him. Robin had collapsed so easily, not even worried about her strangling him in his sleep, or wondering if she was going to leave in the night. He trusted her.
Big time Twilight Zone. Oh yeah.
Usually when she was this messed up she'd go out slaying to take the edge off, but they hadn't exactly had time to check out where the nearest cemetaries were yet. Robin wasn't going to be up for a re-match for a while - and she wanted to be better prepared for that, when it happened.
When, not if.
She padded down the hallway to the emergency stairwell, then took the stairs down, as fast as she could, images pounding through her head with the slap of her feet on each step.
Robin's face, so still in the bus, then smiling at her a few seconds later, asking if she'd been about to close his eyes, teasing her about it. The armies of Turok-han closing in as Buffy handed off the Scythe to her, realizing again that becoming a Slayer wasn't worth losing a friend, and wondering how she'd ever thought she could kill B.
Faster.
Busting out of jail, diving with Wes in her arms to the ground-- how long would she be out this time? And if she was going to stay out, what was she going to have to do? She couldn't stay in California, where could she go--
Faster.
All those girls, all of them, were Slayers now. They could do it right, they wouldn't make her mistakes, she'd make sure of it--
Faster.
And she wouldn't, she would *not* think about how terrified she was, realizing that she was really out, she was free, she was a good guy again. It had all happened so fast, none of it had sunk in until now.
Stop.
She landed at the bottom of the staircase, breathing hard, then turned and began to climb back, only a little slower.
She'd have to call Angel tomorrow, let him know how it all worked out. Let him and Wes know that they'd been right, she could make a difference. Maybe not the difference-- that had been Willow's mojo and Buffy's crazy plan-- but still. Enough to justify not going back to Stockton; at least to them, and Buffy and the other Scoobies.
It just would've been nice to think that she'd be done paying for her mistakes, that someone would tell her it was all clear. But Angel had been right, when the Orpheus was burning in her-- you just had to live with it....
She rounded the bend in the staircase, swinging by one hand on the railing as she gasped at the figure blocking her path. "Christ, you scared the crap out of me! What are you---"
Andrew was huddled on the stairs, crying. Tears were dripping off his chin, leaking into his mouth, and his eyes were red and unfocused.
He was clutching a shining medical scalpel in his hand.
"--doing here...?"
Oh, fuck.
He didn't answer her, just rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and swallowed, hard. He wasn't even looking at her, but it was so freakin' obvious what he was doing. Or going to do. Sesame-Street-picture-clear.
Faith let out a shaky breath. "Hey."
"Hey." Tiny voice, hunched shoulders, eyes on the glinting sharp thing in his hand.
What was she supposed to say? God, don't let her sound stupid, don't let her screw this up.
"Nice blade. Can I take a look?"
Andrew didn't say anything, just thought about it for a second, then held it out to her, handle first. Faith gently took it from him and put it down on a step far out of his reach, not letting herself sigh in relief.
"Where'd you get it?"
He sniffed, shrugged his shoulders, still not looking at her. "Sunnydale. When we went for medical supplies."
"Oh."
Andrew glanced up at her, then away, fast. "I wasn't going to use it for-- I thought we were all gonna die in the last fight, I didn't think of it until we got here... I wouldn't chicken out before it was all over. I wouldn't do that."
Faith nodded, and wished intensely that anyone else had found him. Anybody who was good at talking people down. Giles, maybe, Buffy definitely, but not her.
"Why...?"
"You have to ask?" He glared at her, a sad little chipmunk ready to walk into traffic, and she winced.
"No, I mean..." Shit. She was screwing this up, she knew it, two words and she was blowing it. "I was gonna ask, why here? Kinda strange place to do it."
He rubbed his eyes. "I didn't want Xander to find me. Not after... Willow's in our room with him. In case he wakes up. And she might stop me, she's like that." He sniffed again. "So I thought I'd go somewhere else. Outside the hotel. But then I thought, I'd better leave a note, so people know where to find me...." His face twisted up, and he choked, breathing hard for a couple minutes until he got control of himself.
"And then I remembered there's no one to leave a note for. 'Cause Anya's dead, and Xander probably hates me, and everyone else just puts up with me, and..." He put his hands over his face and just let it out. "I killed my best friend last November! And I deserve to be dead!"
Aw, hell. Faith climbed up to sit next to him, and put her arm around him. Comfort was so not her thing, but you'd have to be stone or souless not to pity the guy. And it wasn't like she hadn't been there. She just held on to him while he lost it, until he was breathing little easier again, and wiping his face on his shirt sleeves. And she still didn't know what to say.
But maybe she didn't need to talk. Maybe she could just listen.
"It's a lot harder to kill yourself than it is to kill someone else," he muttered. "I thought it would be easy, but it isn't."
Pouring rain, pounding fists, Angel holding her so tight she couldn't fight.... "Yeah. I know what you mean."
He drew a long, jagged breath. "I was *supposed* to die. I was okay with it. You know? It was going to be like Darth Vader at the end of 'Return of the Jedi.'"
Faith blinked, then cocked an eyebrow at him. "Darth Vader? You think you're *Darth Vader*?" Oh, this boy needed so much more help than she could give.
"Uh, no. 'Cause I wasn't a super-warrior for the Dark Side who could kill people with a thought," Andrew said, sounding annoyed and a little more alert. "It was going to be like that." He sighed. "He died saving Luke, and was redeemed and all, and then his ghost was with Obi-Wan and Yoda, and it was okay. You know?" Faith nodded, getting a hint of what he was saying. "But I don't want to see Jonathan any more, because of the First, and I don't want to be wherever Warren is, 'cause I'm not sure it's a good place, and... I thought it would be--- over. And it's not."
He shook his head, eyes big and lost, not even seeing her. "I don't know what happens now."
She didn't have a clue either.
This was going to sound so lame. "Uh. Well. If Darth Vader had lived, what would he do?"
Andrew sniffed, and actually seemed to focus on her for a second. "I don't know. That's my point. His whole *life* was leading up to him getting killed--"
"But yours didn't," she interrupted. Better to keep him off that line of thought. You could get really obsessive and stupid if you were convinced you were evil and had nothing to live for, so... "So, uh, stop thinking of the Darth thing." Faith quirked a smile at him. "Get another geek role model. Somebody who didn't end up dead. What would they do, if they were you?"
He looked almost intrigued by this idea. "I dunno. There really aren't enough geek role models."
"There have to be. Bill Gates, maybe?"
"True. But he likes being evil," Andrew pointed out. "Microsoft is a multi-layered application of demonic energy possibilities. He's not redeemed. That won't work."
"Oh." She really didn't speak enough nerd-words to be very helpful here.
"And I can't have you for a role model. You're a Slayer. And a girl."
"Gee, thanks."
"I just mean that someone's always going to *want* to save you, and help you out," he said quickly. "'Cause you used to be good, then you were bad, then you got better. And you were always hot. I started out as a pathetic geek and went evil. There's no comparison."
"Uh... shit." Why did everything have to be a movie or a comic book with this guy? Her shrink would've had a field day with him. "You can't do it by yourself? Just... keep going? Fight the good fight, or whatever, and figure it out as you go?"
"Maybe." He was silent for a minute, his expression exhausted. "But I don't think I could stand it. 'Cause if it's just me, there's no point."
Okay, that was depressing. Crap, what was she supposed to say? "Forget role models and heroes, okay? You know, lots of people have done worse than you and come back. You're not that bad of a guy now. Look at Angel, if you want real evil. Okay, he got a soul back after losing it, it's not really the same, but still...."
"Spike," Andrew said suddenly.
"What?"
"Spike. He can be my role model."
Way to set that bar. "Uh, he can?"
"Sure. He was evil for a long time, and then he was forced to be good-- like me, when Buffy just tied me to the chairs and wouldn't let me leave, only he had a chip-- and then he fell in love with Buffy, and he made himself be good for her... Like I was when I started liking everyone and being scared of dying.... And then he went and got his soul, and came back to help, and then he saved the world." For the first time since they started this conversation, Andrew was showing a little enthusiasm. "If you pretend to be good long enough, it gets to be real. So that's what I'm going to do. Be like Spike."
She was not going to laugh. And after a minute she didn't want to, because she got it. And it was pretty familiar. She was beginning to know that she'd never be able to forget all she'd done. Never be able to be "okay" about the people she killed. But this, this was familiar.
She squeezed his shoulder. "Fake it 'til you make it."
He nodded vehemently, and she nodded slowly, thinking of the phone call she still owed Angel; and the one to Lisa, that she'd have to make even sooner. Just so maybe, just this once, the badness could stop before it started.
*** CLK
kikimariposa@prodigy.net