Home Is Where the Hurt Is
A very annoying demon was trying to wake Buffy from her nap and when she found it, she was going to rip it into very tiny pieces. Didn't they realize she was tired from a night of killing their nearest and dearest? She needed her beauty rest. Grumbling, she tried to open her eyes and stumble in the direction of the noise.
Doorbell. Not demon. That was worse. She couldn't kill the doorbell or the inconsiderate human being on the other side. The house was quiet; she noticed it but it didn't register as unusual. Dawn must be at work already. Giles was probably looking for more books. Her hand closed around the doorknob and she pulled it open, blinking against the harsh afternoon sun. The figure on the porch was familiar. Tall, dark, and armed. That was typical Sunnydale.
"Cara? Are you alright?" Pain shot through her stomach when she took a step toward the Slayer and she clutched at the injury instinctively, feeling something hard against her fingers. It was a small, green dart. She pulled it out of her skin and stared at it, confused. "What is this?" Glancing up, she noticed the gun in the girl's hand for the first time. Cara had shot her. What was going on? The world began to tilt to one side. Her head was heavy and limbs unresponsive.
Cara seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I have orders," she said finally, grabbing hold of the Buffy's right arm and hoisting her limp body over her shoulders. It was probably the only explanation Buffy was going to get and she hoped that was sincere regret she heard in Cara's voice.
"Dawn?" her voice was barely a whisper, fighting to stay conscious as Cara carefully eased her into the back seat of a car. Giles was slumped on the seat beside her, his glasses tipped at an awkward angle. The motor engaged and the car began to move, sending Buffy toppling bonelessly against his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she listened for the steady thrum of his heartbeat. At least he was still alive. That was the last of her thoughts before she was swept away into oblivion.
Cara glanced into the backseat several times during the drive to the old factory. It had been easy because they had all trusted her. No questions, not even a second glance after the dart injected the tranquilizer into their system. Her face hardened into a frown. They were weak; they shouldn't have trusted her. She had orders.
Easing the car off of the main road, she parked outside the old factory door and turned off the engine. Giles first. It was a little awkward to maneuver the older man through the doorway into the main room and it felt wrong to simply dump him on the floor. He had been a Watcher after all. Gently easing his weight to the ground, she bound his hands and secured him to the support post next to the sleeping Key. There were chains for Buffy around the post where the witch and the human were restrained with rope.
When the last metal bracelet clicked around Buffy's wrist, all that was left to do was wait and care for the hostages. Her orders hadn't been too clear about that part and it would be several hours before the team arrived. Was she supposed to feed them? None of this had been covered in her training.
Uncomfortable and slightly lost, she fell back on the one thing she knew needed to be done. Routine. Guns came apart, blades came out of sheaths. Clean, sharpen, polish, protect. No mystery, no confusion. Maybe she was fatigued. Too little sleep led to mistakes. It had been a long night and there was no reason she couldn't sleep for a few hours.
The sun had set in Louisiana. I was waiting impatiently, wearing another track in Verek's carpet and checking the clock every two minutes. I hated waiting and the strained silence between Faith and I wasn't helping. She was still pale and despite her defensive protestations, I knew she was tired and hurting. A pair of khaki cargo pants and a soft blue T-shirt looked a little strange on her. She was used to black and leather. All bandages had been shed and it was hard not to wince every time I looked at her wrists. Her arms and face were still black and blue, highlighted generously by dark red scabs. I have to turn away after a few seconds to keep from tearing into something and ripping it apart. The rage has begun to make me uneasy.
"Ready?" A glance is all I can afford without losing my temper. It's enough to see that she's waiting as impatiently as I am, stolen folder firmly in place on her lap. She looks up at me warily, as though she's afraid that I might snap and bite her.
"Soon as the sun goes down." Her voice is steady.
"I'm not going to attack you." Frustration turns my voice into a knife, razor edged and bitter.
Her head ducks and her voice falters just slightly. "I didn't mean...it's not that I don't trust you."
"But you don't." I shake my head, refusing to turn around. "I'm a vampire. How could you ever trust me? I'm just a monster."
"Spike."
"What?" I know the sight of her face will crumble my annoyance and I'll want to fix everything. I'll do anything to bring back that smile.
"You're not a monster."
My eyes close and a sigh weighs my shoulders down, defusing some of my anger. "I'm sorry, Faith. Just antsy, I guess. Shouldn't take it out on you."
"We're cool."
There's something in her voice that puzzles me. Some sort of internal struggle that I don't understand is boiling beneath her casual words and again I feel completely helpless. Is she worried about how the gang will react to her face? I can't relate; I can't understand. Finally turning around, her head is down and she's rubbing her wrists gingerly. I'm notorious for my mouth, my inability to ever keep it shut when I should. Reading people has always come easy to me, knowing what's going on often before they do. Why can't I read Faith? She's an enigma; locked up so tight inside that I can't see into her. I know she's hurting. Is it more than just the physical wounds? She looks so small, so fragile. And even though I know she's not, that she makes steel look weak, all I want is to comfort her. It's fucking ridiculous. What does a vampire know about comfort? I haven't had anyone in my life for years and the lack of human interaction has left me floundering for what should have come naturally.
She's startled when I pull the folder from her lap and drop it unceremoniously onto the floor. Nerves begin to question what I'm doing as I sit down beside her, placing one arm behind her with an attempt at indifference. "You doing alright?" My voice threatens to break half way through.
"Five by five." Her eyes are on the wall across from us, fingers scratching at her wrists.
Her hand is warm beneath mine as I pull it away from the wounds she's aggravating. "Don't make it worse, luv." She looks away but her hand stays still, fingers lightly entangled with mine. I try again. "Worried about the gang? What they'll say?"
"A little." She leans back against my arm and allows me to ease her against my chest, her head barely resting on my shoulder. After a few seconds, the stiffness seems to dissolve and she curls her legs next to mine, molding into the curve of my body. "With the Nightmare on Elm Street look going on, who wouldn't be nervous? They won't even recognize me."
"I recognized you."
"You probably just followed the smell of my blood." She taps her nose lightly, the barest hint of a smile returning.
"Got me there." Nuzzling my nose against the top of her head, I breathe in the scent of soap and Faith. "Magnolias."
"Huh?"
"You smell like magnolias. At least normally you do."
"Lotion. Dawn gave it to me." One hand moves to my chest, palm down, fingers tracing designs in my T-shirt.
"It suits you." There's nothing like the warmth of human skin. The way it seeps into skin and muscles. Calms, relaxes. Soothes the savage beast. Drawing in another deep breath, I whisper into her hair. "You smell wonderful."
"Not too bad yourself...for a dead guy." There's the smile, I can hear it. "If you were blind, we'd be the perfect couple. You can't see, I shouldn't be seen." She snuggles closer to me. "At least B won't have to worry about me stealing her boyfriends any more."
"Faith."
"I'm not stupid, Spike. It's sweet of you to pretend I don't look like something that went through the wood chipper but I've seen a reflective surface lately and it's not pretty," she says with more resignation than acceptance. "It's a shallow world. Barbie dolls and supermodels. You're going to be young and gorgeous forever. I'm not." A pause, her hand smoothes some of the wrinkles in my shirt. "Thanks anyway, though."
Brushing her hair back from her forehead with one hand, I press a soft kiss against the damaged skin. "Not everyone is that shallow, luv." She jabs me good-naturedly in the ribs. "Alright, most men are. And they're bloody stupid pigs. You're better than them anyway."
"Thanks." She sounds a little uncomfortable with the compliment.
"Gorgeous, huh?"
"What?"
"Said I was gorgeous."
"Well, duh. You know that." She looks up at me, grinning openly at the look of surprise on my face. "Come on, Big Bad, where's that ego everyone told me so much about?"
"What ego?" I feign innocence, enjoying the glint in her eyes.
"You're telling me you don't have women knocking down your door? Ha! The guy at the club practically guaranteed that you'd be up for a good time."
"Charlie. That son of a bitch." I sigh with mock irritation, since I actually had gone home that night fully intending to have sex with whoever was waiting for me. "He's been trying to set me up with anything in a skirt for years. Never took him up on any of them." At her incredulous look, I shake my head. "Haven't been with anyone since Buffy. Four years ago."
"Wow." Head down, her cheek presses like a brand against my chest. "Got you beat though. Six years in prison."
"Ouch."
"Torture." A beat. "Although not literally."
"Should hope not. You've had enough of that for a lifetime." I was feeling pretty good. This wasn't going too badly and she was talking, something that I don't think she ever did a lot of with anyone. "Don't worry, luv. They're not gonna run screamin' from the room when they see you. Well, maybe Harris. But he's bloody idiot. Doesn't know a good thing when he leaves it at the altar."
"Poor Anya. That was her name, right?"
"Yeah." We settle into a comfortable silence and I realize that I'm not in a hurry to leave anymore. In fact, I'm dreading the appearance of our host when he returns to open the portal to Sunnydale. Resisting the impending change, I pull her tighter against me, wrapping my arms around her waist and burying my face in her hair. A warm hand slips tentatively over my shoulder, caressing the back of my neck lightly as she adjusts her legs. Relishing her heat and her scent, my concentration is lost in the peace and comfort of the embrace. My eyes are closed and all I have is her touch, savoring each feather light stroke of her fingers.
The soft brush of her lips against mine seems natural. She tastes of spiced honey and wine. Just a hint of blood from still healing wounds on her lips. A voice in my head reminds me to be careful not to hurt her, to keep the kiss gentle. Kiss. How? What? Bloody hell. It finally sinks in and I break the contact, pulling back to search her eyes for answers.
She tries to pull away from me, turning her face. "I'm sorry."
"Faith, wait. Don't do this." Half worried that my grip on her arms is hurting her, I draw her back. She stops struggling, letting me hold her.
"Were you lying?" Her voice is muffled by my T-shirt. "When you said I was beautiful? You were just trying to make me feel better."
Surprised, I push her back enough to see her face. "Course not. What are you talking about?"
"It wasn't true." She's looking back at me, her eyes dull and sad.
"God, Faith." The prize for royally fucking up with women goes to Spike, vampire with a soul and all around dismal waste of time. "It's not that. At all."
"What is it? Is it Buffy? I'm not Buffy." Dark eyes cloud over, sparking with anger.
"No, luv. Buffy's ancient history. There's nothing between us." She doesn't respond, waiting for me to figure out what to say. I don't even know what's going on in my own head. Why had I stopped? She was a beautiful woman. A beautiful Slayer. And that second word held all the reasons in the world. "Vampire, remember. Vamps and Slayers don't mix. Trust me on this one." I could try explaining to her that she's just reaching out, searching for something or someone to help her deal with what happened to her. I don't. I think she already knows.
"I'm sorry."
"Nothin' to be sorry for." Cupping her face gently in my palms, I kiss her lips chastely. "Best kiss I've had in years." A smile lights up her eyes and I know I've finally found something that was close to the right thing to say. "We should go. Sunnydale. Scoobies. Save the world."
"Yeah." We don't move, staying curled tightly around each other until Verek comes up the stairs and begins work on the portal to California. I refuse to relinquish my hold on her until the very last moment, watching her disappear into the shimmering doorway.
"Thanks, mate." I hold out my hand to the shopkeeper, shaking his firmly.
"Come back and visit, Spike."
"I'll be back. Don't belong there anymore. Maybe bring Faith with me. If she's game."
"Take care of her."
"'Til the end of the world."
Verek closed the portal as soon as Spike vanished, vacuuming the circle of powder from the carpet with a practiced care. He hummed softly as he pulled his jacket over his shoulders and locked the upstairs door. Lights flickered out in the shop below and he changed the sign on the door to read closed as he left.
The distinct fragrance of New Orleans filled his senses as he strolled down Bourbon Street, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his neatly pressed slacks, and cheerfully greeting the people out enjoying the evening as he made his way to a small club on the far side of the French Quarter. It wasn't much to look at, trapped in the old style of the roaring twenties. Inside was reminiscent of the Rat Pack heyday in Las Vegas, with bright colors and gaudy furnishings. Smooth jazz tones floated lazily over the Formica tables. It had an odd mix of customers, mostly demon in nature.
"Verek." An older gentleman smiled and raised a martini glass. "I haven't seen you around in quite a while."
"Chronos. I heard about Caritas in Los Angeles. Such a shame."
"Yes. A wonderful place."
"Whatever happened to Lorne? Still singing?" Verek settled into the booth next to the Incarnation of Time and flicked one wrist to get the waitress's attention. "Creme de menthe, please."
"He's working with Angel. Brief stint in Vegas. Didn't work out."
"Too bad."
"And your neck of the woods? How's the shop?"
"Less crowded." Verek smiled at the waitress when she slipped his drink onto the table. He sipped the alcohol carefully. "They just left for Sunnydale."
"Excellent."
"Will they be alright?"
"Do I sense some attachment to the vampire? That's not like you, Verek."
"The girl, Chronos. What about her?"
"Yes, what about her? That's a paradox." Chronos swirled his olive absently. "A vampire who shouldn't have a soul. A Slayer who shouldn't be alive."
"There's a connection between them."
"Also something that shouldn't be there. But no matter. All things will be rectified in time."
"What are they bargaining for?"
"They aren't. Not yet." He paused, watching the band wistfully. "They aren't convinced that William the Bloody will fight for good. It might be possible to sway him to their side, return him to the dark warrior he was. I, myself, am a little unsure what will become of him. It took quite a few years to convince Angel to become a Champion and the Powers had more going for them with him. More leverage, more incentive."
"Spike is not Angel."
"That much is very obvious to anyone paying attention."
Verek hesitated, clinking the ice in his glass. "I want to help him."
"Why?"
"I believe that he can be a force for good. I believe that he can be a good man."
Chronos regarded him thoughtfully. "It is not our place to meddle. You know that. We don't choose sides." His long beard whispered against the tabletop. "But there is something about the vampire that does inspire a certain loyalty. Your decision is your own."
"The situation must be dire if you capitulate so easily." Verek adjusted his glasses.
"It is just beginning, my friend. Just beginning."
"Think this is it?" Willow tried to look over her shoulder but was stopped short by the support beam she was strapped to.
"Game over, man, game over," Xander responded blithely, continuing the grand tradition of joking in the face of death. "Have to admit it makes a twisted sort of sense."
"You mean the part where the Council screws us over?" Buffy was struggling against the manacles binding her wrists and ankles, keeping one eye on the still unconscious form of Dawn tied to the neighboring beam.
"Just when I was making progress with the girl at the donut shop," Xander sighed. "We were up to, hi, how's the cat? And she would say, Bugsy's great, he's started a new moth and insect diet. And then I say, how's that working out for him? And she says, not bad, but I worry about him getting all his vitamins and minerals."
"Please tell me that's not a direct quote, Xan." Buffy rattled her chains again, trying to loosen one of the links.
"That's why you're always out getting donuts?" Willow rolled her eyes. "I should have known. What kind of demon is she? A donut-eating demon?"
"One hundred percent human. I think. You know me, could be wrong. Could be one more in the Gallery of the Demon Chick Magnet." He shrugged awkwardly, limited by the ropes around his chest. "So what's the super genius plan to get us out of here and past the uberbitch?"
"Working on it." Buffy glared across the room at Cara, who appeared to be sleeping. Buffy was convinced it was just another ruse. "I can't believe I made her brownies. I even took them out of the oven and cut them into perfect squares."
"This is what we get for trying to be friendly. You know how your parents always told you not to bring home stray dogs because they'll turn on you and bite your hand off. I think that was one of those moral lessons in disguise." Willow sunk back against the post, abandoning her attempts to wiggle out of her ropes. "At least we know Giles was right. They are making crazy Slayers."
"And we can thank our friendly neighborhood vampire for bringing her to our lovely town."
"Xander." Buffy's tone was a warning. "It's not Spike's fault."
"Just saying. No Faith killing means no shooting with darts and tying up in the old factory. What is it with evil and this place anyway?"
"It's got the whole I'm-Bad-and-Damn-Proud-Of-It vibey thing going for it. Dark, dirty, falling down and needing to be condemned," Willow observed.
"Why can't they all be like Dracula? Bring in their own castle complete with beautiful women."
"And Xander the butt-monkey?"
"Okay. Without that part. But everything else was nice."
"You weren't the one getting bit," Buffy cut them off. "I think Dawn is waking up. Dawn? Dawnie?"
Dawn stirred and moaned, blue eyes fluttering open and blinking confusedly. "Buffy? Is that you?"
"Over here, Dawn."
"What happened?"
"Cara shot us all with some sort of tranquilizer."
"That explains the groggy." Dawn grimaced. "Did she not like the brownies? Or is she just being a ho?"
"Remember Terminator?" Xander piped up. "Where the robot goes back in time to kill people? It's more like that. Without all the muscles, Austrian accent, and the nakedness at the beginning."
"So she's going to kill us?"
"I'm placing my bets on a definite maybe with possible escalation to hell, yeah."
"We'll get out of here, Dawn," Buffy interrupted Xander's tirade before he could induce panic. "We just need to stay calm and think. Can you reach my hands Xander?"
"No can do. You've got chains anyway. Nothing us mere mortals can do about that."
"Maybe I can reach yours. Just rope, right?"
"Yep. The little folk get rope. At least I didn't help her pick it out this time."
Buffy twisted against the beam, searching for Xander's fingers. Dawn was testing her own bonds and trying to shake Giles awake with one shoulder. Across the room, the Slayer was curled up silently in a patch of fading sun, occasionally rolling over or straightening her long legs. She appeared to be sleeping in spite of the noise.
"No use." Buffy stopped and leaned her head against the support. "I don't have enough slack in the chains. I can't reach you."
"Maybe we should start praying for a miracle," Willow suggested. "Or chanting. Whatever you feel more comfortable with."
"Who would we pray to, Will? The whole God thing is pretty much up for grabs and the Powers That Be don't really like Sunnydale all that much. More the big city and tragic hero types." Xander twisted against the ropes. "Is there anything magic you can do?"
Willow shook her head sadly. "I've tried. There's something blocking me. She was prepared for us. For everything."
"We could try talking to her."
"Does she even talk like a normal person? We'd probably have to know the right code words or something." Buffy kept searching her brain for something they could try.
"Buffy. Giles is waking up." Dawn gave the Watcher another good shove with her shoulder and he jerked upright quickly, wincing as his head started pounding. "It goes away in a sec, promise."
"Dawn? Where are we?"
"Where would be the factory. Why would be anyone's guess. Who would be Cara. How would be those nasty green darts that sting like a mother-"
"Dawn!" Buffy glared at her from across the room.
"Right. Like I believe that. I was the one sleeping with Spike, rememberI'm very familiar with all the phrases he taught you." Dawn's response was a shrug and a patented Summers eye roll.
"Where is Cara?" Giles shifted, testing the ropes as the rest of them had.
"Playing possum in the corner. Maybe. I don't know how she could sleep through this racket." Buffy nodded in the general direction. "I'm in chains. Something's blocking Willow's magic and I can't reach Xander. Can either you or Dawn do anything with your ropes?"
"I can't reach him. Already tried." Dawn strained against the ropes again.
"Shhh!" Buffy's head snapped to the side as she silenced them. "I can hear something." The group fell silent, straining to hear each creak and rattle of the old building. Footsteps. Slow and quiet.
"Hello?" The voice was a hoarse whisper. "Slayer?"
"Who's there?" Buffy strained to find the source of the voice.
"Where's the Slayer? The new one?"
"Over by the door. Who are you?"
"I'm here to help you." The footsteps moved away, around the perimeter of the factory toward Cara. Buffy squinted across the room, stunned when she heard the hiss of a tranquilizer gun and saw a small green dart protruding from Cara's back. Their unseen ally hurried back toward them, still hiding in the shadows. "I can help you. But you have to promise I won't get hurt."
"How can I promise that? I don't even know what we're up against. And why are you still whispering?"
Ethan Rayne stepped out of the darkness and smiled, a gun hanging loosely from his hand. "I meant that you or Ripper won't hurt me."
"Ethan." Giles scowled. "Give us one reason why we should trust you at all? I seem to remember that the last time you were here I ended up speaking Fyarl and asking Spike for help."
"You've got worse enemies than me, Ripper. Believe that. I can get you out of here but you've got to protect me."
"Fine." Buffy set her jaw firmly. "But one false move and you're toast."
"Just trying to help, Slayer." He moved forward cautiously and pulled a knife from his boot. Willow flinched as he knelt next to her, holding her breath as he cut the ropes around her wrists. "It's the amulet around your neck."
"What?"
"Blocking your power. It's the amulet."
"I wondered where that came from." Willow pulled the necklace over her head and studied the stones curiously.
"Get the keys to Buffy's chains, they should be on the other Slayer." Ethan moved to Xander, sawing at the ropes. Willow hurried over to Cara and found the keys, returning to free Buffy and help Giles stand up unsteadily.
"We should take her with us." Buffy glanced toward Cara. "Tie her up for a change."
"She'd probably like it." Xander shrugged at the looks everyone gave him. "But you're right. We might be able to get some information out of her."
"Here." Ethan held the gun out to Giles. "I know guns aren't in the Slayer training book. At least not when you were a Watcher."
Giles took the gun quickly, still watching his nemesis with suspicion. "Why are you doing this?"
"I was in prison for three years, Ripper. It changes a man." Ethan looked almost melancholy, almost repentant.
"So you're saying that you're here out of the goodness of your heart. Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," Giles said coldly.
"Can we take this somewhere else? She brought you here for a reason. There's a team on their way to kill you all. I came here to warn you."
"I'm sure we can take it from here." Buffy crossed her arms. "Why don't you just disappear and we'll pretend this never happened?"
"The team isn't the only thing coming for you. I can help you. If you trust me."
"I don't trust you any further than I can throw you." She paused as she considered that. "Actually, any further than Dawn can throw you."
"Hey!" Dawn protested.
"But you might have information. Help Xander with Cara. Let's get out of here." The gang collected Buffy's chains and restrained the unconscious Slayer. Ethan and Xander carried her out of the factory. It took a bit of doing to get everyone packed into the sedan parked beyond the door. Xander ended up driving, trying not to break any laws as they hurried through the dark streets of Sunnydale back to the 1630 Revello Drive.
Once inside, Cara was secured firmly to a chair and Ethan allowed himself to be lightly restrained with a minimum of protestation. Willow and Dawn disappeared into the kitchen to make phone calls and find food for the group.
"Alright. Talk." Buffy glared down at the notorious trickster. "Start with why you aren't in prison."
"I told you. I came to help."
"What do you know?"
"Watcher's Council decided to kill all of you. For a lot of reasons, not all of them bad."
"Hey!" Xander objected.
"From their point of view," Ethan corrected quickly. "You're uncontrollable, you don't follow the rules. They don't like that. And Faith? I don't need to explain that one to you, do I?"
"No. But we already figured this out." Buffy sat down on the couch, rubbing at the sore spot where the dart had hit her. "Tell us something we don't know and we might let you walk out of here alive."
"There is more. Samuel Elliot sought me out three years ago, got me out of that government prison your soldier boys put me in and offered me a large sum of money for a small spell. A Menejar projection."
"The little girl Spike saw." Giles took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Of course."
"Elliot provided a photograph of his daughter for the projection. I cast the spell, delivered my lines, took the chip out of William the Bloody's head, and went on my merry way."
"He could have killed hundreds of innocent people."
"You mean to tell me he hasn't?" Ethan seemed confused.
"No. He has a soul now," Buffy explained. "You didn't know that."
"No idea. But it explains a lot actually."
"Explains what?"
"His madness. He's completely insane. The Council's been trying to get him for months now. Ever since they officially formed the new Watcher's Council. They've sent half a dozen teams. He killed them all." Ethan shook his head sadly. "I was the one who leaked the information to them when I realized Elliot was becoming unstable. He wants you all dead. He blames Buffy for the death of his daughter."
"What?"
"She was a potential Slayer. She came here during the battle with the First. Chloe, or something." Ethan frowned, trying to remember. "I'm not sure about her name. Brunette, dark eyes."
"Chloe." Buffy paled, remembering the young girl vividly. "She committed suicide. Giles. I buried her."
"It wasn't your fault, Buffy," Xander assured her quickly.
"I didn't even know she had family. I should have...I should have tried to find them, contact them. Something."
Ethan didn't let the silence last long and continued his story. "They were on their way here tonight, Elliot and a team of men. To kill you all. The girl was just supposed to contain you." He motioned toward Cara. "And there are plenty more where she came from, Ripper can back me up on that."
"It's true." Giles looked torn between agreeing and disputing him just out of principle. "What do you know about Spike?"
"The projection takes a lot of energy. I'm afraid that I wasn't careful with the spell to remove the chip. Something could have happened to his brain. At least, I thought that might be the cause of his break with reality at first. Having a soul could only have made it that much worse."
"He was pretty crazy when he showed up," Xander reminded them softly. "When he killed Faith. She said he was incoherent afterwards."
Giles stared at him for a moment. "How could Faith possibly tell you anything if she was dead?"
"Well." Buffy glanced at Xander, knowing the cat was out of the bag but still searching for a lie that would fit all the pieces while still keeping Faith's secret. When nothing came to mind, she decided that it was time to come clean. "She was only dead for a minute. We think. Spike brought her back."
"And were you ever going to tell me?" Giles stood up and began to pace angrily. "I can't believe you kept that from me. Where is she? What about her parole officer? Did you even think about these things?"
"She went to New Orleans. After Spike." Buffy twisted the hem of her shirt nervously.
"You sent her after the vampire who killed her?"
"She wanted to go. I tried to stop her. Giles. I know it sounds bad. But he has a soul."
"And apparently that hasn't stopped him from killing people."
"We don't know that for sure. Ethan could be lying."
"Lovely. His word against Spike's. I don't think we can believe either of them."
"I'm right here, Ripper," Ethan said irritably. "And there's more. Your Slayer found him, although she probably wishes she hadn't now. If she's still alive, that is."
"What are you talking about?"
Ethan squirmed apprehensively under the weight of Buffy's glare. "I only heard rumors. You know vampires, they like to talk."
"And?"
"I heard that he locked her in a cage. Tortured her for days. Cut her face to ribbons. I thought at first they were about you or the new Slayer. After all, Faith was supposed to be dead. Since you and the other girl are obviously here and unharmed..." he trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.
"Oh god." Buffy buried her face in her hands. "I shouldn't have let her go. I should have stopped her."
"Buff. They're just rumors." Xander took her hand, squeezing it tightly.
"I'm very sorry," Ethan began.
"Shut up," Giles interrupted him harshly. "I don't believe you care at all. I have no idea what game you're playing, Ethan. But you won't get away with it."
"No games, Rupert," Ethan answered soberly. "This is my penance for turning that monster loose on the world. In a way, what happened to that girl is my fault."
"I haven't forgotten that." Giles looked away. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I know you were hoping, well, we were all hoping it was different."
"It's going to kill Dawn." Buffy shook her head. "She believed. She really believed he'd...that he was."
"We still don't know it's true," Xander paused. "Not that I'm defending Captain Peroxide. Which I would never, because he's evil. Even if he did help us out and save the world on a couple of occasions. I'm defending him, aren't I? Shoot me now."
"No. You're right. All we have is Ethan's story." Holding her forehead wearily, Buffy tried to make sense of it all and keep the nausea at bay. "Not a word of this to Dawn. Not a single word. Our first priority is getting the Council off our backs and out of this town. Then I'm going after Faith."
"I'm sure she's fine."
"She'd better be. Or dusting won't be what I do to him." Resolve Buffy had taken over. "Do you know anything else?"
"It's possible that the team is staying at the motel outside Sunnydale. Just off the highway." Ethan jerked his head toward Cara. "She probably knows for sure."
"Then we'll pay them a visit. You're coming."
"Why am I coming?"
"Because I haven't decided whether or not to kill you. And I don't want you out of my sight." Buffy untied him roughly and yanked him to his feet. "Dawn! Will! We'll be right back."
Dawn skidded around the corner. "Where are you going?"
"To check something out. We'll be right back." She paused at the doorway. "Don't invite anyone in while we're gone."
"Duh. I've lived here for years, I know the rules."
"Keep them. No one but us. Promise me."
"Whatever." Dawn rolled her eyes and disappeared back into the kitchen.
"Okay. Let's go."
They drove silently through Sunnydale, each lost in their own thoughts. A vacancy sign stuttered its welcome into the darkness. The whole place gave the impression of slouching down into the ground, trying to hide from the eyes of the world. Johnny, the night desk clerk was half asleep and staring blankly at a small black and white television screen. He vaguely remembered a bunch of foreign guys checking in and waved them toward the other end of the building. Two rooms on the end. The blinds were drawn, no lights coming from the new rooms.
Buffy tried the door of the first one. It swung open at her touch and she tensed, stepping into the darkness warily. A dim light bulb flickered above them as Giles found the switch. There were three bodies, necks torn and covered with blood, lying on the floor and bed of the motel room.
"Vampires." Giles moved carefully into the room, looking for clues.
"Or a vampire." Buffy took a deep breath, trying to stop the shaking in her hands.
"You don't think?" Xander shook his head. "This can't be Spike. He's in New Orleans."
"He has been know to be highly mobile, Xander." Giles finished searching the room, brow furrowed with intense concentration. "There isn't any luggage. Some weapons. No clothing, no briefcases. Nothing."
"Let's try the next one." Buffy felt stiff as she moved to the next door. It was also open and a similar scene greeted them.
"Elliot." Giles moved forward quickly, checking the pulse of an older man sprawled across the bed. Nothing. "These are recent. The body is still warm."
"Probably as soon as they got in. He knew they were coming."
"Again. We don't know it was Spike. Besides, he's not really good at the whole planning thing," Xander persisted, a little green around the edges and trying to avoid looking at the blood.
"He told Giles about Faith weeks before he showed up."
"And look how well that turned out." Xander held up his hands. "I'm just saying, we don't have all the facts. There are a lot of vampires in Sunnydale."
"How many would know about these guys? How many would want them dead?"
"It doesn't make any sense, Buffy. If Spike wanted us dead, why kill the people who were coming to do just that?"
"I don't know." Buffy backed out of the room quickly and started toward the car. "None of this makes any sense at all. But we can't assume he's not here and not trying to kill us. Last time we did that, Faith died."
"Do you still need me?" Ethan raised his voice, looking anxious to get away.
"Yes. You have to stick around." Buffy grabbed his arm roughly and hauled him to the car. "If you're lying, I can't even begin to describe what I'll do to you. Understand?"
"Of course." He held up his hands in surrender and climbed into the car.
Faith was waiting for me in Sunnydale, holding onto the folder tightly and looking both frightened and tough as nails. I smile as I stumble out of the portal and glance around. Cemetery. One of the nicer ones. There are a few disconnected memories of Buffy fighting a faceless demon and complaining about the foliage. Or not destroying the foliage. It's a little hazy. I wonder if there's a single square inch of Sunnydale that doesn't have the requisite baggage of Slayer memories tagging along. What isn't Buffy tainted is probably contaminated with worse memories. Dru, Angelus. The Initiative. God, I hate this town. Look up the word masochistic in dear old Webster and there I am. Instead of curled up with a warm Slayer dreaming of Europe in moonlight, I'm back again to save the Scooby gang's collective ass. Why? Oh yeah, because it's the right thing to do. Fuck it. I could care less about the right thing to do. Right? I'm a vampire. I'm evil. Aren't I? When was the last time I did something truly evil? Buffy? This last week has been strange. In a blood soaked, violence induced, uncontrollable rage kind of way. Odd. And more than a little unnerving.
Just above my shoulder blades feels as though there are eyes trained on my back, following me through the cemetery. Waiting and watching. There's nothing there when I glance back, but I can't shake the sensation that Faith and I aren't the only ones in the graveyard. It's the Hellmouth; there are bound to be nasties crawling all over the town. This feels different and familiar somehow. I can't put my finger on it.
"Let's go." Faith leads the way, setting a brisk pace through the night.
There isn't any conversation as we move through Sunnydale. The tension is rolling off of her in waves and I'm still searching for something to say when we start up the walkway. If Harris makes one crack about her face I will rip his vocal cords out.
"I can't." She stops me as I raise my hand to the door. "Not yet. I need more time."
"Alright. We'll come back tomorrow." I'd rather be back in New Orleans with her curled up in my arms anyway. No hurry to subject myself once again to the ungrateful firing squad.
"No." She shakes her head, handing me the folder. "You go. I'll go...somewhere else."
I brush my fingertips lightly over her cheek. "You don't have to do this alone, Faith. They won't hurt you, luv. You're safe now."
Faith looks indecisive for a moment, moving down the porch to peek through the windows. She pulls back so quickly that she nearly knocks me off the porch, her face white and eyes wide with terror.
"Faith?" Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, her hands moving to protect her face from something. "What's wrong?"
"The man who did this to you?" She nods mutely, dark eyes staring up at me, panicked. She's not ready. It's only been three days since I found her huddled on the ground, crying and bleeding. There's nothing on Earth that would convince me to push her into a confrontation now. "I'll find you. And I'll bring him with me so you can kill him yourself. When you're ready."
I don't have to tell her twice. She's down the steps and racing into the darkness. Placing the folder carefully on the porch next to the door, I knock loudly three times. Can't say I'm not thrilled at the opportunity to show the monster a thing or two about torture myself.
"I'll get it!" Dawn's voice echoes as the door swings open. "Spike! Come in." Understanding flickers in her eyes and she's covering her mouth with one hand even as the words tumble out.
"Dawn! NO!" Buffy's warning is too late.
I'm already through the doorway; my only thought is to get to the bastard and rip him into pieces. There's only one man other than Harris and the Watcher. He's sitting on a chair, smiling. Buffy tries to grab hold of my arm. I toss her away and launch toward the man, tackling him and crushing the chair beneath us. Growling furiously, my fists pound into his face and chest. He just has to be alive. Barely. Lost in my own rage, I don't notice the sting of the dart as it embeds into my side. Or the second dart in my back. Finally the drugs begin to kick in and I collapse onto the floor, the world spinning above me.
Halfway down the block Faith skidded to a halt, grabbing onto a nearby tree to keep her balance. What was she doing? She was running away like a pathetic little girl and she was not that girl, not anymore. She was not going to run away ever again. Clenching her fists tightly, she took several deep breaths before turning and starting back down the sidewalk. Step by step. Right foot, left foot. When she had seen him sitting there, her only thought had been to escape. To get as far away as possible. She couldn't go back into the cage. It was a normal reaction. She'd seen it in people coming into prison, still desperate to avoid being locked in a cell.
Her heart was hammering in her chest, eyes fixed determinedly on the light coming through the windows. Why was he in the house? Sitting in a chair and talking with Buffy and Giles. He must be waiting for the perfect moment to kill them all. Maybe he had tricked them somehow. Convinced them to trust him and let him in.
Slowly, she crept back onto the porch. Crouching beneath the windows, she tried to see what was happening in the living room. The man, Ethan Rayne, was leaning against the wall, a bloody towel pressed to his nose and one eye already starting to swell. Good for Spike. Tiptoeing to the side, she caught sight of the familiar blond hair. He was tied to a chair and obviously unconscious. That didn't make any sense. Why had the gang tied up Spike? Buffy was standing next to him, arms crossed and spine rigid, a stake clutched tightly in one hand. She looked furious. With Spike.
Faith sunk to her knees, hands pressed against the side of the house. It was hard to breathe. Her lungs wouldn't expand, throat constricting dangerously as she gasped for air. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. They wouldn't do this to her. She shook her head wordlessly, desperately trying to convince herself that there had to be a good explanation, had to be another explanation. Blinded by tears, she stumbled off of the porch and across the lawn. She'd thought that things were different. That they had realized she was different now, that maybe they had even forgiven her.
The scream that had been stuck in her throat fought its way out, ringing through the night as she looking around for something, anything, to take the brunt of her rage and pain. Her fist punched through the side window of a car parked on the side of the road. Ignoring the cutting glass and the pain of her healing wounds, she ripped the metal mailbox from the grass and attacked the vehicle. The windshield broke into pieces, metal scraped against metal, headlights shattered. She kept pounding until her arms ached and her throat was hoarse from screaming.
"Hey! That's my car!" The owner hurried out of his house, dressed in a bathrobe.
Faith hurled the mailbox toward him, following it and driving her fist into his face. "I believed them! I trusted them!" she shouted at him, trembling as she looked down at his terrified face. "I don't deserve this."
"Okay. Okay. I needed a new car anyway." He held his hands up in a plea, flinching away from the sight of her disfigured face. "Just don't kill me."
She was having a hard time focusing. "I've killed people...I'm a murderer. That's all they ever see." Dejected, she turned away from the man and ran to the only place she could think of.
She forced a window open, tumbling into the apartment where she had taken Spike. It hadn't changed, still bare and empty. The pile of clothes had been moved to the bed and folded neatly. There was a note on the table from the landlady, hoping he had a good vacation and to call her when he returned. Some vacation. Shaking, she washed her bleeding hand, picking bits of glass out of the cuts. In a daze, she wrapped a towel tightly around her knuckles and crawled onto the bed, curling protectively into a ball. Reaching out, she took hold of one of the black t-shirts that someone had folded neatly on the edge of the bed. It smelled of cigarette smoke and Spike. Closing her eyes, she pressed her face into the soft cotton and sobbed until she didn't have any tears left.
It should have been obvious. Buffy had let her go too easily. The Watcher's Council had already tried to kill her once; this must have been their back up plan. Giles must have been part of it. Was the entire thing a charade? Had the files been lies too? Had Spike been part of it? She dismissed that quickly. He'd been the one who saved her, found her in the warehouse and taken care of her. The rest of them? That was possible. But it didn't make any sense.
Why would Ethan be sitting in Buffy's living room if he really was trying to kill them all? Why was Spike tied up? Her head was whirling with questions. The Scoobies were obviously protecting Ethan Rayne or there would be no reason for Spike to be restrained. She had no doubt he'd attacked the second he was given an invitation. Why protect Ethan? Did they know what he had done to her? Had they known all along?
Her head hurt. She wasn't the smart one. Had never been into plans and strategy. Obviously, she wasn't capable of the elaborate mind fuck the Scoobies had orchestrated. A little voice argued that it could be something else, there could be a good reason. She stamped it out bitterly. Simple was better and it would explain the time discrepancies. Willow could have cast the spell Spike told her about, with the little girl, and she was powerful enough to remove the chip. When he hadn't killed her permanently, they had let her go to New Orleans after him. The Council hadn't gotten into the game until a year ago. Giles could have planted the files or the Council could have double-crossed the Scoobies. Ethan Rayne must have been brought in to capture Spike, or her if he'd been lying about that too. The torture had probably been unexpected; a liberty taken by the sadistic prick. All of their plans would have fallen apart when Ethan showed up in Sunnydale to report that neither her or Spike were dead. And she and Spike had fallen right into their hands. They would probably keep him alive until he told them where she was.
Faith shuddered, trying to force away the pain eating into her heart. There was nothing she could do. Not yet. Not until she had her strength back. A day, maybe less, was all she needed. Spike wouldn't tell them where she was, that much was sure. Willow could do a locator spell. How long would she have before they found her? Miserably, she tried to shut out the memories flooding in. Researching, breakfast with Dawn, reading the paper next to Buffy. They had seemed to accept her and to care.
More lies.