Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.
Summary: Post AtS and BtVS, Faith and Xander are approached by a secret government agency. Surprises all around.
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 21: Of Seers and Champions
Angel sat quietly, watching Buffy and Giles confer. He could hear them perfectly, with his enhanced hearing, and they were driving him crazy. It was like listening to two eels wind themselves in knots and double-knots and triple-knots and then complain that they were too close together.
"It could be a double double double bluff," said Giles uncertainly. "Making us want to call, but making us think if we do they'll be hurt, which keeps us from calling, which in turn makes us want to call, getting them hurt."
Angel winced.
"Oh, come on!" said Buffy. "We're talking about Spike and Faith! We'll tell them that there's an army after them, they'll go fight it! And probably die! What we do is we tell them that we have a mission for them, and send them somewhere else. That'll solve all our problems!"
Angel shook his head. He hadn't mentioned the one, biggest, blinding image he had seen, Drusilla standing over a prone Spike, blood all over her face, laughing. If Drusilla was the danger, then she could probably outthink them.
Or at least outmaneuver them, using her visions. Whatever conclusion they came to, she would know, and she would counter it. There was no way to avoid it.
"That may be what the forces of darkness are counting on!" said Giles.
Angel coughed. "The forces of darkness?" he mouthed. He didn't think he'd ever been as melodramatic as that about the whole thing… and he'd been pretty melodramatic.
Dana, sitting on her bed, scowled at him. "They're not going to do it, you know," she said.
"And even if they did, it's not enough," agreed Angel. "I need… I need to be with…" The words caught in his mouth. He needed to be by Spike's side, not here. And admitting that he needed to be near the one man he hated so badly… Well, it did more than hurt. It really caused him to question his own sanity.
"Buffy!" said Angel sharply. She looked at him, surprised. "Your friends are in danger. Serious danger. I've got to go to them. I've got to find them." He put some serious emphasis on the last sentence. They had to understand what he was telling them, had to understand how important this was.
Giles stared. "You said you didn't," he noted, still suspicious. Angel almost groaned, but held it back. Giles had more than ample reason to be suspicious of the vampire; hadn't Angelus tortured him?
And Spike had saved him.
Angel scowled. "A Champion needs his Seer," he said harshly.
His final, ironic cut at Spike had been giving him the Shanshu, abandoning his own redemption in favor of the younger vampire, who had earned it just as fiercely, with no real thought for his own redemption. He'd done it … because it was what he wanted to do. What he wanted to be.
But the Powers That Be weren't done with Angel. Cordelia's kiss hadn't been an addendum to their plan… it had been part of their plan to keep jerking him around all along.
Now he was their pawn again, but he'd exchanged his own role for Cordelia's. And he was once more trapped in their game.
This time, with no hope for redemption. This time, with no eventual salvation. This time, with no end to the battle. Ever.
This was hell, he realized vaguely. Eternal servitude, until death. An eternity of fighting the impossible fight. And, worse, at least until Spike died, being forced to fight that battle beside Spike. Being forced to be Spike's sidekick.
This was worse than the torture the Senior Partners had inflicted on his soul, a million times worse. This was real torture. Why had the Senior Partners even tried? They could never match the torment the Powers That Be had planned for him.
Dana grinned. "They're not going to let you out," she repeated. "They think broken things belong behind bars."
"You did cut Spike's arms off," pointed out Angel reasonably. "I think maybe behind bars is safer for you." He ignored the second half of that statement, refusing to think of himself as some broken thing. Maybe had been, but he knew that the only solution was action, was doing something.
Dana shrugged. "Maybe I'll make it up to him," she said obliquely.
"How? Cutting off his legs?" asked Angel, amused.
Buffy and Giles had gone back to debating, Angel's moment of introspection having allowed them to resume ignoring him. That amused him and irritated him in ways he didn't like to think about.
Dana shrugged guilelessly. "I was confused," she said. "Past, present, my past, his past…it was all a blur."
"And you're better now," said Angel dryly, clearly not believing it.
She shrugged. "I'm not confused," she said.
Angel sighed. "Yes, you are," he said. "You may have gotten the past and present apart, in your head, but you still haven't really gotten past your problems. Trust me on this; I know."
Dana frowned. "That sounds crazier than me!" she protested.
Angel sighed. "All right, let me illustrate. Spike?"
"Evil!" chirped Dana.
"Spike with a soul?" he prompted.
"Evil!" said Dana firmly. "You can't fool me with the soul thing—the guy who got me had one."
"Spike, with a soul, saving the world?"
"Evil!" Dana sing-songed, clearly happy with this game.
"Me?"
"Possibly evil." Her eyes showed some doubt on the matter; it was clear that she really meant 'evil,' but was getting better about just saying disturbing things outright.
"And what do you do to evil people?" asked Angel.
Dana pouted. "I'm not supposed to kill them unless Giles says it's okay," she said sullenly.
Angel smiled. "All right, I guess that's progress." He glanced to Buffy. "I wasn't requesting, you know," he said, his voice louder and firm.
Giles and Buffy looked at him sharply. "What?" said Buffy, clearly not believing he meant what was so apparent in his voice."
"I wasn't requesting to be let out. I wasn't being polite, and I most certainly wasn't asking," said Angel slowly. "I managed to make the ultimate sacrifice for Spike once already. I died for him. He died for me." Angel leaned forward, grasping the bars tightly. "For my troubles, instead of eternal peace or eternal damnation, they sent me back as Spike's sidekick. Do you understand what kind of living hell that is? But I'm not going to sit here on my hands while he's in trouble. Last time he went up against these guys, he died. And he was a lot more dangerous then."
Angel threw himself against the bars. They were good bars, very solid, but whoever had installed them hadn't put them more than an inch into the concrete floor below. They smashed free, flying across the room to slam into Dana's bars with a loud clang.
Angel stepped out of the cell. "Say what you like, it's time for me to go to Spike." He shifted into a fighting stance. "And that's not a request."
The new motel room Spike had got them did not have a television, a sad state that caused Spike to laugh merrily. It had one bed, and no couches, which made Faith laugh. The floor hadn't been cleaned in weeks, and there was no air conditioning, which didn't make any of them any merrier.
Faith glowered around the tiny dump, glad there was at least carpeting. No matter how cheesy. "Dibs on the bed," she said shortly. Normally she'd make some smart comment about a threesome, but just now she had the feeling that would go over like a lead balloon.
Spike leaned out the door. "I'm gonna go scout around, see if I can't find us some more weapons," he said. "The bag's emptying pretty quick." Faith and Xander both glanced at the duffel he never parted with, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Faith scowled, suddenly realizing what he was saying. "I should go with you," she said.
"And leave Powerless alone?" asked Spike sardonically. "I think not." He left without a further word, leaving them alone.
Faith felt her throat constrict immediately. Last time she'd been alone with Xander she'd made an utter fool of herself, and she had no plans at all to do that again.
On the other hand, she'd told Spike she'd do something about the tension between them.
"Hey," she said listlessly, watching him go through the bags of food they'd brought. It was make-work of the lowest sort, and he was obviously trying to ignore her. "Spike wanted us to talk."
Xander stopped, taking a deep breath. "Okay," he said, still not looking at her.
She felt the familiar surge of irritation at him. What right did he have to act so self-righteous with her?
But she had tried to kill him. He did sort of have that right. Which annoyed her even more.
"I'm sorry," she said, and the words were almost physically painful. Was this why the Fonze couldn't say it? It did hurt, it burned, it cut, it bled. And the blood pouring out chilled her skin to the bone, and turned her skin a bright red.
Xander nodded. "Yeah, good," he said softly.
"I shouldn't have… before, in the kitchen, that was… screw this." She turned around, heading for the door.
"I'm sorry too," said Xander mournfully.
Faith froze.
"I've been too wrapped up in my own problems to be a proper Watcher—if I even had it in me to be one to begin with. I've done nothing but make this job harder for you. And now, with Spike here, I'm laying all this crap on you that you did nothing to deserve…well, except for grabbing me. You did deserve some crap for that." He took a deep breath, trying to fortify himself. "Any of that make sense to you?"
Faith shook her head. She really hadn't understood anything except that bit about deserving some crap for grabbing him. Was that his opinion of her? That she was so low, so dangerous, so dark, that she shouldn't even touch him?
"I tried to forgive you for trying to kill me, but it was hard," said Xander, his voice soft. "Harder to forgive you for trying to kill my two best friends… I forgave you immediately for trying to kill Angel, of course."
Faith felt herself tense up at his last sentence. That was the one she felt guiltiest about, since Angel had worked so hard to save her.
And Xander hated him.
Now that she thought about it, she really did hate most of the people Xander idolized so unfairly. And…vice versa. He hated everyone who was at all important to her. Even Spike, who she still sort of hated as well as admired, Xander hated.
And she was afraid he lumped her in the same group.
"But it was hard. Even after you proved that you were different, when you helped save the world…against the First…even then, I couldn't do it." Xander snorted. "And I was too busy trying hard not to show how much I was hating Spike to even think about you. No offense."
Faith didn't take too much offense at that. She knew that having to live in the same house as the vampire had been hard on Xander. He'd made that clear.
Had it been as hard to live in the same house with her?
"And I just….okay, I'm babbling. Shut me up," said Xander, disgust in his voice. "I just … I've made this hard on you, and I was wrong. I'm… yeah, I already said I was sorry."
The worst part was how turned on the pathetic apology left Faith. She glowered at him, muttered a few choice condemnations of his ancestors under her breath, and turned away.
Xander scowled at her. "What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she muttered. "Maybe I can catch up with Spike."
Xander's scowl deepened. "You know he was evil without a soul, right? And just as evil with it? Champion of goodness, my butt! He's still as evil as ever!"
"And he's died saving the world how many times now?" asked Faith. "As many times as Buffy, isn't it?"
Xander scowled. "Don't you dare defend him," he snarled.
It was hard for Faith not to respond. How could she not defend him? The first reason, of course, was that Xander's attack was a backhanded attack on the vampire with a soul who had saved her.
The second was that Xander's attack was a backhanded attack on her. She'd been as evil as Spike.
And the third, absurd as it was, was that the evil vampire was good now. She hated that reason worse than the first two.
So she turned away from him, scowling to herself.
Xander's cellphone rang. He sighed, opening it. "Yeah?" he snapped angrily. "Oh, hi. Yeah, she's here. Spike's gone to get weapons. Who? Went crazy? Broke out? Fought his way through the Slayers? Um, G-Man, I'm… coming for us, you say? Babbling about visions?" He closed the phone carefully. "Um, Faith, Angel's gone crazy, possibly soulless, and he's heading this way."
Faith felt her blood run cold. Just when she thought things were as bad as they could get… they always got worse. Always.
Spike examined the array of smoking products on display over the counter of the sporting goods shop. He hadn't expected them. It was a hunting store, for crying out loud!
Cigs. His mouth was practically watering from desire and need.
He was turning over a new leaf, he reminded himself. He wasn't letting him impulses rule him. He was thinking. He was working.
He could distantly hear the frenzied tapping of his lighter spastically snapping open and shut in his hand, but it seemed to be coming from far away.
The smokes were like a demon. They crept up on you, their evil so seductive you didn't realize that you were evil, that you were killing the people you cared about. You got a soul, and you still didn't realize how deeply evil you were, thinking the evil was in your past. But one day you woke up and a psychotic Slayer was there telling you how evil you still were.
That was how evil the cigarettes were.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked the store clerk nervously.
Spike stepped up to the display, taking a deep breath. He could do this. "No cigarettes!" he said firmly. "No matter what I say later, or how much I scream, no cigs! No smokes!" The employee was staring at him as if he was crazy. "Now, your entire hunting knife collection. That shotgun there, and all the shells you can fit in this bag." Spike dropped the bag on the counter.
"Er, I can't just sell you the gun. There's a waiting period…" said the clerk.
Spike pulled the sword out of the bag, whipping it around and pressing the blade against the man's throat. "Look, chuckles, I've got a roll of hundreds just for you if you cooperate, so just fall in line," he snarled.
Okay, this was mildly evil, but how else was he supposed to fight Wolfram and Hart? He watched the clerk scurry and sweat, and lowered the sword. "Look, mate, I don't want to hurt you," he said kindly. "It's a crazy, crazy world, although I'm not crazy, not anymore, and you do what you have to do to survive. Now, that bow, too, and all the arrows. Yep, good, good."
He returned the sword to the oversized duffel and lifted it easily, taking out the bundle of bills. He flipped off five hundred dollars quickly. "Hope this covers it," he said, turning and leaving quickly.
Ha! He'd left without taking any cigarettes! He beamed happily, glad he was learning some self-control. Proof he wasn't evil anymore!
The vampire was waiting outside for him, scowling. "My Spoike," she said mournfully, the scowl giving the words a macabre meaning she surely didn't intend.
He sighed. "I just can't escape you, can I, Dru?" he said, his voice a bit vicious. "Come to offer me immortality again? Screw off. I've figured out how bad that deal is."
"If you continue, you'll die," cautioned Drusilla.
"Then I'll die happy, having gained some self-respect!" snarled Spike. "What I'm doing ain't easy, but it's right! Right! Do you even understand that? Do you even understand how far I've come? Of course you don't. You're just like the others. You think I'm crazy."
She moved forward, a languorous walk that was as seductive as it was dangerous. He felt a pang of desire, watching her; she had been his first, and in a lot of ways, his best. No disrespect to Buffy, but she had always been weighed down by guilt, more than deserved, while sleeping with him.
"You're nothing, Dru," he said mournfully, cutting her off. The sword was out before she could respond.
Angelus had been the more powerful for a very long time. Angel had been the one to defeat Spike on occasion. And everybody had known that when Spike began fighting for the side of goodness he'd lost a lot of his ability to fight.
But that had been about the will to fight, not about his abilities. He'd been ashamed to fight on the side of good, and had never tried hard. Facing Doc on that tower, he had been brutally ashamed of himself, even as he fought so hard to be good enough for Buffy to love.
It had only been recently, after getting a soul, that he'd really been able to throw himself wholeheartedly into the fight with the same determination that had bagged him two Slayers in fair combat. That same determination that had taken Angel down when they'd fought against each other in the struggle for the Cup of Perpetual Torment.
Even in the day, fighting Slayers, Spike had never been as dangerous as he was now.
He attacked viciously and quickly, his sword twirling in a ballet of death.
Drusilla dodged back, her arms striking out like whirling dervishs, blocking his attacks and throwing a few of her own his way. She was, despite her madness, at least as deadly as he was. And while she was insane, she wasn't stupid; she knew exactly how dangerous that sword was in his hands.
And she knew that it was only lethal if he beheaded her.
So she kept her chin tucked and continued flailing, finally grabbing a nearby street sign and snapping it free, tired of fighting him without a weapon. Her arms were bloodied, and her dress was ruined, but now that she had a weapon she was even more dangerous.
She whirled into action, using the sign as a crude quarterstaff. She slapped at his sword with it, aiming the sharp broken end at his chest and thrusting at him time and again.
There was no banter for this fight. Not between these two. They'd loved each other, hated each other, and even cheated on each other (although Spike would argue that point ferociously; it didn't matter. In Drusilla's mind, obsession with the Slayer you were going to sleep with after she dumped you was as bad as sleeping with her now).
The fight was cold, deliberate, and vicious. How could it be otherwise?
Spike finally won, managing to disarm her. He ran her through, knocking her back to the ground, yanking the sword out quickly as she fell, screaming.
He glanced around, expecting an army of demons to come swarming down. Not seeing them he crouched over the wounded vampire, who hissed at him.
"Sorry, Dru," he said mournfully, putting a hand on her shoulder and firmly holding her down. "I don't want to kill you; I never have. But I'm not the only one in this, and I have to think about—!"
She giggled.
He froze, his blood running cold. "How many?" he asked, painfully aware that he'd taken all the weapons with him.
"Just one," she said sweetly. "Your oldest friend, come back to haunt them." She giggled. "Even now your sweet dark Slayer and your nummy treat are being torn to pieces."
Spike scoffed, standing quickly. "She's tough," he said harshly. "I don't think so. What do you mean, oldest friend?"
Drusilla smiled sweetly. "Death, dear Spoike. Death."
