Faith
There's a light just beyond my reach. Something warm and welcoming. Am I dead? Am I finally free? A scent catches my attention. Magnolias. Disjointed memories return in a flood of pain. I'm confused. Where am I? What happened? Insanity beckons, promising sweet release from something terrible. I have done something terrible. I have killed.
William is there inside of me. I can feel him pulling me out of the dark, out of the quicksand sucking me under. I open my eyes slowly, seeing sunlight filtering in through the blinds. There is warmth at my side.
Stiffly, I turn my head and see her lying beside me. Dark hair fans out beneath her, one hand tucked under her chin. She looks like an angel. Magnolia. Faith. The memories fall into place and I roll away from her, crashing to the floor and scrambling away, crab-like, from the bed. Horrified, I see the bruises on her face. My fingerprints on her neck. Her heartbeat sounds loud and steady in my ears. She's alive. How can she be alive?
A moment of clarity strikes through my madness. Faith was alive. I was fucked. A one-way ticket to eternal torment was coming my way from a cute little cherub in red galoshes. Pain. Torment. I couldn't keep my promises. I hadn't saved Dawn. I couldn't kill Faith. How had I gotten here? Demon Spike whispered that she was sleeping; I could finish the job. Keep my promise. She would be gone and I wouldn't have to suffer anymore.
No. That was the soul. William the Bloody Awful Poet. There had been enough death, enough hatred, enough rage. They tear me between them, a game of tug-of-war as each struggles for control. Who am I? Am I Spike, the vampire shmuck? Or William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, who can't learn to keep his mouth shut and stay away from the bints. Then there's William Davis, melancholy bartender and feature writer for the Sunnydale Press. Which one is real? Which one is me?
Beyond me, the world is far away and I can't focus my eyes. I'm insane. Trapped within my head and my pain. How had I let my life fall apart? Thoughts are broken. I try to snatch them out of the fog, hooking them together, and searching for coherence and rationality. What happened to me?
The answer is simple, obvious. I lost hope. Dark memories of rain and desperate cries to the weeping sky come to mind. The day the little girl had offered me a deal. That was it. The moment I said yes, committing myself to one last murder. My hope had died. Struck down by the understanding that having a soul did not make me a better man. It didn't make me a man at all. Just a freak.
What kind of man was I? What kind of demon? The war for dominance inside me stilled for a moment as both the soul and the demon considered the question. I had come across the country to kill and hurt the very people who had been the catalysts for my change. I blamed them for the return of my soul and the weight of my guilt. I hated them because I had lost everything of myself here in this town. Coming back to Sunnydale was supposed to answer my questions, end my searching for purpose and identity. It was supposed to save me.
Save me.
I didn't even know what that meant. Redemption had been dismissed years before as a fairytale and idle dream. There would be no atonement for a monster like me. I know that Angel believes in redemption, that he fights against himself and all that is evil to earn his deliverance. That was his purpose, his reason for being. Did I want that? Did I want to be redeemed? What kind of man did I want to be?
Gradually the hurricane in my head slows and stops. Words and ideas fall into place, stringing into lucid trains of thought. I have a choice. Having a soul means that I have a choice. I can be the kind of man I want to be. I could be a killer, letting my demon out to play. I could be a softhearted poet, giving the reins to William. Or I could choose neither of them. I could be a good man. It's my choice now.
The hope I lost so long ago flickers, takes hold, and begins to burn. I have been living in the past, struggling to survive the now, praying that there would be no future. In amazement, I realize that I no longer feel like two people trapped in the same body. Demon versus soul. I can't destroy my demon, can't beat him back and into submission. I can't shut out my soul and forget the tenderness, the gentleness, of William. The past is something that I can never change or dismiss, but it does not define me. My past is not what I am, it is not my identity.
Returning to the present, I finally look around and recognize the two room flat that had become my new home. It's bare; the only furniture was what had come with the lease. A bed. A lamp. There was a small table beneath the shuttered window. Except for the clothing hanging in the closet and the laptop on the table there is no indication that anyone lives here. I vaguely remember giving Faith directions.
My limbs are weak as I stand up, one hand against the wall to steady myself. I don't know how much time I have before the Cheshire bitch realizes Faith is still alive and comes to drag me into hell. It doesn't matter anymore. She'll come and it will finally be over. I'll get what I deserve.
This whole crazy world revolves around cause and effect. Push and pull. Walk the edge, toe the line; what goes around comes around and this is my stop. End of the line for Vampire with a Soul Redux. Like most sequels, this one didn't live up to the original. The script was poor, the dialogue contrived, and the hero hadn't been a hero at all. I was no Angel. For the first time in more than a hundred years, I wish I could be. Weight lifts from my shoulders as I move through the apartment, savoring my newfound peace. I'm facing the music, owning up to what I have done and what I deserve. I am not weak, not anymore.
I warm a glass of pig blood and sip it slowly, staring out the window at the brick walls of the neighboring apartments. Each one is a home and a haven for someone else. The place they live, dream, love. Where they cry and escape from their fear. The only place they can close the door and put away the masks that keep them separated from the rest of their species and eternally alone. A shell to keep them safe and secure. Humanity is frightening in its cruelty, savage in its inescapable consequences, and breathtaking in its beauty. I feel it and am in awe. Of the people living each day, getting up and moving on; those who don't allow the misery to destroy them. Life is a driving force, powerful and relentless, that no amount of demons or evil can ever conquer.
Filling another glass with cool water, I return to the bedroom and carefully sit down beside the bed. I don't touch her, afraid of being burnt by her life and the possibility of being attacked.
"Faith." My voice is loud in the silence. "Faith."
Her eyelashes flutter for a moment before they fly open and she's sitting up, moving away from me, tense and ready for a fight. I hold out the glass of water as a peace offering.
"I thought maybe." I try to smile. "Your throat might be sore." The irony almost makes me laugh. My hands made those marks and now I'm trying to ease the damage. She watches me uneasily for a moment before she reaches for the glass, drinking hesitantly. I back away, leaning against the table and trying to avoid the pinpricks of sunlight that slip through the blinds.
She clears her throat, voice hoarse from sleep and injury. "Bastard."
"Yeah." I turn away from her, picking my duster off of the floor and folding it absently. I don't want it anymore. It's not me.
"I only let you live because of Dawn." She informs me, placing the empty glass on the bed and curling her legs against her chest.
"How's that?"
"She doesn't want you dead. Maybe the only person in the whole world who wouldn't be glad to fit you into an ashtray. She cares about you."
"She's like her mum." It's the best compliment I can think of for Dawn. One that I know would please her.
"Why aren't I dead?" Her voice has an edge. I'm still surprised how expressive that voice is. Husky, rich; everything that she is comes across in her words. Half a dozen emotions crowd together, tumbling out over her lips.
"I don't want to kill you." I stare down at my duster for a long moment before I toss in onto the table and move to the closet. Everything black has to go. I can't wear it anymore. It's the color of death and I have seen enough death. She is silent, her dark eyes following my movements intently. "Not anymore. I came here to kill you, true. But I can't. I have enough blood on my hands."
She laughs with disbelief. "You're a vampire. What do you care how many people you kill?"
"Angel cares." I glance over one shoulder to gauge her reaction.
"Angel has a soul." She frowns for a moment, turning her head to look at me askew. "You're not going to give me some bullshit about having a soul, are you? That's impossible."
"Crazy, yes. Impossible, no." I shrug as I pull a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt out off of the shelves. "I'm going to change. You can leave if you want. I'm not going to keep you here."
"Like you could." Her words are arrogant but she makes no move to leave.
Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I shed the dirty black jeans and ripped shirt I'm wearing. I climb into the shower to wash dirt and blood off of my arms. Rabbit blood. Have I been eating rabbits? I can't remember. Sighing, I close my eyes against the stream of hot water, feeling it wash away days worth of insanity and darkness. My mind is almost clear and the madness is fading away.
I've given her enough time to search the entire flat and make half a dozen phone calls. Half of me expects Buffy to be waiting, stake in hand, as I dry off and get dressed. Toweling my hair vigorously, I open the door and see Faith sitting on the bed, arms still holding her legs against her chest. She hasn't moved.
"Are you alright?" I ask, tossing the towel over one shoulder and running my hands through my hair to corral the unruly curls. I add my dirty clothes to the pile of things to leave behind forever. "All I have is blood. You can wear something of mine if you need to change." Her tank top is ripped in several places and there are streaks of mud on the leather pants she's wearing.
"Are you fucking with me?" Her eyes narrow with suspicion. "Tell me the truth. You weren't just a few fries short of a happy meal last night, you were completely out of your mind. Psycho. Wheel's turning, hamster's dead. What the hell is going on?"
"I made a mistake." Four words summed up my existence in a trivial phrase that I find both humbling and appalling.
"Not going to argue with that. Details would be appreciated." In her voice, I can hear frustration and confusion liberally laced with hostility.
Facing her, I try to keep my mind focused long enough to decide what to tell her. Simple is better. "I got my soul back four years ago. Never planned on coming back here until some Big Bad playing dress-up offered to take the bleedin' chip out of my head. The catch? I had to kill someone for it. I said yes. The bint wanted you dead."
"Why?"
"Said you betrayed them. I didn't ask too many questions. Evil little chit spooked the hell out of me." I move back to the closet and pulling out my duffle bag. Everything I own fits in this bag.
"Getting my ass out of this town. I can't kill you. Have to face the music sometime." I glance over my shoulder. "If I stay, I'll be having a nice conversation with a wooden stake or that ball of joy overhead."
"You should die." Bitter. Angry.
"No. I shouldn't." I turn slowly, watching her expression. "I don't deserve death. I deserve something much worse than that." That surprises her. "I'm not running off into the sunset to live happily ever after. I'm going back so that bitch can make good on her threats and damn me to eternal torment. Because I can't kill you. Because I won't." Firm in my conviction, I continue packing, pulling my Timberlands out of the back of the closet and tossing the black motorcycle boots into the pile of my past. "That's the deal I made. That's what I deserve."
"What about Dawn?"
"What about her?" My voice sounds strained in my ears. "She's better off without me."
"Yeah. At least say goodbye this time."
"Without getting up close and personal with a very brassed off Slayer? I don't think so." The laptop goes into the bag and I'm done. My entire life in one duffle bag.
"Spike." She hesitates, doubt ringing in her voice. "Was I dead? I think I was dead."
"Yeah."
"Then you did kill me. Like you were supposed to. Assuming you're not lying and someone out there really wants me dead."
"I'm pretty sure she wanted you six feet under and pushing up daisies, luv. The not ever coming back variety. Although that doesn't mean much in Sunnydale." I slip on my boots and swing the strap of the duffel over my shoulder. "There's covered parking with sewer access behind the building. Don't worry, I won't come back. There's nothing left for me here."
She's fidgeting. For a moment I wonder if she's stalling, waiting for Buffy to show up and kick the door in. "You asked me to save you," she finally blurts out. "Last night. You asked me to save you."
"You did, Faith." I smile and take a few tentative steps toward her. When she doesn't pull away, I continue until I'm close enough to touch her.
"I can't even save myself." There's pain in her voice and I'm struck by the vulnerability in her eyes. "I thought I could fix it if I went to jail. If I was punished for what I did. But I'm still...I..." She stops and looks up at me, searching my face.
Her hair is cool and smooth, curling around my fingers as I push it away from her face, tucking a single lock behind her ear. Warm skin touches my palm and I'm amazed by the raw emotion in her eyes. There is so much in them that I recognize. Pain, fear, desperation. She reminds me of the man I once was, the poet who wanted to be accepted, to be loved. We're on the same road, trapped in the same nightmare of finding something to live for. A reason to be.
"Help me." The shame in her voice makes me wonder if she's ever asked anyone for help.
"You have to keep looking." I pull my hand away and start toward the exit that leads to the central courtyard, kept relatively safe by a row of trees. Her voice stops me in the doorway.
"Looking for what?"
I glance back at her once, trying to memorize the fall of her hair and the curve of her face. A smile spreads across my face. "Faith."
There was nothing but silence left in the apartment. Faith stayed curled up on the bed for a long time, thinking and staring at the bare walls. She should have hated him, should have driven a stake through his black heart. After all, he had killed her. She hadn't even seen him coming until he leapt from the bushes, tackling her and pushing her under the water's surface. At first she'd fought him, her instinct for survival overriding everything else. But there had been a moment of peace and acceptance. Knowing it was over. The harshness of the world and her own pain would finally be gone. She would be free. She'd stopped fighting back and just let it happen. She'd wanted it to happen.
Her throat ached and her sinuses were still burning from the water that had filled her nose and mouth. The world had come crashing back. Disoriented, she'd been shocked to find herself wrapped tightly in her murderer's arms as he sobbed. Save me. His voice echoed in her head, broken and altogether too human. Why hadn't she staked him? Because she knew what it was like to be broken.
Slowly uncurling, she eased herself off of the bed and looked around. The duster was crumpled on the table. It was still new and heady with the scent of leather. Picking it up carefully, she slipped her arms through the sleeves and looked down. It fell to her ankles, draping from her shoulders like a cape. Smiling, she moved through the apartment, noticing that there were no signs of life except for the clothes he left in a pile on the bedroom floor. All black.
Sunlight poured through the front door. Stepping out into the day, she blinked against the brightness and took a deep, fortifying breath. The complex was in the older part of town, only a few blocks away from Buffy's house. She'd be furious to know he had been this close the entire time. Why the hell did a vampire have an apartment anyway?
Lost in thought, Faith made her way slowly through the streets of Sunnydale. She wasn't sure if she should lie to the Scoobies. Tell them that Spike was blowing in the wind right now. Her stomach rumbled hungrily and she wished she had worn a watch.
As she started across the backyard of the Summers residence, she felt older. Death aged you. Maybe that was why Buffy seemed to be twenty-five going on fifty. She'd done this twice. Did it get easier? Faith didn't want to find out.
Quietly, she let herself in the back door and saw that the kitchen was empty. Her first priority was finding the gang and letting them know she was back among the living. With Spike gone, she didn't have to stay in Sunnydale anymore. She could go wherever she wanted. In California at least. Damn parole officers. Buffy's voice wafted out from the direction of the living room. Probably formulating attack plans. All work and no play. Faith moved through the house silently, standing in the doorway and waiting to be noticed. The gang was all there, crowded around a map of Sunnydale while Willow sprinkled some sort of powder over the paper.
"Are you sure dead bodies show up with locator spells?" Xander sounded tired. "Maybe we should just head out there and look. You said you were checking the forest by the docks."
"And if he dumped her in the ocean? She could be halfway down the coast by now." Buffy's answer was terse. Full battle mode.
"There. It's done." Willow squinted at the map and sighed. "But I don't think it worked."
"Why not?"
"Because that dot should be Faith's body. And it's here." She pointed at the map. "That's your house, Buffy."
"Oh. Is there something else we could try? Another spell?"
"You could turn around." Faith smiled, enjoying the looks of shock on their faces. "Since I happen to be standing right here. Not polite to talk about people in front of them, you know." They were too stunned to respond, taking in the bruises on her face and mud covering her clothes. It took them another moment to place the long leather jacket she was wearing.
Dawn was the first one to break the silence, moving forward and giving her a quick hug. "Are you alright? Giles said another Slayer was called. He must have been wrong."
"Nope. Pulled a Buffy." Faith grinned. "This is Faith version two-point-oh. Back from the dead for a few nights only." She felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. "Come on guys, don't look so happy to see me."
Willow visibly shook herself out of shock and blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes just in case. "What happened? Can I get you anything? Water? Food? Is that Spike's jacket?" The familiar rambling was comforting.
"Yeah. He left it behind." Faith shrugged the leather off of her shoulders. "Seemed like such a waste. It's brand new." She handed it to Dawn, noticing the grateful look in the girl's eyes. "Thought you might want it."
"She doesn't." Buffy glared at Dawn.
"I do." Dawn folded the duster over her arms. "I don't care if he did go all psycho killer. I'm not going to pretend I don't care just because that's what you do."
"I'm not pretending."
"Whatever. You still have his old jacket in a box in the back of your closet." Dawn tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat down, holding the leather firmly against her. "It's only fair that I get this one."
"Fine. Just tell me he's good and dusty this time. Faith?"
"Sorry, B. No can do. I'm the only one who died." Faith pulled a leaf from her hair, impulsively deciding against a lie.
"About that?" Xander almost raised his hand. "How is it that you're all with the breathing and walking around again?"
"That crazy ass vampire brought me back. After he drowned me. Can I take you up on that offer of food, Will? All Spike had was blood." Faith smiled gratefully as Willow headed off toward the kitchen. Sitting down carefully, she began to examine the tiny cuts and bruises on her arms. Their tumble down the beach had done more damage than she'd previously thought.
"Am I the only one who's a little confused? Spike killed you. Spike saved you. Spike took you home?"
"Spike killed me. Spike saved me. I took Spike home. Poor guy was completely round the bend. Full stop, train derailed. One way ticket to Crazyville." Faith made a few finger circles around her ear and pulled a crazy face for emphasis. "But he's gone now. Left town."
"For how long?" Buffy's voice was hard. "Until he decides to kill you for good?"
"I don't think he'll come back."
"Why didn't you kill him? It sounds like you had plenty of chances. Did you sleep with him instead?"
"Chill, B. Vampires don't get me hot. That's your department."
Willow hurried back into the room, handing Faith a plate with a ham sandwich and a glass of milk. "I made you a sandwich. I hope that's okay."
"Awesome, Will. You totally rock."
"Faith was just explaining why William the Bloody is still among the undead." Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, scowling fiercely.
"I did it for Dawn," Faith answered simply. Buffy's head snapped to the side, eyes wide as she searched her sister's face for an answer.
"Dawn...what is she talking about?"
"I might have said that I didn't want him dead." Dawn looked down at her hands. "And he saved my life, Buffy. A week ago. In the tunnels, there was a vampire and he saved me. He seemed so lost Buffy. Like he didn't really know what was going on-"
"Wait. Just wait." Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "You saw him? Why didn't you tell me? And what were you doing in the tunnels? Alone? You are so grounded."
"You can't ground me anymore. Mom." Dawn rolled her eyes.
"Fine. I'll just break a few bones."
"I don't believe this!" Buffy exploded. "He comes back to town after telling the whole world he's going to kill both of us. He almost kills me and he manages to drown you. And you're all sitting here thinking it's just fine that he's still out there! Have you all lost your minds?" She turned back to Faith. "I know that doing the right thing really isn't important to you but is it too much to ask that you kill one vampire? You're a Slayer. A Vampire Slayer. Sacred calling...ring any bells?"
Faith shrugged. "I know something else that's important to you, B. Having a soul."
"And?"
"Spike has a soul now. He told me."
"And you believed him? You're even more stupid than I thought you were."
"You didn't see him." Faith finished off her sandwich calmly. Dying made little things like Buffy temper tantrums less important.
"This is insane!" Buffy stormed out of the living room and stomped up the stairs. The slam of her bedroom door shook the pictures hanging on the walls, echoing in the silence left behind.
"I've got to agree with Buffy. How do you know he wasn't lying?" Xander asked. "I mean, he is...evil. And evil tends to lie."
"Just a vibe, I guess. Besides, we have bigger fish to fry. Spike was just the hitman. Told me some woman sent him after me." Faith set her plate and empty glass on the coffee table carefully. "But the whole debriefing thing is going to have to wait until I have a shower. I've still got sand where the sun don't shine."
"I'll call Giles. Let him know you're alive." Willow moved toward the phone.
Faith reached out to stop her. "Not yet. I think...I think that maybe it's better if they think I'm dead."
"Why?"
"I'm not exactly the golden child, Will. One less thing for the Council to worry about. No more rogue Slayer to sully their institution."
"But Faith-"
"It's a clean slate for me," Faith cut her off. "A fresh start. I can have a new life without them breathing down my neck and waiting for me to fuck up. Please. Just don't."
Willow hesitated, finally nodding her head and sitting back down. "Alright. I understand. Does that mean you're going to leave?"
"Haven't thought that far. I'm still kind of weirded out by the whole being dead thing. And I hope y'all don't think I'm being rude, but I've gotta have that shower now." She headed up the stairs, leaving them to talk as they may about Spike and her and what to do now.
"Do you think he really has a soul?" Dawn whispered, clutching the duster hopefully.
"I don't know, Dawnie." Willow glanced at Xander. "But if someone sent him to kill Faith, we have to find out who and why."
"Does this mean there are three Slayers now?"
"I guess," Willow answered. "Giles did say another Slayer had been called. Just like that time with Buffy."
"They really should fix that loophole." Xander moved to the couch and sat down beside Willow. "Or just set up an assembly line and make lots of them. A whole army of Slayers. All it takes is a little bit of death, CPR, and voila!"
"Will she be coming here?"
"Probably. It's still the Hellmouth. Although with Buffy here, Sunnydale doesn't really need another Slayer."
"Maybe Buffy can retire now. You know, go back to school and stuff," Dawn suggested thoughtfully. She frowned as a new thought crossed her mind, "What should we tell Giles about Spike?"
"If we tell him that he's still undead the Council will probably try to hunt him down." Willow blew a stray lock of hair out of her face, resting her chin on her hand as she considered their options. "Of course, Buffy may do that herself."
"We should probably tell him."
"What about the soul?"
Xander shook his head. "If he has a soul. Big if. We don't know if he was telling the truth. Buffy's right. We can't trust him anymore."
"Then we have to find out. If he has a soul." Dawn put on her best resolve face. "There has to be a way. A spell or something."
Willow eyed the black leather in Dawn's lap. "There might be. I think I know where to look. I'll need something that belonged to him."
"His jacket." Dawn held up the duster.
"That should work. And if he was telling the truth about the soul then he was probably telling the truth about someone sending him to kill Faith."
"Research?" Xander grinned. "I'll go for donuts. Can't read old musty volumes without sugary goodness, can we?"
"I'll call Giles." Willow checked her watch. "It's only two in the morning there. Maybe I won't call him. It can wait until morning. Or evening." She shrugged and abandoned the phone call idea, instead digging out the laptop and plugging it in. "I've been working on a database of spells with some of the wiccans on campus and a few from covens across the country. I'm sure someone will have an idea or two."
"Should I get Buffy?" Xander hesitated, halfway out of the room.
"Let her cool off, Xan," Dawn advised. "She's having a hard time with the whole Spike kicking her ass episode."
"Does she really have his old duster in her closet?"
"I found it a couple of years ago when I was borrowing some shoes."
Willow glanced up from the computer screen. "Why'd she keep it?"
"I think it was because it reminded her of him." Dawn stroked the leather in her lap gently. "She never said anything but I think she missed him. A lot. She was totally pissed at him. And hurt. But I think she still hoped he'd come back some day."
"Guess she got her wish. Sunnydale style. Do you think she'll be okay? She seems to be taking it pretty hard." Willow paused her search to wait for an answer.
"She'll be fine. She's Buffy. Big strong Buffy." Dawn didn't sound convinced.