Title: Doable
Rating: PG
Characters: Faith, Spike
Timeline: Post-Not Fade Away
Disclaimer: Characters/Concepts of Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al.
Spike's like a ghost. He wanders limply through the Watcher Council brownstone in New York City, pale and thin, with his eyes all dead and his mouth usually shut. Willow tells Faith over the phone from Brazil that even after Spike got his soul and was insane from it and the First, he didn't shut up or sit still. Always talking everyone's ears off and always chock full of energy.
It's not a surprise. He watched Angel and the others get ripped to pieces, literally, while he was trapped under a dragon carcass, busted the fuck up but still alive. Watched the demon army descending on Los Angeles from the backseat of a Ford Intrepid when Faith drove him the hell out of Dodge on Buffy's orders. It's no wonder he's all haunted and broken.
It's no wonder he has nightmares.
The pillow Faith's holding over her head is ripped away, and there are three exhausted and irritated Slayers standing around her bed glaring down at her.
"It's been two hours," Vi snaps. "He won't stop making that noise."
And of course the others have to add their two cents, bitching and moaning until Faith stands up and shoves them out of the way. "All right already. Fuck. You nag like little old ladies."
Everyday Faith finds more and more drawbacks to being the one in charge. Like having to crawl her tired ass out of bed at four in the fucking morning to get Spike to stop wailing like dying dog or something. She's starting to think it's another part of her punishment, another burden to bear in the name of redemption.
Spike's sitting on the edge of the bed when she walks into the bedroom he's staying in. His face is tilted up to the ceiling and his eyes are closed. The sound he's making has the insides of her ears twitching like she's standing in front of huge speakers that are cranked all the way up. Except she's not. She's standing in front of one messed up vampire who's got tear lines under his eyes.
Shit. Her plan was to come in here and yell at him but now she can't. Bitching out a crying vamp won't earn her any Frequent Flyer Miles good towards a trip to Redemption. In fact, it'd probably cost her a few.
Trouble is, she doesn't know what else to do, so she just stands there cringing away from the noise and the tear lines and that godawful look on his face that makes her a little sick because it's just...stark and really fucking familiar.
And then the noise stops so suddenly that she flinches. Spike snaps his head down, opening his eyes and staring at her, and she wishes he'd kept them closed, because the eyes match the look on his face and she thinks she's going to hurl any second now.
"It was pointless," he says, and Faith actually jumps in shock.
Not because his voice is raspy and desolate, but because he's talking. He told her and Buffy what had happened right before Faith shoved him into the Intrepid. Since then, the only times he's opened his mouth has been to do the wailing routine. She thought he went all crazy again then realized he was in shock and mourning.
"What was pointless?" she asks, because there's really no other place to go with what he's given her, and even if she'd rather blow chunks at his feet than talk about any of this, she chalks it up as another due to be paid.
He makes a noise, scoffing and disgusted, but there's not as much feeling behind it as there used to be. "What we did," he says like she's an idiot. "Pointless. It was supposed to--" Frustrated cursing, then Spike is leaning down, pressing his fingers into his temples. "Bloody hell. Fred, Angel, Wesley, Gunn, Illyria and who knows how many others in the city."
"A hundred and five."
Spike raises his head. "What?"
"A hundred and five people died before Will did her thing. That they know about, at least. Giles has been doing clean up duty in L.A." Spike looks shocked and she frowns. "Did you figure it was more? Less?"
"I couldn't think about it at all," Spike mutters.
Faith finally comes further into the room. Flops down at the head of the bed, leaning on her side looking down the length of it at Spike. "It wasn't pointless."
"What the hell do you know about it?"
She rolls her eyes. "Common sense, Spike. The Powers told Angel to do what he did. Then they slammed some spell into Willow's head and boosted her power so that she could get us all to L.A. and bust up the shield Wolfram and Hart had around the city and do the spell without going all Wicked Witch of the West again. They didn't do all that shit for no reason."
Spike slides up the bed, lays on his back and stares at the ceiling. "There was a point," he says slowly, like he's trying out the words. Gets all thoughtful for a while, then, "Cold comfort, that."
"Ain't that always the way."
A month later, and Spike's as irritating and chatty as Faith's used to. Or, you know, as close as he can get, because it'll be a long while before what happened in Los Angeles isn't constantly flashing in his head and making him go all quiet and still.
He's not having the nightmares every night, at least. More like every other night, and Faith always opens her eyes and groans at the first sound of the wailing, then stumbles down the hall to sit with him. Angel would have called it penance; Faith calls it her suck ass lot in life.
Tonight, Faith stares blearily at him at the top of the staircase on the second floor. They've just spent two days tracking and then killing a nest of nasty Engot demons. Big fuckers, damn strong, and it was a long, hard fight. And then there was the most fun part: hauling the spiny bodies in the Council SUV to some wooded area in Central Park to bury them.
"You look ready to drop," Spike says, and Faith rolls her eyes because he doesn't look much better. "Go to bed.
"Right. Are you gonna wake me up with that fucking noise in an hour?"
Angry clench of Spike's jaw, along with a sigh. "Probably. Haven't had a fight like that since..."
"That's what I thought. Maybe I'll just pump myself full of caffeine and ride it out."
Spike closes his eyes briefly. "No, don't. I'll sleep someplace else tonight."
"Yeah, right, like I'm really gonna let you walk out of here an hour until dawn." Rubs the grit from her eyes. "Fuck it. I'll crash in with you." Sees him about to argue with her and shoves past him. "Save it."
In Spike's room, Faith barely gets her boots off before collapsing onto the bed just as Spike walks in. "Faith, you're--"
"Save it," she says again. "This way I don't have to get out of bed, open my eyes and come down the hall, and you don't have to wander through the sewers."
Spike comes to the foot of the bed and arches a brow. "I was going to say that you're on my side."
Confused blinking, then she gets it. "Oh. Right."
Pulls herself over to the other side of the bed, laying on her stomach, eyes already falling shut. Barely feels the dip in the mattress when Spike sits down, and falls asleep listening to him unlace his own boots.
And then the noise starts and she groans. There's a feeling in her gut that tells her it's after sunrise, so she must have slept. Too bad it doesn't feel that way. She reaches out, shove at his shoulder, mumbles loudly, "Spike. Come on, wake up."
Break in the wailing and a shift in the mattress shifts, and she can tell he's bolted into a sitting position, stunned quiet. Then she hears him take a breath--like he even needs to breathe--ready to start up again.
"Fuck's sake, Spike," she snaps. She rolls over so she's facing his side of the bed, not opening her eyes, still more asleep than not.
Faith feels him fall back again. "Sometimes I get out from under the dragon," Spike tells her, voice shaky. "Die with the others."
She's never asked him this, because even though she wanted to know, she didn't really want to know. And he's never told her, probably because he wants to talk about it, but not really. Usually he's shaken the nightmare itself off by the time she comes down the hall to him, left in the mourning.
"Those are the good nights," he goes on.
Faith grunts. "Doesn't seem that good to me."
"Does to me. Was a monster, Faith. Soul changed me but it didn't erase everything. Dying with the others is better than being left alive when someone like Fred isn't."
"Or the hundred and five," she adds, frowning a little at something in her head that's just out of her reach.
Droll laugh. "Still haven't got the knack of this comfort thing, I see."
"There isn't any comfort, Spike."
Long silence and Faith is almost asleep again when he speaks. "Rather creepy, you coming out with bits of wisdom."
Small smile and then Faith is once again just a moment away from sleep when she's pulled from it.
"I keep thinking about it. Why I'm still alive. Can't rightly figure it out."
She pries her eyes open and looks at him; he's on his side, his face less than six inches from hers, his eyes dark and somber. And that thought that was just out of her reach is now front and center. "Someone has to bear the burden of those hundred and five. Redeem the action."
Spike flinches, his face getting wretched and shit. "This is worse than when I first got the soul," he whispers.
And Faith gets that, she really does. She bears a lot of new burdens, too. Like the Potentials in Sunnydale who never met their full potential because she made the wrong choice. She carries that just as heavily as she carries torturing Wes. Not to mention the other things she takes on because she figures it's all part of the package. Like agreeing to let Spike stay here to recover when Buffy asked.
Spike stares at her and she knows that look in his eyes, just like he's gotta know the one in hers. "What happened with Robin?"
Hell, she wasn't expecting that. She fidgets uncomfortably, not wanting to get into the fights and how he thought she wasn't really "there" with him, whatever that means--though Spike would probably be able to translate the guy shit and give her an answer she'd understand.
"He's got Slayer issues," is all she says and Spike gives her a look that says that's the understatement of the year. "Why are you bringing him up?"
His lips quirk. "Well, we are lying in bed gazing into each other's eyes..."
She shoves at his shoulder again. "Yeah, it's a real sexy moment. You on the verge of a breakdown, me on the verge of passing out."
"Saw a porno like it once," he says and Faith gapes at him. "Well, except the bloke was a Mowper demon on the verge of a psychotic rage, and the girl was a drugged virgin. And he--"
"That's a great story. Really. I'm going back to sleep."
She closes her eyes in the middle of Spike's amused snort and she's just about to fall asleep when she hears Vi and Sara arguing about some fucking Avril CD.
"I'm going to kill them," Faith growls.
"Shouldn't have let them off of clean up duty and sent them home two hours before us," he growls back.
She flips him off and then raises her head. "Shut the fuck up!"
The girls quiet down really, really fast and Faith's head drops back onto the pillow. Sleep is once again denied her, once again by Spike. She's going to stake him, she honest to god is.
"Think it's actually doable?"
Takes her a moment to figure it out. Redemption and burdens and guilt--oh fucking my. "Yeah," she grunts. "It's doable."
She's drifting off when she feels his arm settle over her waist and she doesn't bother rousing herself to shove it off.
.End