Right as Rain

Cara was still as a statue, her gaze fixed on the phone next to the small hotel bed. It was thirty seconds past the expected time of contact and the cream colored handset had yet to ring. She was anxious to receive her new instructions. Sunnydale had begun to bore her. There was no indication of any of those emotions on her face.

Restlessly, she turned back to the stack of dossiers sitting neatly on the mattress. Information, data, everything there was to know about the strange assortment of beings in Sunnydale. After spending time with them, she was mystified as to how they had survived this long. Perhaps their reason for termination was their blatant stupidity rather than the strategic explanations given to her.

Buffy Summers. Insubordinate and unstable. Refusal to follow orders or accept authority of the council. Incompetence in the field leading to the deaths of innocents. There were even rumors of liaisons with two well-known and vicious vampires. Angelus and William the Bloody.

Rupert Giles. His file read similarly to the Slayer's with the addition of a history of improper use of black magic. He had failed the Cruciamentum, had undermined the authority of other Watchers sent to Sunnydale, and had become a voice of dissention in the Council.

Willow Rosenberg. A powerful but also unstable witch who had tried to destroy the world by raising the temple of Proserpexa five years ago. Since then, the witch had been largely inactive but was still considered a viable threat.

Dawn Summers. The girl wasn't even human. A Key of unknown properties and powers. Considered an enormous liability due to an incident with a Hell God named Glory that had resulted in the disruption of dimensional walls and the unfortunately impermanent death of Buffy Summers.

Xander Harris. The only true human of the group had been unavoidably exposed to the world of Slayers and vampires a decade earlier. He should have been eliminated at that point. Removing him would be part of cleaning up the mess Buffy Summers had made of Sunnydale. Fortunately there weren't any other civilians who required termination.

The shrill ring of the phone cut through the air and she swung around, reaching for the receiver. As soon as it reached her ear, she coded in briskly and waited for her orders.

"Continue surveillance of the targets. A team will be arriving in Sunnydale, approximately forty-eight hours. New Orleans has fallen behind schedule due to unforeseen complications." The phone clicked and her contact was gone.

With a suppressed sigh of frustration, she pulled a small box of ammunition from her knapsack and carefully set her pistols on the bed beside her. The guns needed to be checked, cleaned, and loaded with wooden core bullets. Before starting on those, she began cleaning and sharpening the blades of her dagger and sword. Clean, sharpen, polish, and protect. All good equipment required proper maintenance and the condition of her weapons might determine if she lived or died.

Waking up to the smell of magic is somewhere between the Maxwell House coffee commercials and a sharp kick in the head. Of course, the pain in my skull could have been from my plunge out of Cable's office window. I'm still a little fuzzy.

Groaning, I pull myself stiffly into a sitting position and try to focus my eyes. I'm on a narrow, army green cot in the back room library of the Full Moon Rising bookstore. My generous host is nowhere to be seen and the outer area of the shop is quiet. Two arms, two legs. Check. Ten fingers, ten toes. Check. I'm all here and even though I feel as though some large animal used the cot as a trampoline, I have to admit that I've seen worse.

The manila folder sits quietly on the desk. I grit my teeth as I reach over and retrieve it. Hunger is making me edgy but I'm too tired and battered to care. Flipping through the contents, I examine them more carefully this time around.

A Slayer Academy. Good for them. There were twelve girls on the list, training and waiting for their call. Memos about instructors and supplies were bound by a paperclip behind the folded blueprints. Labeled as the Watcher's Council Headquarters, I study them thoughtfully. The main library was surrounded by administrative offices. Stairwells in two corners with roof access. Where should I start? Who would have the authority to give the order to kill Faith and kidnap me? Why did the buggers want me anyway?

Frowning, I trace the outline of the Head Watcher's office. They would have had to find someone powerful to cast the projection and powerful people didn't work for nothing. If the owlish bookkeeper was right, it would have been difficult for a lower level Watcher to conceal the spell. But if the plan was carried out with the approval of the Head Watcher, perhaps the entire Council itself, no hiding would be necessary and the cost would not be prohibitive. How likely was it that the entire Council had orchestrated the plot? Fair to mostly sunny, I'm guessing.

Hopefully the odds are in my favor. If the Council backed the plan then they would have left a paper trail even I could follow. I just have to get there and find it. They won't take Faith to the headquarters but the Academy is a possibility. I can't think about how long they'll keep her alive. It just has to be long enough for me to find her.

The shopkeeper smiles cheerfully as he pushes past the heavy curtain. "I brought you some blood."

"Thanks, mate." Taking the glass, I drain it quickly and turn back to the folder.

"I see you've found some of your answers."

"Bloody lot of good it does me." I glance toward him and despite the fact that he still reminds unpleasantly of Doc, he appears to be interested and compassionate. "They took a friend of mine. Sort of. The girl I was supposed to kill." Consciously, I force my hands to loosen their grip on the documents.

"That doesn't bode well."

"It was supposed to be me." A wry smile crosses my lips. "It's always supposed to be me."

"Is there something I can do to help you?"

"You've done enough." I motion to the room. "Thanks for taking me in. Rough night."

"I can imagine." The shopkeeper sits down on the chair at the desk. "Will you go after her?"

"Soon as I can move without coughing up blood." Watching him, I realize that I never asked his name or anything about him during my last visit. "Don't mean to be unfriendly. What do I call you?"

"Friends call me Verek."

"Am I a friend?"

"I'd like to hope so." He's still smiling brightly.

I test a few of my ribs. Sore, painful, but healing. I'll be good as new in a few days. I can't worry about Giles or Sunnydale. I want to believe he wouldn't be part of anything so despicable. I have to believe. Faith needs me more than the Hellmouth does.

Verek watches me somberly for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry for your troubles."

"So am I." Shaking off my worry about Dawn and the Scoobies, I reorganize the contents of the folder and close it gently. "I have to get to England. What time is it?" As I stand up I realize I don't know how long I've been unconscious.

"Almost sunset."

I've slept all day at least. Not hungry enough to be more than one. That's good. I'll have to call Charlie and let him know I'll be out of town for a few days. He'll probably think I'm making up for all the sex I haven't been getting these last few years. "Thanks again."

"These people who have your friend. Why did they want her dead?" Always the curious one, that strange little shopkeeper.

"She went rogue. Didn't play nice with the other children. Didn't play at all from what I hear, don't know the details of it all. Took out a few people and ended up in jail."

"And they wanted to kill her for disobeying them?"

"Betraying them. That's what their messenger bitch said." Still weak and with my head starting to spin, I sit back down on the cot. Can't leave the store until dark anyway. "There's something else to it though. I can feel it."

"There usually is. A good puzzle has layers. Each time you peel one back, you discover something new." Verek absently taps one finger on the cover of a book.

"I feel like they're running me in bloody circles. The little girl. Trying to kidnap me. It makes no sense." Rubbing my forehead at the unanswered questions clanging like church bells in my head, I try to get past my frantic worry. I have to think clearly. I have to figure it out.

"And you believe there are answers in England?"

"I hope so."

"I can help you with that." He stands up slowly. "I can open a portal for you, if you know where you're going."

"A portal?"

"Yes. I do believe I saw a map in that folder." Dark eyes twinkle with enthusiasm. "I just need a few things."

Quickly, I try to do the time conversion in my head. It's already past midnight in London. Pulling out the blueprints, I scan them once more, trying to commit the layout to memory.

"This will take a minute." Verek pulls out a stick of charcoal, tracing a dark circle on the floor in one corner big enough for one person to stand in. Patting his trouser pockets, he produces a small disk. "A talisman. Like a homing device. The portal will be active for twelve hours. It will open when the talisman comes near it." Handing me the talisman, he turns back toward the wall and begins to chant softly.

I watch with curiosity and apprehension as the air begins to thicken and shimmer like heat waves above the highway. The boundary expands, stretching out into the room until it is just wide enough, just tall enough, to fit a single man. In my case, a single vampire. Glancing quickly at Verek, I see that his eyes are closed and there is a peaceful expression on his face. The talisman weighs heavily in my pocket as I stand up. Fixing an image of Faith steadfastly in my mind, I step forward and into the shimmering air. Wind rushes past my ears and my stomach feels as though it's falling through space faster than the rest of my body. Another step and the world comes racing back around me.

The sun is long gone and sounds of the London nightlife are suddenly and urgently clamoring in my ears. I blink quickly as my eyes adjust to the change, taking in the narrow street around me. Hopefully Verek's portal has put me somewhere in the neighborhood of the Watcher's Headquarters. As much as I'd like to see London again, I really don't have the time to find out firsthand just how much the city has grown.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I step out onto the street and look around. If my memory serves, I'm only a short jaunt around the corner and down the block from the Headquarters. Blending into the crowd is easy. London is such a wild mix of colors and people that the more you stand out, the more you fit in.

A familiar gray stone building sits at the end of the street, waving a flag innocently. It looks like a bank. Probably pretends to be something less devious and underhanded during the daylight hours. Heavy wood doors slung with brass handles open into a darkened central lobby. The night guard glances up at me briefly, measuring me and assessing the risk before he turns his eyes back to the monitors at the desk.

"Evening, sir," he says blandly when I approach him.

"Looking for the Watchers."

"I'm sorry, sir. There are only offices in this building. Bank of London and Investment Securities." I knew it. Do all evil organizations pretend to be banks? Maybe it's easier to launder money that way.

"Too bad." I head toward the door marked Stairwell. There are only three stories. One of them has to be the bloody headquarters.

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He moves out from behind the desk, one hand on the baton hanging from his belt.

"I haven't got time for this." I scowl at him angrily. As soon as he gets close enough to grab, I switch to my game face and grab hold of his lapels. "This is the part where I hit you and you fall down. Understand?" The terrified guard nods rapidly, flinching back as I release him. My fist clips his jaw and he crumples onto the marble floors.

"Sorry 'bout the headache, mate." Shaking off my demon face, I drag his limp body behind the desk. One of the security monitors is labeled WC Library and I'm betting WC doesn't stand for the loo. Third floor.

The only noise is the soft padding of my footsteps as I head up the stairs, alert for the presence of any human beings. Solitary darkness and the sounds of a sleeping building are all that greet me. Third floor begins with a heavy metal door that swings shut with a whisper and a resonating bell tone as it hits the strike plate behind me. Carpeted floors muffle any noise I might have made creeping down the hallway. At the end, in the northwest corner of the building is the office I'm looking for. Head Watcher. Head Wanker.

It's locked, providing me an outlet for some of the frustration and rage. Kicking the door down splinters the wooden frame and nearly rips out the hinges. The interior of the office is that of a typical ostentatious bureaucrat. Desk, filing cabinets, leather chair. Everything is neatly in place. Maybe I'll rip it apart before I leave. It feels like the right thing to do.

Grimly determined, I start with the desk. It's filled with papers, pencils, and an assortment of administrative documents. Supply notices, invoices, memos, and a few orders done in triplicate. Flipping on the desk lamp, I move to the filing cabinets.

On drawer number five, I hit pay dirt. Personnel files on all Watchers and Slayers, including potential Slayers. Thumbing through the folders, I notice a large brown folder labeled Sunnydale. Pulling it out of the drawer, I sit down at the desk and begin to rifle through the contents.

One manila folder is labeled Faith. Sliding it onto the desk, I glance through the contents. Pictures, biographical information, physical description. There's a summary sketch and assessment of her abilities as a Slayer. At the bottom of the page, something catches my eye. Recommended Course of Action: Termination. It was signed and dated a year ago. Only a year? The little bint had appeared three years ago. Unable to explain the discontinuity, I turn back to the folder and remove the remaining files.

There's a folder for Buffy and all of the Scoobies, even Tara and Anya. Uneasily, I begin looking through those folders as well. I freeze as I glance down at Buffy's assessment. Recommended Course of Action: Termination. Also signed a year ago. Feeling the first tickle of panic beginning at the base of my spine, I check all of the folders. My hands are shaking. All of them had the same terrifying result. They didn't just want Faith dead, they wanted the whole Scooby gang six feet under. The last folder has my name on it. Recommended Course of Action: Contain for observation and experimentation. They were going to turn me into sodding lab rat. Again. Did I have a fucking neon sign above my head that read Poke Me, Prod Me, Turn Me Into Your Goddamn Science Project?

Stuffing the files back into the dark folder, I move back to the filing cabinets. What the hell was going on? I could understand their grudge against Faith and even Buffy. But Harris? And Dawn? Just thinking about them going after Dawn makes my blood burn, exciting the demon and threatening to destroy my concentration. The answers have to be here. Somewhere. Hundreds of useless files later, I'm beginning to get anxious.

Frustrated, I shut the last drawer and step back to look around the office once more. There is a row of pictures along a shelf on the far side of the room. Hard to imaging the man signing the death warrants of so many innocent people having a family. What kind of a husband does that? What kind of father? What kind of man? Crossing to the shelves, I pick up one of the framed photos. A tall, dark haired man smiles out at me, his arm around a teenage girl with his eyes. She looks happy and carefree. Placing it back gently, my hand moves to the next picture. A family. Man and wife and the girl again.

One of the frames has been turned over, laying face down on the shelf. Picking it up, I turn it over and my blood turns to ice. Staring out of the photograph is a little girl in a blue overcoat, red galoshes, and a matching hat. She's smiling, brown eyes wide with wonder and innocence. My Cheshire cat. The bastard had used his daughter's image. I can't begin to understand the fury that consumes me. The frame cracks in my hands, shattering the glass. What kind of man? What kind of monster?

Shaking with rage, I hurl the photograph across the room and begin the utter destruction of the office. It's strangely cathartic to rip the drawers from the cabinets and scatter the papers across the floor. Violently wishing for a liter of gasoline and my cigarette lighter, I flip over the desk and dismantle it piece by piece, leaving a large footprint through the top. If I could burn down the whole building, I would. I'm about to put one boot angrily through the side panel of the computer when I remember that Willow could probably find something valuable in there. Peeling away the cover, I stare at the guts of the machine for a moment. Which is the bloody hard drive? The desk lamp is hanging onto life by a thread, flickering in the darkness as I pull it over to illuminate the beast of wires and silicon. By process of elimination that consists mostly of randomly guessing, I extract one of the larger metal boxes and wedge it into the folder with the rest of the files.

Calming slightly, I run my fingers through my hair and try to focus my thoughts. I still have to find Faith. Time is running out for her and probably the Scoobies as well. Frowning, I consider searching the other offices briefly, but the important files would have been kept by the Head Watcher and I have them in my hand. They would have to send someone to Sunnydale to kill the entire Scooby gang and the termination order was a year old. Why were they still alive?

Cable's voice echoes in my head. They're not training Slayers. They're training assassins. My eyes widen and my stomach falls. They needed Faith dead so they could send another Slayer to the Hellmouth. A Slayer who had been trained under the new regime. A Slayer who was little more than a hired gun for the Council.

Terrified and furious, I storm out of the office and down the hallway. There are still a couple hours of darkness to travel the three blocks to the Slayer Academy and look for Faith. I was racing against the clock now. The new Slayer would already be in Sunnydale, probably waiting for the final order to execute the unwanted variables. It was cold, inhuman.

Stairs fly by, the door slamming behind me a second before I'm out of the building and running down the sidewalk. The guard at the Academy door doesn't even get a word in before I knock him to the ground and break the door down. Why do they insist on using public buildings where any old vampire could just barge in? Not that I expect more from a bunch of stuffed shirts with no humanity and room temperature IQs.

A young girl in pajamas is standing at the bottom of the lobby stairs, a book in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She stares at me impassively; the only emotion showing is the hint of fear in her eyes.

"I'm looking for Faith." I hold out the picture from the Slayer's file. "Have you seen her?" She doesn't say anything, just watches me silently. "Answer me." The direct order seems to reach her and she shakes her head.

"Who's in charge here?" No answer. I try again. "Tell me who's in charge."

"Ms. Bollington," she responds stiffly.

"Tell me where she is."

"Two doors to the left."

"Go back to bed." I watch her head up the stairs, disgusted and unnerved by the girl's strange behavior. The hallway on my left is dark. Two doors down, a faint light shines from beneath the door. Knocking sharply, I lean forward to hear someone moving around inside.

"Is that you Maria? Come in." Ms. Bollington is an older woman, dignified and conservative even in the pale lavender robe tied tightly over her nightgown. It's nearly three in the morning. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" she demands angrily.

"I don't have time to chat. I'm looking for this girl." Holding up the picture of Faith, I see recognition in her eyes.

"Are you family?"

"You could say that."

"Well, I'm very sorry, sir. She's dead. There was a boating accident."

"Where is she now?" I ask slowly, my voice harsh with anger.

"The body was not recovered, sir." She's frowning at me suspiciously. "If I could direct you to my superiors, perhaps they could better answer your questions."

"Bloody hell, you stupid bitch." My patience has just run out. "She's not dead and someone around here has to know where she is."

"She's quite dead, sir." Ms. Bollinton glares at me, folding her arms defensively. "I can assure you of that."

Switching tactics, I smile coldly and step forward, pushing the woman back into the room. "I know a new Slayer was called. Because I'm the one who killed the last one." Changing to my game face, I add a growl for emphasis.

"William the Bloody," she whispers, eyes wide with terror.

"One and the same." She feels small and fragile, my hands circling her biceps completely as I grab her. "Now tell me where she is."

"I-I don't know." She shakes her head quickly. "We were told she was dead. Another girl was called. I don't know." The desperation in her voice is too real to be a lie.

"Where's the Head Watcher?"

"The States. He's gone to California. This evening."

I release her with a rough shove, sending her stumbling back against her desk. "Would anyone else know where she is?"

"I don't know." Ms. Bollington is shivering, tears shining in her eyes. "Mr. Elliot was meeting someone in New Orleans. They were going to Sunnydale together."

New Orleans. I close my eyes, teeth grinding together. Another goddamn, mother-fucking goose chase. Faith had never left New Orleans. I was going to rip that bastard Cable's head off if I ever saw him again.

My feet pound against the pavement as I sprint back to the narrow alley where the portal opened. If the wanker had left this evening, there would be a precious few hours before he landed. Faith would still be there until then. The air begins to shimmer as I enter the alley and barrel through the portal, crashing into the desk as I reappear in the small room at the back of the bookstore.

"Are you alright?" Verek blinks, his eyes tired and concerned.

"Fine. Will you hold on to this for me?" I toss the folder to him. "I have to go kill someone."

"Good luck."

"Don't need it."

Everything was blurry. Was there something wrong with her eyes or had the world just gone out of focus? Blinking helped a little. Enough for Faith to realize that she was back in the cage. At least the sadistic bastard wasn't thinking up new and fun ways to piss her off. The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she was hungry, only to trigger the gag reflex at the taste of blood in her mouth. Hunger, nausea. At some point they became one and the same.

Wincing against the pain and stiffness in her body, she rolled onto her stomach and began the slow, caterpillar-like movements that would get her to her knees. Her head bumped painfully against the top of the cage and she scowled. Damn, that hurt too. Everything fucking hurt.

Rage and desperation overrode the pain in her wrists as she strained against the straps binding her hands. True, he had caught her the first time. And one of the idiot vampires with ridiculous hair had caught her the second time. But she was damn well going to get out of here and kick every one of their asses. If they thought they'd beaten her, they were dead wrong.

One of the straps slipped, allowing her just enough wiggle room to contort her fingers and get a tenuous grip on the edge. Biting down hard to keep from crying out, she wrenched her hands free, convulsing from the pain singing through her arms. Tackling the ropes around her feet, she quickly had them undone and moved to the doorway of the cage. A centimeter at a time, she bent the wires away from the bar. At the very least, when she finally got out of here, she'd have the patience of God. If there was a God anyway.

Something was happening outside her prison. The vamps had been restless all day, moving crates, bickering, and for the most part avoiding her. She was guessing that it wasn't a good sign for her. It either meant more travel in the somewhat dicey lodgings of her cage or the end of the road. If they thought she'd go quietly then they were in for a surprise; there was no way she was going to die without a fight. The hole was large enough to slip her arm through but she couldn't reach the padlock. Leaning back, she braced herself with her hands and kicked both feet against the wires. They bent and deformed. The hole got larger. Another kick. One more.

Trying to avoid the sharp ends, she slowly eased her head and shoulders through the opening. Sucking in her breath, she balanced on hands and toes as she pulled her abdomen carefully through. Wires cut into her pants. One leg at a time. She tumbled to the ground, exhausted and trembling, but she was free. From the cage at least.

Pieces of the chair still littered the floor and she felt better with the cool wood in her hand. Unevenly, she started up the stairs, holding onto the wall for balance. She was weak from lack of food. Although being tortured might have something to do with it. At least she still had her sense of humor; she chalked up a victory on her side. It was something.

She was in a warehouse. It smelled of mold and damp concrete, with the stereotypical soundtrack of skittering rodent claws and creaking steel. The dark hallway led to an open floor piled high with wooden crates. Catwalks crossed overhead and dim light shone from a handful of offices on the upper level. There were voices coming from one of the rooms, angry and loud. She crouched in the shadows, her head was spinning and consciousness was dangerously close to abandoning her. If she could just make it out through to one of the loading docks.

A body crashed through a window above her, turning to dust a moment before it struck the catwalk. She crept along the side, staying behind the crates, one eye watching the commotion warily. Another vampire stumbled out the door, swearing and shouting at someone behind him.

"Where is she?" Spike's growl rang through the warehouse.

"Cage...downstairs," the vamp choked out, struggling against the hands on his throat. He disappeared into a cloud of dust.

Faith sunk to the ground with relief. He had come for her. He had found her. She didn't have the energy to laugh even though she wanted to. Didn't even have the energy to call out to him. Her hand flew to her hair as she remembered what her tormentor had done to it. Oh god. She didn't want him to see her like this. Her face. She hadn't even seen the damage to her face. Tears stung her skin as they fell and she curled into a ball, head against her knees. Unable to do anything but fall apart, she leaned against the crate and wept.

The smell of Faith's blood sends me hurrying down the metal stairs. I start through the maze of crates, trying to find her. A quiet sob catches my ears, someone's crying. Left. Right. There's a small figure curled up on the ground.

"Faith?" I move forward cautiously, unsure. Her long dark hair has been cut off in irregular chunks and the scent of blood is overpowering. She pulls away when I touch her shoulder. "Faith? Luv. We need to get out here." She turns her face away from me. Tenderly, I pull her right arm away from her knees, shocked by the condition of her wrists. They're raw, bloody, and I can see exposed bone. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her into my arms. She's trembling and almost weightless.

Quickly, I make my way through the warehouse floor and into the night. The air is cool and her shivering almost subsides as I hurry through one of the back alleys, taking a shortcut to the bookstore.

"Spike." Her voice is so quiet I almost don't hear it.

"Faith?"

"Did you kill him? The man? Ethan...Ethan Rayne."

"Only vamps, luv." I scowl into the night.

"Good." There's a hint of remaining strength in her voice. "Want to kill the son of a bitch myself."

"He's the one who did this to you?"

"Yeah."

My belief in the goodness of mankind has been officially and forever torn to shreds, stomped on, burned to ash, and thrown out the proverbial window. I don't want to be a man. I don't want to be part of anything that would do what I'm holding in my arms. Glancing down, her pale face is only partially hidden by her savaged hair and what I can see makes me sick. There are large jagged gashes over her cheekbones and forehead and most of her face is covered with dried blood. Her right eye is swollen and both lips are split. Looking closer, I see cuts and burn marks down her neck and shoulders, supplemented with bruises.

The bell jingles, signaling that I'm back in the safety of the bookstore. "Verek?"

My unlikely friend and ally looks up from the counter and blinks his dark eyes. "I see you found her."

"I need to get her cleaned up. Food, water. Bandages." I flash him a grateful look when he nods. I owe him more than I will ever be able to repay.

"Take her upstairs. The bathroom's on the right." He motions toward a set of stairs disappearing to the second floor.

Cradling her against my chest, I move up the stairs as fast as I dare, trying not to disturb her. Above the bookstore is a cozy, inviting apartment with plush carpet and stacks of books scattered about. The bathroom is clean and surprisingly spacious. A thick burgundy rug covers the center of the beige tile floor. Laying her down gently, I move to the bathtub and begin running water. Only warm. Hot water would probably do more damage.

I brush my hand against her battered face. "Faith, luv...I need to get you cleaned up." She nods almost imperceptibly. "Promise you won't stake me later." The barest hint of a smile ghosts across her lips and she nods again.

The tank top she's wearing is ripped and stiff with blood. Resorting to scissors, I cut it gingerly from her body. Her back is covered with welts and knife trails, one long slice crosses her stomach. Black leather pants cut away to reveal bruises, some of them the size of fists. My hands are shaking with fury and horror as I gently lower her into the bathtub. She shivers and I can see the pain on her face as the water hits her wounds.

"Sorry, luv. As soon as you get some food in you, I promise I'll round up some painkillers." Soaking a soft hand towel, I gently wash away the dried blood from her body. Holding the back of her head, I clean her face, watching her eye lashes flutter with each stroke. Her hair is last and I slowly massage shampoo into the dark locks. The water is rust colored with her blood.

"It's a good look for you, pet," I comment, trying to keep my voice steady. "Even it up a bit and you'll be good as new." I don't have the heart to tell her something ridiculous about the fact that hair grows. It's not about the hair. He cut it as part of his attempt to disfigure her. To break her. Just one more way that he violated her. At least it looks like he got off on pain and torture the old fashioned way.

She shakes her head faintly and her eyes open. "How bad is it?" I watch her fight against tears.

"You look beautiful," I whisper, smiling down at her as I wash the shampoo from her hair. It's true. She's so strong. Powerful. The strength I see in her is humbling.

She tries to smile and closes her eyes again. "Liar."

"Food next. Think you can eat?" When she grimaces I realize that she's probably sick from swallowing her own blood. "We'll start with water." Slipping one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her neck, I lift her from the tub and onto a towel. Drying her skin, taking care not to break open any of the healing wounds, I finish by wrapping her in a soft blanket Verek left on the sink counter. With my help, she manages to choke down a glass of water, pausing a couple of times to spit out mouthfuls of bloody water. There's a small living area outside the bathroom. I lay her onto the couch and pull another blanket over her to keep her warm before searching out Verek.

The bookworm is heating broth on a small stove in the kitchen and I notice several bags of blood on a card table. "If I can ever repay you," my voice breaks.

"I'm sure you'll find a way." Verek smiles as he pours the broth into a mug. "How is she?"

"Bastard worked her over pretty good." I take the mug, pausing before I head back to Faith. "She'll heal. But her face..." I stop again, shaking my head sadly.

"I have some herbs that might help. I'll make an ointment for her."

"You've already done so much, Verek."

He smiles serenely at my protest. "We fight the good fight, Spike. We can never do enough. That doesn't mean we don't do everything we can." In his own enigmatically profound way, I think he's just summed up the only thing that makes life worth living.

Returning to Faith, I help her sip the broth, one hand behind her head to support her and the other holding the mug against her lips. Color is gradually coming back to her cheeks and she finishes off the broth without choking.

"Good girl." Setting the mug down, I pull her against my chest, holding her as tightly as I dare.

She looks like a ball of cotton pads and surgical tape by the time I'm through with her. Each wound carefully cleaned and dabbed with the salve provided by Verek, then wrapped and covered protectively. One of our host's oxford shirts fits her snugly and I've wrapped a blanket around her waist as a makeshift skirt. With Verek's help, I slowly begin work on her hair, evening the lines and shaping it into a boyish cut. Wearily I put the scissors away and clean up the discarded hair. My own wounds ache painfully and my mind is still searching for a plan.

She coughs, obviously in pain. "Need to get to Sunnydale."

"I know. I know." Stroking her hair, I press a soft kiss against her forehead comfortingly. "We have some time. You need to rest."

"How'd you find me?"

"Cracked a few skulls. The usual."

"Knew you'd come." Her voice has a tremor in it. "You'd save me."

"Looked like you were doing a pretty good job of escaping all on your own." I smile, closing my eyes and leaned back against the cushions. "Rest now, luv."

"I'll be alright?" The question surprises me. Her voice is soft and I can see that she's already half asleep.

"Right as rain, pet. Right as rain." I gratefully accept a glass of blood from the shopkeeper, unwilling to leave the resting Slayer curled against me. Longingly, I wish for a human body temperature so that I can keep her warm. Hopefully she'll be too tired to have nightmares. I'm sure they'll come eventually. Probably for months after this ordeal is over. My jaw clenches with anger as I look down at her, still shaken by the damage.

"She's a brave girl," Verek says softly from the chair across the room. There's a large, ancient book open on his lap and his glasses have slipped down to the end of his nose.

"Yeah." I can't put into words everything I feel. Respect, admiration. There aren't words powerful enough to describe what she is.

"You should sleep as well."

"I know." Stretching my stiff muscles, I place the empty glass next to the mug on the floor and settle onto my side, pulling Faith against my chest. Right now, all that matters is keeping her safe, keeping her protected. They had come for me and taken her. Her wounds were because of me. Because I had said yes, because I had gone to Sunnydale. Just because of me.

My mind is starting to get fuzzy and I suspect that Verek added something to the blood he brought me. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to slip into sleep, cradling Faith in my arms.