CHAPTER 18: RECKONING

In her white lace
You can clearly see the lady sadly looking.
Saying that she'd take the blame
For the crucifixion of her own domain.

I get up, I get down,
I get up, I get down.
Two million people barely satisfy.
Two hundred women watch one woman cry, too late.
The eyes of honesty can achieve.
How many millions do we deceive each day?

            ~ Closer To The Edge III (I Get Up, I get Down), Yes
______________________________________________

"She called it the 'Winnowin'?" Giles asked, looking at Spike for confirmation.

Spike shifted and looked annoyed, nerves jangling on the edge of impatience. "Right," he agreed tersely.

"I don't recall ever hearing of such a thing," Giles went on, frowning as he reached for a book. "There is something called the Venic Vas that sounds something like what you described—"

"That's wonderful Rupert, but we really don't have time to pontificate."

"I—I wasn't pontificating," Giles mumbled defensively.

"Yet," Spike added.

"So she staked you and left you to die?" Xander asked.

Spike cut him a look that could have flayed skin from bone.

"Gee, that must have been really humiliating," Xander went on with a shake of his head. Then he glanced up at Spike with fevered eyes. "Can you tell us that part again?"

"We're wasting time," Spike snarled. "Were you listening a minute ago? Buffy's got her hands on the thing that's going to end the world and she's taking it straight to the Master. The lot of you can sit around and read books and drink tea all day, but I'd like to get there in time to save Buffy. Then, if you like," he added with rancor, "I'll help you all throw yourselves into whatever hell the Master wants to bring upon the world since you're so bloody eager to let him do it."

Willow eyed the vampire, sullen and surly, guilt over Buffy like a leaden weight in her stomach. "How do we know you're not lying?" she asked.

Spike yanked his duster open with a look that screamed "duh" and pointed to the sizable hole in his chest.

"Yeah, but you could have done that yourself," Anya put in. "It would be a nice touch to make us believe you so you could talk us into walking right into our enemies arms."

Everyone paused as this idea sank in.

Spike laughed. "Oh yeah. Staked myself through the chest, stole a homeless person's smelly blanket and begged Cordelia for a ride so she could torture me with pop music all the way back to Sunnydale. All part of my elaborate scheme to kill you all." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I just can't believe that Buffy's… evil,"Willow said.

"It does seem, ah, unlikely," Giles agreed.

"Have you all heard a word I've said?" Spike stared at them in disbelief. "She's not evil. She's confused. The real Buffy is in there. I saw her. She's in there," he paused, voice faltering with a touch of emotion that he tried hard to squish back into its box. "She's in there and she's hurting and bloody miserable under all the crazy voices in her head." Everyone eyed him speculatively, and he grew indignant beneath their stares. "I don't really care if you all believe me. All I know is we've got to help her. You've got to help her."

"Well, you would say that if you were on her side," Anya said, all practicality.

"Faith?" Giles asked, looking toward where the Slayer stood, arms folded, expression tense as she watched and listened.

She stood there a moment longer, eyes not quite masking the confusing emotions that ran just beneath the surface, then pushed off from the wall and stalked across the store. "Spike. You, me, the back room."

Spike snorted. "I don't think—"

"Now," she demanded, turning on him. Her eyes were hard and cold. When he lifted his chin proudly in response, she sighed. "If you really want to help her, then we need to talk."

Spike went with a surly look, stalking off like a cat that's had its fur rubbed the wrong way.

Angel stepped up next to Faith, and there was an edge to his reserved body language that was slightly confused and a little unsettled. "What are you doing?"

She took a moment to gather herself, to shift from glowering interrogator to something resembling a caring human being, and turned to him with a look that asked him to trust her. Dark eyes on dark, and she felt the pull of his magnetism even now, in this strained moment.

"I'm gonna find out if he's telling the truth." And she wanted to touch him, make some small gesture, but she couldn't. Not with all the eyes watching them. She gave him one last faint smile, turned and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Great," Xander said, leaning back in his seat and staring at the closed door. "And who's gonna make sure you're telling the truth?"

Everyone looked at him, saying nothing.

"I'm serious. How did this happen?" he wondered aloud.

Anya fixed him with a confused look. "It started when Buffy died, remember? Well, the first time she died," she amended with a shrug. "And then that Kendra girl came from Jamaica—"

Xander put up his hands. "Rhetorical question, An." He glanced around at everyone else, gauging their reactions. "Does it make anyone else incredibly nervous that Faith and the Rebel Without a Clue are back there determining our fate? I mean, hello, psychopath, and gee, blood-sucking psychopath."

"Enough about Faith, Xander," Giles said tiredly. "You know as well as I do that she's more than proven herself."

Xander lolled his head from side to side, not quite agreeing, not quite disagreeing. "Okay. But what about small, blond and snarky?" he inquired, raising his brows.

"He hasn't let us down since the battle with Glory," Giles said and shrugged.

"Exactly!" Xander exclaimed, pointing at Giles. When everyone only stared at him, he shifted uncomfortably.

"What? Am I the only one who thinks that's suspicious?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Faith shut the door and turned on Spike.

"Miss me, Slayer?" he asked with a cocky slant to his brow.

She folded her arms over her chest, in no way prepared or willing to answer that question. "Look Spike. This is huge. I know if you're working with Buffy there's no way we're gonna find out until it's too late. But I also know that if we go down and they've set an ambush for us, there's gonna be a bloodbath, and I swear to you, if that happens?" She stepped closer to him, eyes burning intently into his. "I will survive. And I will hunt you down."

"Ooh, Slayer. You're turning me on," he said huskily, stepping even closer to her. When she didn't so much as blink, he snorted and rolled his eyes, turning his head away from her. "Look. I'm not working with Buffy. And you should know better."

"I know you love her, Spike," Faith said, not giving an inch.

He took a step backward, gaze going distant, and now his voice sounded contrite. "Yeah. I do. And… I was helping her for a while. Lost my mind, thought I finally had what I'd always wanted." He laughed bitterly. "I should've known better."

She stared at him and shook her head in disbelief. "You mean after—" she broke off, patching the wounded tone in her voice, drawing herself up straight and hard. "You mean after… everything, you really just switched sides and helped her? I thought you were playing along to try to stop her!" she accused, far more angry than she should have been, and she realized then that she'd believed in him, perhaps much more than she'd known. The feeling of betrayal left a bitter taste in the back of her throat, and yet she couldn't help but wonder… was this how Buffy felt when she found out Faith had switched teams?

Spike gazed at her with clear blue eyes that knew far more than they should have. "You know what it's like to want to be loved, don't you Slayer? Sometimes the lack of it hurts so much that it's like a hole right through you and you'll take whatever you can get to fill it." He raised his chin, still staring at her. "Yeah, I think you know."

She dropped her gaze and gave a slow half-nod. "But that never made it right."

"Tell me about it," he said with an offhand laugh. "All that and all I get is pointy stake by way of thanks. That's not right at all."

She raised her eyes and stared at him curiously. "She really staked you and just took off after everything you did?"

"Why is everyone harping on that?" he demanded angrily.

"Just…" She shrugged. "I can't imagine Buffy doing that."

"Haven't you people got this one figured out yet? It's not Buffy. At least, what's in the driver's seat isn't. The real Buffy is down in there somewhere, but she's buried so deep I don't know if we'll ever see her again."

"You're sure?"

He sighed and lowered his head. "Come on. You think the real Buffy would sully herself with the likes of me?"

"She's used you on missions before."

"I'm not talking about missions," he said meaningfully.

Faith hesitated as that sank in. "Oh. Wow. You're kidding? You two really--?"

"Yeah," he replied testily. "What about you and the poof?" he threw back at her. "You two picking out curtains yet?"

"We're, you know, taking it slow," she said indifferently. Far too indifferently.

He narrowed his eyes on her, gave her a lazy half-smirk. "I know you, luv. You don't take anything slow. Your shifter's stuck in overdrive and melted through. But I guess that whole soul thing puts a kink in things, huh?"

"That's not it."

"Oh really? Well what else could it be then, luv?" He tapped a finger against his chin in mock thought, blue eyes going wide and innocent. "Oh wait. I know. Could it be he's not in love with you?"

"Fuck off, Spike," she snarled, turning for the door.

"I know what that's like." His voice had transformed once again, sounding almost sympathetic, and suddenly Faith had a much clearer idea of what had gone down in LA. And God damn him for being able to see inside her so easily. God damn him for being able to manipulate her and pull her strings so easily. She could almost hear him shake his head. "It's a bitch, isn't it?"

Arms pressed against her chest, she dug her fingers into her elbows, squeezing. "Yeah."

"Don't know why we don't just ditch the lot of them and run off together."

She almost smiled. "Because we're stubborn."

"Don't forget bloody stupid. And buggered."

And then she did smile.

After a moment, he said seriously, "I'm not lying."

"I know."

"You ready, then?"

"Let's do it," she said, reaching for the door knob.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Faith stepped out into the main room, shifting and pensive.

"Did you kill him?" Xander asked, sounding excited. Spike stepped out the door behind her and Xander's excitement deflated.

"I think he's telling the truth." She went on before anyone else could interrupt. "And either way, we have to go down there. We have to check it out."

Willow's stomach erupted in a flurry of butterflies. Her blood seemed to turn cold and she could feel it surge through every vein, every nerve. She did not want to go down there. Didn't want to see Buffy like that, didn't want to… have to deal with everything she had wrought. The very thought made her physically sick. And yet… a voice seemed to coil around her mind, whispering words of reassurance, soothing her with sweet, dark caresses. The persistent voice she'd tried to drown with all her might that still whispered, maybe, just maybe, if she did go down there, she could put it all right.

"When?" she asked, forcing the words out through numb lips.

"I'm thinking now would be good. If Spike's right, if she's taking this thing straight to the Master, we don't have much time."

"Wait," Xander spoke up, eyes flickering back and forth between all of them uncertainly. He licked his lips nervously, looking about two steps away from complete panic. "You mean this is it? The final showdown?"

"Looks like," Faith said with a shrug that conveyed far more casualness than she actually felt.

Everyone turned back to gathering their things or studying their books. "Wait," Xander said again, meeting everyone's eyes much more forcefully this time. "I have something I want to say first. Before we go. It's important."

"Xander." Faith frowned at him, scrutinizing his face with eyes that tried hard not to appear nervous. "Do you know something?"

"Well," he amended, looking chagrined. "It's not as important as the end of the world."

"What is it, Xander?" Giles asked pulling his glasses from his face.

Xander opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again, closed it, bit down on his lower lip. He took a deep breath. "Anya and I... we're getting married."

For a moment, Anya's eyes lit up with so much joy that Xander thought she might burst into tears right there.

"Oh, Xander!"

She ran to him and threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly. And then, she drew back, the look slowly draining from her, and annoyance replaced her overjoyed expression. Xander blinked, not quite believing what he was seeing and shook his head. "What—?"

"Oh that's just great! Last time there was an apocalypse, you proposed to me. Now there's another one and you're finally brave enough to tell everyone. Maybe by the next time the world almost ends, if it doesn't this time, we'll actually get to have a wedding!"

"But… but…"

Anya stalked off down into the supply basement, and Xander looked around at everyone, feeling helpless. Everyone was shuffling, embarrassed or amused depending on the amount of their soulage. Xander snapped his slack jaw shut with a click, turned quickly and followed after her.

"Well," Spike shoved his hands in the pockets of his duster, raised his brows and smirked in a familiar fashion that made Faith feel much more reassured about things than it rightfully should have.

"Should we celebrate?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Buffy pulled the thin cloth from the globe, cupping it gently in her hands. Everything was preternaturally quiet, every being around her stilled by the sight of it, and she could feel it's pull like a well of gravity, her eyes drawn to it, wistful and searching.

"At last," the Master breathed, stepping forward. A smile lit up his demonic face like a thousand candles, like a child on Christmas morning. Gnarled fingers flickered out, talons brushing over glass, and Buffy winced, drawing the globe back a fraction of an inch.

"Now, now, my dear," he said, cocking his head at her, frightening smile still in place. "Remember, I am the only one who can bring it to life. You do want your apocalypse, don't you?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Buffy held out the globe.

"There," he whispered almost lovingly, then plucked the glass from her hands, feral eyes wide and reverent upon it. "There, there, my pretty," he whispered, running a covetous hand over it.

"We have it," Daeonira said, sounding no less enamored.

Buffy's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. "So now what?"

"Now," the Master said, stepping toward the pedestal he'd prepared. He set the globe into the hollowed depression in the wood, spread his hands over the edge of the pedestal, leaned forward, and smiled. "Now we begin the ritual."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Giles stared at the basement door, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "Well, should we…?"

Faith shook her head and cracked a ghost of a smile. "Nah, give them a few minutes."

Everyone set off in separate directions, grabbing weapons, books, crucifixes and spell components.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Angel turned to Cordelia, who still sat at the table, Connor cradled in her arms. "Cordy. I'm glad you're here. But you don't have to—"

"Save it, Angel," she cut him off with a look. "Of course I do."

He looked at her for a moment, then slowly smiled and nodded once.

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Well…" He hesitated a moment, feeling out of his element perhaps for the first time since he'd returned to Sunnydale. Of course Cordelia would expect him to be giving the orders. Faith brushed by them on her way to the back room for more weapons, and he waited for her to pass. Glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one was paying attention—because he knew what was coming next—he answered. "Actually, it's going to be up to Faith."

Cordelia arched a brow at him, looking unimpressed. "Really? Tell me, Angel, was Faith giving the orders before you started macking on her, or did it start after that?"

He blinked. "How did you—"

"Oh please." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "The way you two look at each other? You might as well take out a tickertape announcement in Times Square."

He let out a breath and let his gaze fall to the floor. He really hated how perceptive she could be sometimes. "It doesn't have anything to do with that."

"I thought you were done with the Slayer thing, Angel. And here you are, making eyes at each other like some kind of Romeo and Juliet freak show. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

He licked his lips, drew himself up and opened his mouth. "No," he answered and sighed, posture collapsing.

Cordelia shook her head. "You know, for such a badass creature of the night, you're a complete sap. Throw in a Slayer and all logic goes right out the window."

Angel shifted, uncomfortable. "Cordelia—"

"Do you trust her?" Cordelia cut him off, looking up at him with glittering dark eyes that seemed to pierce right through his heart.

"I do."

"Well." Her eyes searched his a moment more, as if weighing the truth of what he'd said. "I guess that's good enough for me."

"Thanks Cordy." He smiled at her warmly, feeling heartened.

"But if she gets us all killed I'm so gonna say 'I told you so'."

Angel chuckled, and it felt unexpectedly like relief.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Willow searched the bookshelf again with furtive eyes, beginning to panic. "It was here. I know it was." She ran her hands over the row of books, as if that would somehow make the one she was looking for appear.

Tara smiled, reached out and tapped the volume Willow had been looking for. "Right there, sweetie."

"Oh." Willow stared for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head and chuckling. "Guess I'm a little worked up."

Tara took Willow's hand and spun her lover toward her, slipping her arms around Willow's waist. "You are. I've never seen you like this." Tara tilted her head at Willow, hair falling over to cover one side of her face. She tossed it back and smiled uncertainly at Willow. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Willow said, too brightly. Then she snorted and waved a hand through the air. "Of course. Not a problem. I'll just go down there and face Buffy while she's all 'Sibyl', tell her it's all my fault, and everything will be just dandy."

"Oh, sweetie." Tara pulled Willow close and hugged her. "Don't be so hard on yourself. We all had a hand in what happened."

"Yeah, but it was me that did the spell, me that talked you all into it. Me that thought I could handle the power and make it do what I wanted."

"You didn't know," Tara said, pulling back to look at Willow. She cupped her lover's face gently in her hands, tranquil blue eyes pleading with Willow to understand. "We all make mistakes, sweetie."

Willow buried her face in Tara's shoulder and wrapped her arms around her. A sob bubbled up from her belly and she shook her head, tears beginning to flow. "I just hope Buffy understands."

Tara buried her hands in Willow's hair and held her tight.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Dawn wandered up to where Spike stood, posture taut as he leaned against the counter, lips thinned with displeasure as he watched everyone scurry about, wasting even more time.

The set of his face loosened a bit, like ice warming beneath the sun as he took notice of her, blue eyes settling on her curiously. "Hello, Bit."

Dawn spun around and leaned against the counter too, unconsciously echoing his posture. Arms folded tight over her chest, she didn't look at him as she spoke. "What happened between you and Buffy?"

He cut her a sidelong glance that was two parts sly, one part curiosity. "Nothing I'm going to tell you about," he said, the words almost a question. What did she know?

"You were… together, weren't you?" Dawn managed. Her voice trembled a bit, but ah, she was so brave, so much of her sister's strength in her.

"Doesn't matter now, luv," he answered, not quite willing to lie to her.

"Is she… was she…" She trailed off, shook her head, then looked up at him, almost pleading. "Do you think we'll be able to get her back?"

Spike pressed his lips together, face solemn and almost blanching at the question. He wouldn't lie to her; he couldn't. "I don't know, pet. I don't know."

She looked down at the ground, but it didn't matter. He could sense the sadness inside her.

He slipped an arm around her shoulder, and after a moment she leaned into the embrace.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Anya, honey." Xander held up his hands, at a loss for how to deal with the teary-eyed woman in front of him. Hadn't he done the right thing? "I don't understand. I thought you wanted me to tell them."

"I did want you to tell them," she exploded, tiny fists leaving her eyes to fly down to her sides.

"Then why--?"

"I wanted you to tell them because you wanted to, Xander." Her eyes were luminous, shining with tears. "Because you're proud of me, and happy. Not because there's another apocalypse."

"Anya, I…" He searched for words, but they wouldn't come. He went to her, tried to put his arms around her.

She spun away from him, eyes blazing anger. "No! No more, Xander. Every time we talk about this you either avoid me or start kissing me so I'll be quiet."

He breathed in sharply and backed away, bewildered feelings giving way to anger. "Anya, I do love you. I am proud of you, and I do want to be with you, but if you don't believe me—"

She turned back, all vulnerability and glittering tears again. "Oh, Xander. I do believe you." She moved toward him and he took and involuntary step backward as she reached out to touch him. Trembling fingers caressed his face, and he blinked, bewildered feelings taking over again. "But… I don't think you want this. I don't think you want to be married to me."

He forgot to breathe for a moment. His first impulse was to answer automatically, Anya, of course I do, but she cut him off.

"Think, Xander. Really think about it. Because every time I ask you, every time I bring it up, you never want to talk about it. You twitch like a," she shuddered, forced the words out. "Like a… bunny."

And he thought about it. Visualized it. Imagined himself walking down the aisle, putting his hand in hers and saying I do, forever. And his knees grew watery, giving out like melted salt water taffy. He had been putting it off for so long. Had avoided it every time she'd brought it up. Was he scared? Hell no, he thought, frowning with consternation. He was terrified.

And then he imagined life without her, endless mornings of waking up without her at his side. Saw himself alone and inconsolable, and knew instantly that that wasn't he wanted either.

"Anya," he said, stepped up and laced his fingers through hers, and for a wonder, she let him, doe brown eyes gazing into his with such love and hope that it tore his heart in two. "I love you. I do want to be with you. But you're right. I don't know if I'm ready to get married yet." Fresh tears of disbelief brimmed in her eyes, and he clenched her fingers tight in his. "But that doesn't mean I want you to go away. It just means I want to give it some time. I want to make sure I can support you, and, and… you know." He paused, sucked a breath through his teeth and bit the bullet. "Not end up like my father," he said finally, defeated.

"You won't," she proclaimed, looking into his eyes. "Xander, I know you won't."

"But I don't," he said, heart breaking and sinking like a leaden weight to his stomach.

She stared at him for a moment, going down the long list of her expectations, considering all her options. Finally, she squeezed his hand and kissed him. "Then we'll find out. Together."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Okay." Faith took a deep breath. "Here's the line-up. Giles, Willow, Tara, Angel—you're all with me. The rest of you—"

"Like hell," Spike said, not giving her a chance to finish.

"What he said," Xander agreed.

"The rest of you," she began again, stressing the words and sending them a venomous look, "I need to stay topside in case something happens and downtown decides to start doing the Electric Slide again. People are gonna need help if that happens."

"Sod the town. I'm going with you."

"No. You're not."

"Yes. I am."

She considered brute force, then took one look at his face and shelved the idea. "Spike," her voice was noticeably softer. "If I can, you know I'll save her."

He nodded, drew himself up. "Know you will. But I'm still going."

"Spike—"

"Besides," he said, each word pronounced slowly and with great sarcasm. "Don't think I'll be much help to the town when I'm on fire."

She blinked, then glanced out the window. Only a few hours of daylight left, but still, he had a point.

"You're wounded."

"Don't care."

"You slow us down, you get left behind," she said, eyes settling on him with weight.

"Yeah. Cry me a river, Slayer," he snapped, impatient. "Can we go now?"

She gave him one last look up and down, then nodded. Slowly, she turned her attention to the rest of the room, knowing the battle here wasn't over yet. "The rest of you, I want here in case anything weird goes down." She held her hands up against the protests. "I can't use you. You don't have any powers, you don't get any play. This is the big leagues. We've got two ancient vampires, plus a hundred or more minions, an evil Buffy and the Council on our tail. I know you all want to be there. I know you all love Buffy. But you know we'll save her if we can."

"I've been walking into danger for six years running," Xander said, tone acidic. "And no one is gonna keep me from going down there to help Buffy. Especially not you."

"Oh, I could stop you," she said, eyes narrowing on him, faint, cold smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You know," Xander went on with mock-congeniality. "This is the same thing we went over and over with Buffy for five years. We do this because we want to, because it needs to be done. Because we care. Not because the Slayer tells us to. Buffy's our friend. We need to be there. And if it means I have to go up against you, then that's what I'll do."

She raised her brows at him and regarded him with surprise, impressed. "Gotta say, Xander, I am impressed. You've really grown a pair since the last time I saw you."

"Always had 'em," he said, eyes intense. "You just weren't looking."

That's debatable, she thought, but didn't say. Too many painful memories for both of them there. Slowly she folded her arms, looked at him and nodded. "All right then."

Anya stepped forward and took Xander's hand. "I'm going too."

"And me," Tara said.

"Wouldn't have expected otherwise," Faith said coolly.

Dawn stepped forward, all eager eyes and coltish legs, and Faith frowned.

"But Dawn stays here with Cordelia and Connor," she added.

At least everyone was in agreement about that. Except Dawn, of course.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Faith peered deep into the darkness of the sewer tunnels, every sense fixed on the looming openings ahead. Her sharp ears caught every shuffle of the Scoobies footsteps not far behind, noted every echoing drip of water and caught its rhythm, listening for any sort of break in the strange lulling sounds. Buffy might think Spike was dead, but that didn't mean Daeonira and the Master were fools. They were likely to meet with some opposition long before they reached their destination, and if that happened—

"You care about him, don't you?" Angel asked, jarring Faith from her thoughts.

Focus scattering, she tried to read his expression in the dim glow stick light. Cloudy and broody as ever, chance of showers. "Who?"

"Spike," he bit the word out as if it pained him to do so, then glanced immediately away, eyes fixing on the tunnel ahead of them.

And despite herself, she had to grin. "Are you… jealous?"

"What? No," he said quickly. "I just… well, there's a lot of chemistry there and I just…" He flopped a hand around vaguely, obviously uncomfortable as he tried to find the words. Her grin broadened, and she gifted him with a look of rapt attention that tried not to mock him too terribly much.

"I know you two spent a lot of time together when I… left," he finished lamely. He glanced down at the ground, self-conscious. "Not that you shouldn't have…" He cleared his throat. "Done… anything." He tried to shrug and resumed staring at the ground.

"Well…" she rolled the word around on her tongue, playing with it, her shoulders following suit. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Angel." She dipped her head to the side. "Spike saved my life a couple of times, and things did get a little hot and heavy."

"Good," he nodded abruptly. "I mean, ah," he stammered when she stared at him. "Just, I'm glad you didn't stop living your life when I left."

She let him hang there a moment more, enjoying the way he squirmed under her gaze. "We didn't sleep together."

"Thank God," he muttered immediately, letting out a long breath.

She grinned again. "You know, you're kinda cute when you're jealous."

"I wasn't jealous."

She arched a brow at him and smirked.

"I wasn't."

"You know," she said casually, giving him a playful sideways glance. "You and Spike got quite a bit of chemistry yourselves. I don't suppose you guys ever…"

He stopped walking and cut a look back at her that could have frozen volcanoes.

"Right. Well, a girl can dream," she said with a breezy sigh as she cut past him, leaving him to stare after her.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Una se ortum. Teguem aus de intamordurum."

The Master recited the incantation solemnly, deformed fingers caressing the glass like a lover's skin. The unnatural quiet no longer pervaded his thoughts, though his voice alone broke the silence. He was lost to the moment, caught in the ritual.

A tiny light flickered in the center of the globe, tremulous and gossamer pale, like butterfly wings.

Electricity shot through his fingers, up his arms, tingling and warming cold-blooded flesh. Instantly, the world around him changed. The rock and earthen walls seemed to move with a life of their own, and he felt the roots of trees and metal alike twisting through them like veins. The faintest sound tickled the back of his mind; a pounding rhythm ancient as life itself, and he wondered what strange heart beat beneath.

"Invicte ordus opum, vect ird oul ostere."

A low humming rose from the globe, and the pale white light flickered again, brighter this time, like the tiny candle flames that burned all around him, and he went on, voice rising, emboldened by the promise it offered.

"Ixnit ovus ortum! Melenum ges atremum!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Everyone quieted as they descended deeper into the earth, the only sounds their breathing and the pounding of their hearts in their own ears.

There was a feeling down here, a barely palpable electricity in the air that slid over their skin like razor wire. Everything was hushed, poised on the edge of expectation, the silence itself seeming to take on shape and form in their minds, creating a presence all its own.

"You feel that?" Spike asked, voice low as he stepped up beside Faith.

She paused in her walking, tilted her head and listened the overwhelming sounds of nothing, eyes roving the ceiling, the walls, the floor. Nothing. No one. Silent and empty as a tomb. Even the rats and the bugs lay silent as the dead. Her eyes skittered over the ceiling again, and an involuntary shiver ran up the length of her spine. She nodded, voice hushed as she replied. "I feel… something."

"That'd be our little glass marble."

"It's powerful," Angel commented, looking to Faith.

"No getting anything past you, is there? Where were you when I was telling my Dungeons and Dragons story gone wrong?" Spike asked with a snort.

"Shh," Faith hissed, holding up a hand. Cocking her head to the side she listened, ignoring the faint sounds of shifting clothing behind her as the Scoobies waited impatiently. Slowly, she reached out with her upraised hand, fingers white and tiny against the dark backdrop of earth that surrounded them. She hesitated an instant, then placed her fingertips gently against the dirt. An instant later she snatched her hand away and stepped back, wiping her hand on her jeans as if she'd just touched something foul, eyes wide and disconcerted.

"Faith?" Giles spoke up softly from behind her, and she could almost hear his frown. "What is it?"

"The walls…" She stared at him, hand still held away from her body as if she didn't know what to do with it. "They're breathing."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Stone twinkled oddly in the candlelight, sharper, more alive, inviting touch, and the cavern seemed to sigh, shaking off its intractable surface and shuddering. The Master shook and shuddered with it, waves of faint light illuminating him, playing over his skin, dancing with secrets and whispering with promises. It coiled around his mind like a languid serpent, tongue flickering, teasing with mysteries.

The Master closed his eyes and they rolled up in his head, fingers tensing against the glass.

Daeonira watched him intently, growing nervous as long moments passed and nothing further happened. Trying to hide her anxiety from the followers who watched on, she took a step closer to him. "Master? What is it?"

His eyes snapped open, brilliant feral red as they locked on her. "Someone knows. Someone comes."

"To stop us?" she asked, surprised despite herself.

"Yes."

"The Slayer," she whispered, hands clenching into fists. "Where?"

"The main entry tunnels. You must stop them. Don't let them touch me."

"Of course," she said, almost offended that he would think otherwise. She nodded, drew herself up and backed away.

It never occurred to her to wonder if it had been him speaking, or the globe.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"We're getting close now," Faith said, voice low. She paused, shifted her crossbow to one side and wiped a denim-clad arm over her brow. Damn but it had gotten warm down here.

"I'm having a thought," Xander spoke up from the back of the group, his voice as hushed as hers had been. Everyone hesitated, turned toward him as best they could in the rapidly tightening confines of the tunnel. "Spike said this thing turned on the power full force when he and Buffy went to get it… so why does the Master need a ritual to make it work?"

Giles opened his mouth to speak, closed it. Faith frowned, considering. And Spike clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing with deprecating humor.

"Maybe that was just the pre-show."

"Y-you mean it may be even more powerful than you related to us?" Giles asked.

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Then what the hell does it do?" Faith growled, frustrated.

"You'll never get to find out," came a voice, light, feminine and laced with malice.

"Daeonira," Faith said, naming the voice as she spun around. She leveled her crossbow on the petite creature and closed one eye.

Instantly vampires appeared from behind her and fanned out like a protective wave.

"Shit," Faith cursed, swiveling her crossbow to take out the closest approaching vampire. It exploded into dust and Faith tossed the crossbow to Angel and took off like a bullet, threading her way through the small throng of vampires with kicks and punches that did less to hurt them than to move them out of the way.

"Daeonira's mine!" she called back to the others. "You guys get the rest."

The vampires parted and flowed around her like water, leaving her face to face with her former Watcher. Clear blue eyes, so deceptively human, looked Faith up and down as if calculating. Her hair was free now, falling in shimmering brown waves across her shoulders, but that was the only difference. Everything about her, her every movement, her every minute expression echoed of Beatrice, and Faith felt her heart swell.

She dug her nails into her palms and ground her teeth. Last time she hasn't had a chance to think. Last time it had all been instinct and block and punch and parry and move your ass before you get killed, and oh, don't forget to save the world. This was different. This time it was slow and Technicolor and surround sound. The stakes weren't any less (and hey, too bad Slaying didn't pay by the pun), but they were less imminent, and Faith found herself caught off balance. This woman wasn't Beatrice; she knew that in her mind, but it wasn't so easy to convince her heart. What if they were wrong? What if they'd made a mistake? What if her Watcher was just a run of the mill misguided human? Could she stand human blood on her hands again?

"You've healed well," Daeonira said, inclining her head at Faith in approval. "This might even be a fair fight. I only took a taste of you last time Slayer; this time it ends in death."

"Damned right it does," Faith said coldly, not letting her thoughts show on her face as she stepped back and dropped into stance.

Daeonira's brows shot up and she smiled. "So eager? Very well then." She spread her arms and fell back into stance as well, feet crossing one another as they began to slowly circle each other.

Not human, Faith insisted. You know she isn't. Remember what she did to you last time—humans don't move like that. And that was true, but she wished more than anything that the creature would quit toying with her and reveal its true face. That would make her job so much easier.

"I had to cut my training short with you, but I think I still remember most of your moves," Daeonira said, mouth widening into a wolfish grin. She crouched lower as she moved, muscles coiling as she prepared for whatever strike she was about to launch.

Behind her, Faith heard the clash of battle mixed with grunts of human effort and the explosion of vampiric dust. She heard Xander cry out once but she didn't turn. She didn't dare. She couldn't worry about them right now. She shut out the sounds, closed out the world and turned off her conscious mind.

"What? No biting retort?" Daeonira inquired.

Faith lifted her foot and spun in a high roundhouse kick, catching Daeonira across the jaw with her boot heel. Daeonira fell back, surprised and dazed, and Faith eyed the woman with cold fire as she reached inside her jacket and drew out a stake. "There's my retort." She lunged at the smaller woman, face dispassionate.

Daeonira ducked under Faith's arm, pivoting and turning as she came up on the other side, catching Faith's wrist between her hands and twisting savagely. Faith hissed and fell down on one knee, following the wrenching arc of her arm, then punched upward with her free hand, catching Daeonira's already bruised jaw. The woman fell back, catching Faith's free hand around the wrist before it could strike her again. Both hands caught in awkward positions, Faith thrust her head forward and slammed into the other woman's skull with a resounding crack, flowers of incredible neon color flaring behind her eyes. In a split second she reversed her momentum, pulled on Daeonira's arms and hit the ground in a backward roll, tossing the woman over her head and slamming her to the ground. Faith yanked her wrists free, leaped to her feet, and turned, eyes searching frantically for the stake. Now was the time, all her instincts were screaming at her.

No joy.

Daeonira was on her feet in seconds, mouth split in a hungry grin as she wiped a thin line of blood from her chin. "Not bad."

"I remember most of your moves, too," Faith said, face cool and impassive.

"Really? Tell me then…" She came at Faith dead on, and the Slayer spun instinctively to the left, bringing her left fist around in a backhand that should have caught the woman across the face. Should have.

A strong arm caught her around the waist, barreling her into the tunnel wall face first and crushing the air from her lungs in a rushing gust. An instant later, something sharp ripped into her body, and she screamed. Blood poured from the middle of her back, and her flesh throbbed like white-hot fire.

"Did you see that one coming?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Her own stake. Her own. Fucking. Stake. Punched through her back, right through her guts and out her belly to scratch at the earthen walls. Had Spike felt this stupid?

The world wavered, grayed out then came back into focus. The pain was still like burning iron in her gut, but at least she wasn't going to black out. That would have been worse.

She slid down the wall, gasping for breath and hit the ground on her knees. She reached back, grasped the hilt of the stake and threw back her head, gritting her teeth and bracing herself. The fingernails of her free hand dug crescent shaped holes in her palm as the wood pulled free with a thick tearing sound, covering her hand with sticky blood, and she screamed against the barrier of her teeth. The world wavered again, and this time she thought she might really pass out, body still screaming with brilliant pain that pulsed in sickening waves. Panting in great, agonized gasps, she fell to a sitting position, turning to face her attacker and planting her back against the wall. She stared up at Daeonira with frightened eyes and flaring nostrils, one hand cupped protectively over the ragged hole in her belly.

Despite the haze of her pain, everything was startlingly sharp and clear. The sounds of battle behind her had lessened, subsiding into faint grunts of exertion and the hissing rush of air as more vampires left this plane of existence. The earth itself seemed to hum all around her, a biorhythm of life, and she could almost feel the living things that squirmed within it, living, eating, reproducing with mindless abandon. There was a harmony in it that was distracting, lulling her, and even the trickling of her blood to the ground was a peaceful sound filled with images of waterfalls. Her eyelids fluttered, and the world warped and twisted around the edges of her vision.

Give in, it whispered.

She bit down on the side of her tongue hard, sudden pain filling her mouth with the thin taste of copper and shocking her awake. It was the Winnowin, had to be. Whatever the Master was doing, it was waking up, and it was determined not to be stopped.

Fuck you, she answered with her mind.

She pushed up from the ground, sliding up the wall and leaving a bloody trail in her wake. Weak, still short of breath, she set her eyes on Daeonira and grinned.

"So brave," Daeonira mocked with a smirk. "It's been a long time since I tasted Slayer blood, but I still remember what it feels like. So bright and effervescent. It's like a powerful champagne running through your veins. So defiant, so unwilling to lay down and die even when it's way past time."

"You gonna put me down?" Faith asked, still smiling. "Like to see you try."

"You still don't understand, do you?" Daeonira inquired with an almost pleasant smile. "You came at me with a stake. Surely by now you know I'm no ordinary vampire. Or didn't your team do their homework?"

Faith blinked, looking utterly confused.

Daeonira gave a ghastly, inhuman grin. "No, I can see they didn't. You have no idea how to fight against me. No idea what I am. Watch then, child, and learn."

Her head twisted violently to the side, voracious grin still in place, and there came a thick, wrenching sound of flesh, the tearing and snapping of tendons. As Faith watched, awestruck and horrified, Daeonira's head began to separate from her neck, tendons glistening sickly in the faint light. Mummified internal organs of dull green and black pulled free, still attached to her head like some kind of malignant cancer.

There was an unspeakable sound of flesh ripping, of organs tearing free of their moorings, and Daeonira's body fell to the floor with an empty thump. Her head levitated in the hallway, organs streaming from it like some kind of grotesque holiday balloon, like something out of a bad horror movie, and Faith was dumbstruck by the unnaturalness of it, her mind retreating to some dim place where coherent thought vacationed in the Bahamas, blissfully free of such an unthinkable, horrific visage. Daeonira's black, bloody heart dangled like a lump of coal, and her desiccated lungs hung like shriveled beetles among an array of other dried organs, intestines trailing like dead snakes.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Daeonira asked, her face still twisted in a hideous rictus grin. Her head flew at Faith, and the Slayer twisted away, thrashing against the sharp, seeking teeth. There was the brief sting of a pair of needles, and then pain flared like a blowtorch fired to life.

The world ran away in shades of red and gray, the faint flickering of her heartbeat so low and soothing in her own ears. Blood passed from her in a slow, pulling flow, and it was almost seductive in its languid streaming. Her body felt light, soul twisting in the wind, tossed this way and that; a body caught in the hangman's noose, feet dangling inches from the ground, the slow choking of life.

"Faith!"

Angel's voice calling to her. So distant, so far away. He sounded so afraid. Couldn't he see that this was beautiful, that this was right? He was a vampire, he should know what it felt like to die.

"I'm not gonna make it easy for you."

She throws herself against Angel screaming, "I'm evil! I'm bad! I'm evil! Do you hear me? I'm bad! Angel, I'm bad!"

"Angel please, just do it. Just do it. Just kill me. Just kill me.""

Angel wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her against him. She over balances them and they sink to their knees, Angel still holding her as she cries.

"Shh. It's all right. It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here. Shh."

The memory flashed before her eyes; torrents of rain, dark alley, blood and pain and fear, self-hatred so thick she wants to cut into it with a knife, cut out its heart and scream as she holds it up to the sky, triumphant.

You really want to die? A voice spoke up in the back of her mind, and it sounded like steel, like strength and comfort and home and all the things she'd always wished she'd had. Things that would have given her life meaning, things that everyone else seemed to acquire with such ease. She wanted them, she longed for them, and without them, what was she? A girl on her seventh birthday, wishing for cake, wishing for friends. Alone. Nothing. Empty. A murderer, a hijacker of lives she wished were her own. She deserved this, she had earned it; she'd done her best, and she was so tired of fighting. So tired of struggling. She wanted it to be over.

Giles tilts his head at her, regarding her with sadness and the scales of justice in his mind. "No one said this would be easy, Faith. You've made mistakes in your past and you're going to have to face them."

"And what do I do when my 'mistakes' decide they're mad as hell and they're not gonna take it anymore? What about when they decide to take me out?"

"You do the best you can."

"Funny, you make it sound easy".

"It isn't," he agrees. "But anything worth doing seldom is."

I know what I am, she thought sluggishly, words swimming incoherently through her mind.

"Won't know what you're made of 'til you belly up and give it a try," Spike said. "All well and good to sit around and feel sorry for yourself—but when the time comes, you'd better be ready to defend what you care about. Or live with the consequences."

Consequences. Buffy. The world. So much rested on her shoulders, and she buckled beneath the weight. It was so much to ask, too much. One girl against all the world, one girl to set the balance right. A girl who had no sense of right and wrong, who would rather grab whatever she could from the world and run with it, leaving repercussions for another day, if ever. It was familiar, easy. So easy to backslide, to escape into the embrace of that old life like sliding into an old lover's arms.

Anything worth doing isn't easy.

I don't want this.

You have a choice. Make it.

A primal cry of anguish rose up in her, building from her stomach and exploding through her diaphragm.

She reached out with trembling hands covered in blood, and grabbed Daeonira by the hair, holding the hideous head tight against her throat. She could almost feel those lips broaden with a smile against her skin, and she smiled in return. Her other hand reached out and up, grabbing the head just beneath the severed flesh of its neck. Tangling her fingers in the cords, she pulled, and something gave with a sickening snap.

Daeonira reared back and screamed, teeth tearing from Faith's neck in a riot of pain.

"I know what you are", she snarled, yanking the disembodied head in front of her face. "Pennangalan. Western vampire. Have to detach from your body to feed. Damn good plan, leaving your body behind at the scene of the crime, making me think my Watcher was dead." Faith paused, coughed, and couldn't tell if the blood she tasted was from her tongue or from the well of her body. Didn't matter anyway. "Shouldn't have left those stitched up bodies laying around though," Faith said with a grin. "Gave you away. Guess you didn't want to make any competition out of the girls you fed on, huh?"

Daeonira's bright blue eyes widened with true fear, and, her face painted red with the crimson of Faith's blood, she lunged at the Slayer with wide open fangs.

Faith yanked the head backward with a violent tug. Daeonira screamed again in pain, and to Faith it was the sound of music, sunshine and hills and Julie Andrews. "Know what else I know about you?" Her mouth curled in an emotionless smile, eyes empty and satisfied. "I know how to kill you."

Daeonira panicked, head thrusting upward like a bullet, and Faith wrenched against the hair tangled in her hand.

"No good."

She squeezed the thin cord that held Daeonira's internal organs with one hand, feeling skin that was too thin and strangely cold crush beneath her grip, and tightened her other hand in the woman's hair, pulling down against the grotesque display with all her might, and yanking the woman's head simultaneously upward.

Like a baby from the placenta, they slid apart, thin cord tugging free her esophagus, what remained of her spinal cord, and the shriveled, black mass of her brain. Faith looked into the head's dying eyes, wanting to watch the light fade from their sea-blue depths. The blood-stained lips quivered, tried to move, tried to form words that painted bloody ideograms of what she wanted to do to Faith.

"Cat got your tongue? Oh." She paused, then held the mess of organs up before the head's frantic eyes. "No, wait. I do."

Faith dropped the shriveled remains of the body to the floor. With slow, almost disinterested study, she planted her foot in the center of the brain that lay curled like a fat, black spider, and twisted her booted heel. It split apart like an overcooked turkey, thin outer skin releasing the fragile pulpy matter within. The light went out in Daeonira's eyes and they became flat coins, empty of life or retort. The head turned to dust Faith's hand, body and organs vanishing.

"Bitch," Faith whispered. Then her foot slid out from under her and she fell backward against the wall, boneless and drained, collapsing in a heap on the floor.