A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.
Title: A popular method for getting drunk….
*****
Angel dropped Michael off at the hotel, where Faith was waiting with the Mustang. Leaning against the hood, a very bored expression on her face.
"Took you long enough," she said as she sauntered up to him. "What'ch wanna to tonight?"
Michael raised his eyebrow, then chuckled lightly. Taking her by the arm, he lead her to the room. He didn't say a word the entire way up. Walking into the room, he tossed his blade and coat on a nearby chair and walked into the kitchen.
Faith, slightly confused, sat on the couch. When he came back out with two bottles of whiskey and two shot glasses, her eyes brightened.
"Trying to get me drunk?" she asked, smirking at him.
"No need to try," he said evenly. "We'll both get absolutely plastered, maybe get sick, pass out, and maybe, this time, you'll sleep until a decent hour."
She laughed as he handed her one of the bottles. "Then why'd you break out the glasses?" With a wink, she opened the bottle and took a long swig of the harsh liquor.
Grinning himself, Michael followed suit.
* * * * *
"'ello?" Faith heard over the pounding inside her skull. She tried to sit up and open her eyes, but lifting her head even a fraction of an inch caused the world, as yet unseen, to spin wildly. Deciding sleep was better, she stopped moving and curled up next to the solid warmth next to her.
"Alright, we'll go. And no, not anytime soon."
She grumbled slightly when he paused, annoyed at the noise he was making.
"I'm hungover, and so is Faith. We'll leave tonight."
She heard him hang up, and purred as his arm wrapped around her again. She just wanted to sleep some more.
Michael looked down on the half-naked woman beside him. They hadn't done anything but talk and drink. The five bottles on the table attested to the valiant attempt to drown their livers last night. They talked for quite some time, both letting out fears and frustrations. He wasn't quite sure what they had talked about, exactly, but he doubted she did either. Then again, he was the one who killed three bottles of Jack last night.
Closing his eyes, he wondered briefly how the trip to Sunnydale would go. Buffy might try and kill Faith, but he'd stop her. And he had a bone to settle with a certain William the Bloody. Maybe the Slayer would know where he was…
* * * * *
Sunnydale, the next night
Buffy heaved a sigh of frustration, neither the first or the last of the evening. The patrolling was cut short by Willow, who found some prophesy, or Big Evil, and needed everyone to help her research. Xander idly toyed with the book on his lap, half-heartedly researching. Willow read quickly, multiple tomes spread before her, as she tried to translate from some ancient, obscure language. Dawn was asleep, having a big test at school tomorrow. And Spike…
He had been quite the last few days, uncharacteristically so. She found herself wanting him, but she pushed the thought aside, for the millionth time that night. She so didn't need to go there. But there he was, an ancient Latin tome open in his lap, splayed on the loveseat.
Buffy blushed, again, when she caught herself looking at him out of the corner of her eye, a familiar warmth spreading through her body. Well, the lower part that was.
Slamming the book closed, Buffy stood and walked to the door. Willow jumped slightly, while Xander merely glanced at her. Spike didn't even look at her.
"I'm going back out," she said, the frustration evident in her voice. "I'll stop by Willie's and see what the scum know."
"Be careful, Buffy," Willow said, turning back to the book.
"'kay," she replied as she walked out the door.
She had walked three blocks before she knew he was following her. Silent as usual, she felt him following her. Turning on her heel, she glared at him.
"We have unfinished business, luv," He said softly, a cigarette held limply in his right hand.
"What's that?" she said, her voice already dripping with venom, and barely contained lust. "Slayer-Vampire business? I've got Mr. Pointy right here."
"Man to woman," he said, flicking the fag away. "I've told you what 've been thinking'. You're turn, luv."
"There's nothing to say," she said, the sounds of an approaching car barely noticed in her anger. "You're not human, never will be."
Spike ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and then looked at her with sad eyes. For an instant, she wanted to hold him, feel him, have him.
"Guess we've got some company, pet." He said, his voice growing hard. "We'll finish this later."
"It's already finished," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the Mustang that parked a few feet from her. The man who stepped out of the driver's seat was tall, and the blade he drew from the back seat glimmered in the streetlight.
"William the Bloody," he growled, his hazel eyes glimmering with barely contained anger. "Must be my lucky night."
Buffy watched in slight wonder as the man closed with Spike quickly, the blade fairly singing from the speed he wielded the blade. Spike dodged the swings, never attacking, always defending. It took Buffy only a moment to get over her surprise, and then she found her voice.
"Stop," she said, "Before I decide to kick your ass."
The sword wielder stopped, but held his blade at the ready. His gaze never left Spike, but Buffy's reaction to the second person that got out of the car took her by complete surprise.
"Relax, Michael," Faith said, her voice meek as she looked at Buffy. Both Slayers stared at each other for some time, before Buffy remembered the man, Michael, who had attacked Spike. Turning to face him, she noticed that he was now more interested in what may have occurred between her and Faith.
"Why did you want to kill Spike?" she asked, proud of her calm voice. If it wasn't for Angel's call earlier, she may have tried to attack Faith.
"He killed my father," he replied, his voice simmering with barely contained hatred.
"I didn't kill James," Spike said calmly. "But we'll talk about that later. We've got problems, pet."
All four eyes were instantly drawn to the cemetery behind them, which now resembled a scene from a horror movie. The dead had begun to tear out of their graves, stumbling forward awkwardly and growling. The older corpses, mostly bone, moved faster and had an evil red light emanating from their hollow eye sockets.
"Fuck," Michael said, running to his car. Buffy's first thought was that he was a coward, but seeing Faith and Spike join him at the trunk, she ran over, curious. The opened trunk contained a variety of weapons, and her eyes lit up.
"Toys," she said, her voice like that of a small child.
"Stick with something blunt," Michael said, selecting a heavy war hammer for himself. Faith chose a flail, giving it an experimental swing after she turned away. Spike went straight for a wicked looking hand axe, eliciting a pout from the blond slayer. The heavy mace she finally picked up was well balanced, and carried sharp studs over the head of the weapon.
"You know what's 'appening here, mate?" Spike asked, already two steps closer to the entrance to the cemetery.
"Someone's animating the dead," he replied, hefting the hammer easily with one hand. His sword remained sheathed on his back. "Living or undead, we crush him."
"And these poor sods?"
"Mow 'em down."
Spike grinned wickedly and charged into the throng of moving corpses, his wild swings sending limbs everywhere as he began to cut a swath through the rotting flesh and yellowed bone.
"Can't let him have all the fun," Faith said as she leapt into the fray, fighting to reach Spike's side. Michael stopped Buffy with a hand on her shoulder and pointed down the street. A man, cloaked in black robes, was hurrying down the street, away from them.
"Crossbow?" Buffy asked, and Michael handed her one from the trunk. The blonde slayer took aim and fired. The bolt flew true, taking the figure in the back of the head. It stumbled, then turned back to face them
"Not normal," Buffy said, dropping the crossbow. "Any ideas?"
"Only one," Michael said as he walked past her to meet the approaching figure. "I hate to steal one liners from others but…"
It was then she saw the sawed off shotgun in his hand, as did the figure. It wailed in fear as Michael got within fifteen feet of it.
"Say hello to my boom stick," his amusement was clear in his voice, as the shotgun's blast tore through the night, sending the thing down, a gaping hole in the center of it's chest.
"What the bloody 'ell?!" Spike's cry echoed in the new-found silence, "What wanker ruined my bloody fight!?!?!"
Buffy's mild chuckle erupted into full laughter when Faith echoed Spike's outburst. Michael only grinned.
