Note: A lot of plot and chattiness in this one. Luba, your fantasies are truly hilarious, so wish I'd thought of them. I tried to work something in for you but it never quite meshed. So sorry. For the detail Nazis, there's a light switch at the top of the stairs in Buffy's basement and I have conflicting screencaps for the bottom. In later seasons, there's something that could be a switch on the wall but in early seasons there's only the circuit breaker box. For the sake of easy movement and saving Spike a trip up the stairs, I went with a switch at the bottom. Okay. Get the tomatoes ready, you may need them.
Like To Like –"I'm home!" Silence greeted Leia as she let herself into the apartment. "Willow?"
It wasn't the silence that curled her fingers around the keys so they didn't jangle together. A string of oddly shaped bells calling out through the stillness inside. She was used to silence. This was different. Her sandals brushed against the floor, the door shut and locked behind her as she moved toward the kitchen and the designated spot where notes were left. Sure enough. Willow's script was slanted and hurried as it announced that there was yet another crisis at the Summers house.
After carefully putting the note back on the refrigerator, she set the silenced keys on the counter as softly as possible. Nothing seemed out of place, the only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock in the living area. But there was something she couldn't put her finger on. As if all the life had been sucked out of the air.
Better safe than sorry, she kept her footsteps nearly silent as she crept through the kitchen and living room. Looking for anything that meant she was just leaping at shadows. Minus a redhead, the bedroom and bathroom were exactly as she'd left them that morning. The smaller room that she used as a workroom was the last on the route. There was nothing but her easel and a half empty canvas, the smell of oil paint and turpentine, and the reminder that she needed to reorganize her brushes. With a sigh of relief, she headed back to the kitchen and tried to shake off the creepy crawly sensation itching along her shoulders and neck.
"Will's gone, that's all." She told the apartment, slipping off her sandals and tossing them into a corner. "Gotten used to coming home to her music, chanting, whatever."
"Beats being lonely." A smooth, male voice responded.
Leia felt heart and lungs springing to action as she whirled around to search for the source of the voice and something to protect herself. An older man with a friendly smile was sitting in the easy chair across the room. He hadn't been there before. She would have noticed. Frowning, she took a wary step toward the phone without taking her gaze off of him.
"Please don't. I'm not here to hurt you. Just a pleasant chat."
"You broke into my apartment to chat?" She kept moving toward the phone, glancing around for any more nasty surprises.
"No harm was done, I promise. You're safer than you know." The smile widened.
"What do you want?"
"Where are my manners?" He chuckled as though he'd made a joke. "Forgive me. My name is Holland. I represent the law firm of Wolfram and Hart and I've come to make you a proposition."
"Not much for lawyers." Leia narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest defensively.
"Yes. Your father is a lawyer isn't he? Quite well known in some circles."
"How do you know my father?" Her fists tightened involuntarily as the temperature of the room dropped.
"How did I know that Leia Reilly is actually Leia Banner, daughter of Marion and Elizabeth Banner?" Pale hands folded primly in his lap and he was still smiling, a death mask of politeness. "That you were disowned by your family and friends. That your own mother considers you to be dead. Do you think they'd rather you were dead?"
"Get the hell out of my apartment."
"And the woman you sacrificed all that for? Left your family and your home to be with her. Where is she now?"
"I said get out."
"You're a strong woman. I admire that." Holland continued to smile. "All you've been through. She doesn't really understand, does she? She's always had those friends of hers. And a family who is terribly busy but still acknowledges her existence. She'll never really understand what it's like."
Leia stumbled against the bookshelf as she tried to back away from him. "So? So my family's not perfect. So they're a bunch of psycho, uptight, religious conservatives. So what? It doesn't matter now. Not anymore."
"I agree. You've done quite well without them. Nice apartment, doing what you love. Found a woman you could love, who could help you learn to really trust again. It's quite beautiful. You're a success story, really. Growing up, taught that you were wrong and perverse and damned to Hell for all eternity because you were attracted to women. You were hated and feared and they cast you out like a demon. Despite all that, you've found your place. Very important, finding where one belongs in this universe."
"You said something about a proposition." She reminded him icily.
"Well, you see, Wolfram and Hart has the most amazing resources and I enjoy helping a good cause."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't believe anyone, do you?" Holland motioned for her to sit down. "Of course, you're right to be cautious and there is something we'd like you to do for us."
"Always the catch." She shook her head. "Forget it."
"Hear me out."
"Talk fast."
"I can tell you a few things about your future. Now, I'm not a psychic or anything like that but I do have the benefit of knowing a great deal about those you've chosen to associate with. I can tell you what will most likely happen to you if you decide to remain here with her, with them, in Sunnydale."
"Who says I want to know?"
"We all want to know what the future holds for us. It's that dangling carrot forever out of reach. If we'd only known, we could have avoided the pain. Could have helped someone, saved someone. We all want to know."
Reluctantly, she moved away from the bookshelf and sat down uneasily on the edge of the sofa cushion. "Fine. You've got ten minutes and then I'm calling the police."
"Most gracious of you." He leaned back into the chair and moved his deathly pale hands to the armrests. "Your new friends and your new lover have quite a few secrets, but you already know that. You know all about secrets. How many times has Miss Rosenberg been called for an emergency? How many nights has she returned home in the early morning hours, perhaps with stains or dust on her clothing?"
"Everyone has secrets." Leia answered stiffly. She'd kept her own until high school had ended and she'd realized that she could no longer live under the tyrannical fist of her father. Downhill from there, she'd told the few friends she had made since she'd left the dry heat of Utah behind. This prodigal child had never returned and never would, even if it meant losing her family.
"And that's what makes the world go round, isn't it?" He seemed to be enjoying himself. "But I can tell you now without any doubt or hesitation that those secrets will drive you and Miss Rosenberg apart. They will always be her first priority. Miss Summers will always be her first priority."
"She's not in love with Buffy." Leia answered quickly.
"She doesn't have to be. The ties that bind them together are thicker than blood. Like family. Of course, that's one thing you don't have much experience with so I don't expect you to understand. Just believe me when I tell you that when she has to make a choice, and the day will come, she will choose her friends over you."
Leia swallowed down the aching in her chest, forcing her expression to remain impassive and uncaring. "And?"
"And you can feel it coming. Feel it creeping up on you like the winter sweeping in to turn the flowers black. The seams are beginning to show the wear and tear as you try to keep from getting too close to her, knowing that she's going to leave you. But you want to get close, you want it more than anything because with her, you don't have to be so strong."
"Now you're going to tell me that you can make her stay. Sorry, not buying. Even if you could, it wouldn't be worth it knowing that it wasn't really her decision."
"I'm afraid that this relationship is doomed to fail, Leia. Your place is not with her or her friends."
"Then where is it?"
"What I can offer you, Leia, is the life you've always wanted. The family you've always wanted."
"You can't give me that."
"And if I could?" The smile faded just slightly. "What would you be willing to do for us?"
Time suspended as the happy memories of her childhood untainted by pain and hurt danced through her mind. Seeing something other than heartbreak in her mother's face, more than disgust in her father's eyes. What it would be like to see her sisters again and finally meet her nieces and nephews. To buy a Mother's Day card and Christmas presents and be able to send them without knowing that they would be returned, unopened, before Christmas even arrived. What would she be willing to do to go home again?
"What do you want from me?"
"It's quite simple, actually." His smile was back full force, nearly blinding her with its false sincerity. "A rather unusual houseguest arrived at the Summers house this morning. I believe that's where Willow is right now. The guest is a young woman. About nineteen years old, she five feet ten inches tall with brown hair. Hard to miss."
"And?"
"She's also quite dangerous and quite insane."
"Is Willow alright?"
"She's safe for the moment but you're right to be worried." Reaching into his suit coat, he pulled out a photograph and held it out to her. "This is the woman, although her hair is a good deal longer now. The man next to her is a friend of Miss Summers'. He goes by the name of Angel."
Leia scrutinized the picture carefully. The girl's cropped hair brought out strong cheekbones in a serious face, her clothes dark and practical. No make-up. Heavy combat boots. The man named Angel was gesturing toward something out of the camera's view, also dressed in simple, dark clothing. She could see the shadows of other people and windows behind them looking out into a cityscape. Just a girl, she didn't look all that dangerous. Or crazy.
"We know they're at the Summers home and we know that Miss Summers and Miss Rosenberg are with them. There is also reason to believe that they were both severely injured in an accident that occurred in Los Angeles this morning."
"You want to know what happened?"
"We know what happened. We don't know what they're doing in Sunnydale and how long they intend to stay."
"Why don't you just bug the phones?" Leia placed the photograph carefully on her lap. "You said yourself that they keep secrets from me. Why would they tell me about any of this?"
Holland nodded, "Excellent points but pictures and audiotapes can only do so much. What we really need from you is the human touch."
"You want a spy." She was sick of his dancing around the subject.
"We want as much as you're willing to give. As much as you're willing to do to have your family back." No longer friendly, his smile now seemed cold and hollow. "Bear in mind that you will be rewarded accordingly. Think of it this way. Be a spy, as you call it, pick up a few bits and pieces from Miss Rosenberg and in return, we'll make sure you reconcile with your sister Leanne and her two sons."
"And for all of them? For the rest of my family."
"Blood for blood, Miss Banner. Blood for blood."
Sunnydale had grown. Spike couldn't help wondering just how the little town managed to thrive when it was built over something as volatile and dangerous as the Hellmouth. Then again, half the population of California seemed to be built over one hidden menace or another. Probably should have changed their motto to The State of Living Dangerously.
He remembered standing beneath that tree and watching the window. For hours. Just hoping to catch a glimpse of blond hair, just a whiff of whatever perfume or lotion she was trying at the moment. All the hope his black heart could hold until it became the very fabric of the demon soul. Infused, poisoned, with the one emotion demons were supposed to be truly incapable of. Hope. Buffy had never given him love. Never done more than throw scraps to a desperate dog. But she had given him hope in the worst of possible ways with the best of all possible results. The significance of The Tree was staggering. It had started here and somehow it was fitting that he'd come back again to The Tree. The house, the town. The place that had been his ruin and his salvation, so inextricably tied together that there were moments he could no longer tell them apart.
What now? Were there words he could forge and sharpen as he waltzed through her doorway unfettered by the need for an invitation? Explain that he had a wife and a baby on the way and that he was terrified. For the tiny life inside of the woman he had never dreamed of holding. For a life that he didn't deserve and never would. Redemption was not earned. It was given, bestowed. It was granted. And he'd found favor somehow. He'd been the chosen one in a game of deadly roulette where souls were bartered and damned for one mistake in an alley at night.
None of it mattered now.
If he could do nothing else but open the door and lay himself down, everything he was and everything he had ever been, just to find some certainty that Faith would never fall. For the first time, he hated that she was the Slayer. That she had been born and Chosen to bear the burden. He wanted to lift it away from her strong shoulders, take it all and anything else he had to carry. Any bargain, any pain, any damnation. To keep her safe.
"Are we there yet?" Faith stretched in the passenger seat as she opened her eyes. "God, my back hurts."
"Here." He reached out to massage the tense muscles along her spine, searching out the knots that had formed in her lower back in the last hours of driving. Any more words and his voice would break. He would break. Because there was nothing he could do and no one could promise him that she would be safe. That either of them would live to see the baby grow up.
"Guess we should get this over with then." A lazy smile begged for the camera he didn't have and the memory he couldn't hold tightly enough. "Looks like the party's at the Summers house tonight." She motioned to the assortment of cars in the driveway and along the curb.
"Scooby meeting probably." Spike hesitated just a moment longer to enjoy her warmth before slipping away the seatbelt and steeling himself for the worst possible reaction. He couldn't even imagine what it would be but if his past receptions were anything to judge by, it wouldn't be pleasant on his side of the fence.
"Maybe they know what's going on." Her voice was almost inaudible as she untangled herself from seat and blanket, joints cracking as she uncurled from the car and twisted into a full stretch. Pregnancy had sobered her, pushed away some of her humor and thirst for adventure as she struggled to comprehend the weight of her new responsibilities. Where she would have laughed and joked she was now thoughtful and restrained. The wicked gleam in her eye that meant she was itching to test the limits of being a Slayer had changed to restraint.
Intuitively, he would never get the Old Faith back. What was gone was gone, swept out the door to make room for Motherhood. There was a twinge of longing, watching her, seeing the defiant set of her shoulders as she prepared to face the world head on. Maybe he loved New Faith even more. For her depth, for her strength, for the determination that he could see in every graceful motion.
Curtains and shades were drawn over the windows, isolating the people inside the house in their own world. Researching, no doubt. Searching for more answers to the unanswerable questions. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, a shiver slicing down his spinal cord as they climbed the porch steps and held their breath for what awaited them within. Muffled footsteps. Spike fought the urge to turn and run, keeping one hand firmly wrapped around Faith's. An anchor for him rather than her. Golden light spilled out onto the boards, his eyes blinking and trying to focus on the slender frame silhouetted in the doorway.
Any clever and witty hello he had memorized disappeared when it hit him. To his side was the crackle and burn that was Faith, her power and her strength. He was used to it now. The onslaught of energy from Buffy caught him off guard, sizzling through his skin. It was deeper and steadier than Faith, immense and powerful. Was he the only one who felt it?
"Sorry to drop in like this, B." Faith shifted nervously.
Buffy pulled her gaze from Spike with difficulty. "Tell me this isn't, cause he's standing there and he's not all dusty. So tell me it's not him. Because if it is him and you didn't tell me."
Spike was beginning to feel lightheaded. "Buffy."
"Oh God." He hadn't expected the color to drain from her cheeks as she stared at him with something akin to horror. Hadn't expected her to step back from the doorway and dully wave them into the house.
Half expecting a barrier, he stepped through the door and followed Buffy into the living area. Either the Scooby Gang had doubled in size or Faith was right about the party. There were people he didn't recognize and some he hadn't seen in years. Not entirely a bad thing. Only silence greeted them. He watched the meaningful glances volley around the room with the blinding speed of gossip.
He was having trouble breathing. Every hair was standing on end and every inch of skin was drowning in a torrent of electricity. From Faith, from Buffy. His eyes found the third Slayer without difficulty, tucked in the far corner with painful red burns licking up the side of her face and bandages visible under the t-shirt she was wearing. She roared like a hurricane trapped in a bottle, furious and destructive. Lips were moving around him but he couldn't hear anything over the thundering of the Slayers. Faith was there, hands reaching for him as the room tilted and tipped under the weight of power.
"Spike!" Her voice broke through the crashing waves as he stumbled.
"Bloody hell." His own voice was a gasp, trying to suck the burning air into his lungs.
Head spinning, he sunk down to the floor and bowed his head. Hands trembled with the overload, fingers splayed out against the floor as he struggled just to breathe. He could hear shouting in the distance an instant before strong hands clamped down on his arms, searing into skin and muscles. Carpet scratched and wood squeaked as he was dragged back toward the door. He was on fire, head screaming and spinning blindly. Choking on the cool night air, he was too weak to protest as frigid water sprayed over his face and chest.
"What's going on?" That was Buffy. Rock steady and immovable. Unfamiliar to him, the third Slayer answered sharply but he couldn't understand the words, hearing only the echo of the ocean's fury in her voice.
It came together in one brilliant vision an instant before consciousness abandoned him. There was something whispering in his memories, trying to rattle loose. Something important. Reaching for the flash of understanding, he grabbed hold and prayed that he would remember when he finally opened his eyes again.
"What the hell was that?" Faith demanded, furious and shaken by the sight of Spike lying unconscious on the front lawn, blood trickling over his lips. Cara didn't answer, motionless as a statue with the garden hose in her hand shooting a heavy spray of cold water over Spike. Half terrified that he was once again going to be ripped away from her, Faith yanked the hose away and confronted the Slayer. "You have two seconds to explain what the fuck you're doing or there's only gonna be two Slayers left."
No response.
Her arm caught as her fingers closed into a fist and she turned to see Buffy shaking her head somberly. "Don't do it, Faith." There was more in Buffy's voice than Faith could understand.
"Why not?" Faith rubbed her arm angrily where Buffy had grabbed it.
"Let her explain."
"Explain what? That she's fucking crazy?" Faith snapped resentfully. Ignoring the wet grass, she knelt down to ease his head and shoulders onto her lap, wiping away the blood gently. His skin felt hot despite the soaked fabric dripping icy water down her hands and legs.
"I'm still waiting for an explanation of why he's on my lawn." Buffy folded her arms tightly. "Why he isn't a big pile of dust?"
"Does it really matter?" Faith glared up at Cara.
"Hey, Sunnydale here. I have a Back From the Dead T-Shirt myself. It's probably epic and has something to do with magic urn thingies and snakes. I want to know long you've known." The muscles in Buffy's jaw twitched. "How long has he been alive? Did you even kill him? Or was that a lie?"
"Fuck you, B." Faith heard her voice shake. "Why do you even care?"
"I deserve to know."
"Maybe he didn't want you to know."
Buffy's face hardened, "We've been trying to reach you all afternoon and Iverson's been looking for a week. Where have you been?"
"None of your fucking business."
"It's everyone's business now. Half of Cara's team was slaughtered two weeks ago. Angel's in the basement with burns covering every inch of his body, he can barely speak or move. Want to know why?" Buffy took a step forward menacingly. "Because there are a few million vampires who know that once we're dead, there's nothing left to stop them. It's not about you or what you want, or what I want. It's not even about us anymore."
"And this is the, why can't you be more responsible lecture? Save it for someone who gives a fuck." Her grip on Spike's shoulders tightened involuntarily.
"Which, of course, was never you."
"Don't tell me about responsibility. I'm so goddamn responsible it's disgusting." Shivering with cold, fatigue, and the aftermath of the adrenaline, she pulled Spike closer. "How's your end of the Slayer baby campaign? Found someone who can measure up to your Holier Than Thou standards yet? You're the one who's all touchy-feely about getting knocked up. How's that going for you?"
"Shut your mouth." Buffy ground out furiously.
"Stop acting like you're the only one who fucking cares."
"You have no idea what I care about."
Faith shook her head bitterly. "You always thought you had everyone figured out but you can't see past your own fucking nose."
"That's funny coming from you, Miss Drama Queen. You're so misunderstood, your life is so hard." Knuckles whitened as her hands curled into fists. "Let me tell you something about pain, Faith. It's having everyone you've ever loved taken away from you. It's about fighting every moment of every day when all you want is to just stop. It's being told that you're broken, that you're defective. That the one thing you want more than anything else is the one thing you won't ever have. Let me tell you about my end. It's pain and blood and hormone shots, it's having every inch of my body poked and prodded and at the end of all that, it's only break even odds." A passing car sounded like a thunderstorm in the tense silence before she finished with deceptive softness, "You should have told me the truth."
Faith bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything, looking down at Spike to avoid the fury and pain she could see in Buffy's eyes. Watching all the progress they had made swept away in the same old tide of secrets and lies. Lips opened without any sound, emotions raging as she tried to sort through what was real and what could be blamed on hormones or the need for sleep. Finally she took a shaky breath and painfully forced the words out of her mouth, "I'm sorry."
Buffy's face remained impassive, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's all so fucked up." He looked so peaceful in her arms, so quiet. Her voice broke as tears flooded into her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. "When I found him again, in Boston, I called but I couldn't tell you it was him because I didn't know if he was going to make it. Then I was too afraid that if I told anyone, it would ruin everything."
"How would it ruin anything? How?" Buffy demanded.
"I don't know!" Faith brushed the tears away impatiently. "I'm sorry I'm not fucking perfect. That I don't have it all figured out and I don't fucking know what you want from me. What any of you want from me." She waited for the words to snap back with a vengeance. For Buffy to realize that she was too tired and too frightened to fight back any longer. That she would say and do anything Buffy wanted just to get it over with, play along with whatever rules the Scoobies wanted if they would just help Spike. The silence kept going and she kept waiting.
"Is he okay?" Buffy finally asked, still rigid and unyielding.
Faith brushed her fingers over his throat, "Pulse is strong and he's still breathing."
"He's breathing?"
"Is he human?" Cordelia's voice was harsh reminder that the others had followed the macabre parade, crowding onto the porch with tense curiosity.
"I think so. I mean, sort of." Faith stumbled over the words as she realized that the entire gang had just witnessed her breakdown. "He's still strong and fast like a vamp but everything else is human. We don't know what happened, he doesn't remember. He didn't even remember me or Sunnydale or anything until a couple months ago."
"So he's human. But with superpowers." Xander glanced around the group quickly. "Is anyone else still stuck on the 'It's Spike' part? Having a hard time wrapping the old brain around that one.
"He's like us." Buffy seemed to relax a little. "Like a Slayer. Only male."
"He's not a Slayer." Oblivious to the shocked looks at the sound of her voice, Cara was still watching Spike carefully.
"What do you mean? How did you know what to do, Cara?"
"Who says I did?" Cara shrunk away from Buffy reactively, a note of defiant mockery in her voice that was incongruous with what Faith knew about the Slayer.
"Do you know what he is?"
Cara remained silent.
"If you know something then you need to tell us."
Faith watched the exchange with fascination, with Buffy struggling to remain calm and reach through the raging walls behind Cara's unreadable eyes. Like talking to a small child or wild animal. A cramp in her leg reminded her that she was still kneeling on the damp grass with Spike cradled in her lap. "B? Could you help me? We should probably get him dried off or something." She hoped it didn't sound too much like begging.
"Right." Buffy looked a little confused, trying to focus on two fronts simultaneously. "Would you, I mean, would it be alright if the guys took care of him?"
"Not done with the Inquisition?" Faith tried to smile and glanced up toward Wesley. "Think you can handle this, Watcher? Let us girls duke it out for a bit more."
"Whatever you need. I'll get Gunn to help me."
"I'm sure Dawn will be more than helpful." Buffy added quickly with a meaningful look for her sister. "Thank you."
It hurt to let go of him, to watch Gunn and Wesley carry him inside the house, door shutting softly and cutting her off from the sight of him. She trusted Wesley to take care of him and knew that Dawn would be at his side the moment she saw him. He was in the very best of hands even if those hands weren't hers.
"Cara." Buffy focused on the Slayer once again. "Please listen to me." Cautiously, she reached one hand out toward Cara.
"Don't touch me." Cara sidled away quickly. The anger in her voice was familiar but Faith was surprised at the raw pain, as though the very thought of human contact was too horrible to comprehend.
"I just want to talk." Buffy keep her voice smooth and even.
"Good luck getting anything out of Miss Broody." Cordelia snorted contemptuously. "This mess is because of her and she won't tell us anything."
"Cordelia." Giles cautioned softly.
"I'm just saying." She started down the porch steps purposefully. "This whole thing is because they're trying to kill her. I don't know about you guys but I'd like to know why."
"You know why." Fred glanced nervously between Cara and Cordelia.
"Yeah? She's got a bunch of Lilah's secrets in that head of hers and we don't have a clue what they are. Shouldn't we know what we're protecting? Those secrets are probably going to get us all killed just like they nearly killed Angel."
"Cordy." Buffy's voice was taut.
"Has anyone even asked her what she remembers?"
"Please. Just stop."
"Maybe now that she knows something about Captain Peroxide reincarnate, you'll actually listen to me." Angrily, she stalked toward Cara. "I don't care if you are crazy, you know more than you're letting on. So start talking."
Cara remained stubbornly silent, her dark eyes burning hatefully.
Faith was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Cordelia appeared to be on the verge of giving up. Instead, she took hold of Cara's shoulder and yanked her around. The crack of skin against skin was like a gunshot in the tense silence as Cordelia struck Cara across the face. Before the rest of the group could register what had happened, Cara leapt onto Cordelia with a furious growl, hands wrapping around her neck as they tumbled onto the lawn. Fighting against the much stronger Slayer, Cordelia's hands began to glow as they pushed against Cara's shoulders.
"Cordy! No!" Buffy was the first to reach the struggle, her arms clamping tightly around Cara's waist and trying to drag her off of Cordelia.
Faith tensed as the fight rolled over the lawn, warily ready to jump into the fray if needed. The rest managed to stay clear as Cara fought to shake Buffy away while Fred and Xander slowly pried her fingers away from Cordelia's throat. Gasping and choking, Cordelia scrambled toward safety, her face chalk white and frightened.
"Wesley!" Buffy shouted, grabbing onto Cara's heavy braid and using it to twist and force the Slayer onto the ground. One hand gripping the back of her neck, she held Cara face down against the lawn until the Slayer stopped fighting. Pushing through the crowd on the porch, Wesley looked wearily determined, the needle of a hypodermic syringe gleaming in his hand. Kneeling down on the lawn, he gripped one of Cara's wrists to get a better angle and sunk the tip of the needle into her bicep.
"No!" The Slayer's furious scream was muffled by the grass, thrashing against Buffy and Wesley and trying to get away from the needle. Slowly, gently, Buffy released her hold and moved away. Both she and Wesley looked shaken, faces pale and drawn.
"Thanks." Buffy murmured softly.
"I'll take her." Wesley motioned toward the house. "You should get some rest. It's been a long day for everyone."
"Will she be alright?"
"It won't hurt her." He tucked the syringe back into a narrow case. "The Council makes it exclusively for Slayers."
"What did we learn about provoking the crazy Slayer?" Xander gently helped Cordelia onto the porch steps.
"Perhaps a different method of interrogation would be more productive." Giles commented dryly from the back of the group, keeping one eye on Cara.
Faith shifted her position and noticed that Buffy was watching Cara intently, finally understanding the warning she'd given. They couldn't cage Cara and they couldn't tie her down. On the other hand, it was foolish verging on suicidal to allow her free reign among the group. She had no doubt that Buffy had insisted on keeping Cara unrestrained and under the watchful eye of the Scoobies. Still hoping that all Cara needed was the right environment and a little guidance to be the Slayer Buffy wanted her to be. Surprisingly, there was no bitterness in the thought, just understanding and sorrow. The alternative was much worse.
"That bitch." Cordelia finally managed to choke out. "She tried to kill me!"
"I think it would be best if you kept your distance." Wesley told Cordelia softly, methodically checking and readjusting the gauze wrapped around Cara's burns. "We can't be fighting each other right now. You have to remember how hard this is for her to understand, especially around us."
"I don't care!" Her voice was ragged and hoarse. "What about us? What about Angel? She has to know. She just has to."
"Cordy."
"Forget it!" Furious, Cordelia left the steps and stormed back into the house. Windows rattled as the door slammed behind her and the gang once more settled into an uneasy silence.
"What's with her obsession with Cara?" Xander looked to Fred for answers.
"It's complicated." Wesley and Fred exchanged troubled looks. "I'm sorry, Buffy."
"Cordy's right." Buffy ignored the apology completely, eyes focusing on Cara. "Someone needs to talk to her, get as much information as they can out of her. Wes?"
"I'm not sure that I'm the best choice."
"You're her Watcher. Try." Under Buffy's intense gaze, he nodded once before moving hesitantly toward his Slayer. "For the rest of you, there's something for everyone. Research, carving stakes. Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves in case we get separated. Even if just vampires show up, how many are we talking? A few thousand? A million? Too many to fight all at once. Some of the bad guys will come after the Slayers and some of them will go after friends and family. They always do."
"Back to research Hell. Never thought I'd say this but I'm glad the army boys are here." Xander rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"As are we all, Xander." Giles opened the front door carefully, waving the group back into the house. "If worse comes to worse, the base should prove to be a fairly secure hiding place."
"Way to be Mr. Optimism, Giles." Faith could hear Xander ranting about never being told when vampires came back from Hell as he disappeared into the house.
"Riley will be here in the morning, he was going to send word out to the other teams and bring them in. And we need to check in with the Council, see if they've heard about any unusual demon activity. Until then, everyone should get some sleep." Buffy checked her watch quickly. "The guys will need to be briefed or debriefed, deboxered, whatever. Usually takes an hour or so but we can get back together after that's done. All we can do is prepare the best we can and then wait. If we have to run, we run. If we have to hide, we hide. We do whatever it takes." Determination crept back to Buffy's voice as she spoke, her shoulders straightening. The rest of the group slowly filtered back into the house.
Hesitating in the doorway, Willow spoke for the first time, the casual tone betrayed by the anxious look in her eyes. "What about you?"
"I'll take care of this, Will."
Faith cringed at the edge in Buffy's voice. She hated this place and everything it stood for, hated that she couldn't keep her emotions in check, couldn't swallow down her tears and keep them from humiliating her.
"You don't know what he is then."
Faith shook her head, "Sorry."
"No problem. More research. If he's here, it's probably for a reason. The Powers That Be have a thing for vampires with souls." With a heavy sigh, Buffy turned her attention to Cara and Wesley. "Do you need any help with her, Wes?"
"No. Thank you, Buffy." They watch as he lifted Cara gently from the grass and carried her toward a silver sedan parked along the curb. He eased her into the passenger seat tenderly, almost sadly.
Once the car pulled away, there was nothing left but the soft chirping of a few scattered crickets in the flowerbeds and the hum of the streetlights. Shaking from the cold water and the bone weariness that was being pregnant, Faith eased herself down onto the bottom porch step and waited for Buffy to finish ranting. Now too tired to care. She was surprised when the blonde sat down next to her, staring out into the street.
"They're all afraid of her." Buffy began with unexpected sadness. "They look at her and they see a killer."
"I know the feeling." Faith hugged her knees against her chest tightly.
"And I keep wondering if it's right for us to even have children. If our power comes from darkness, makes us just a little bit less human." Buffy laughed bitterly. "Maybe it would be for the best if we just let the Slayers die out. Let that darkness end with us."
"Buffy?"
"She's crazy, Faith. I look in her eyes and I can see it. But she's a Slayer. How can I judge her? How can fix her? I couldn't even fix myself." Her voice trembled with emotion. "I'm just so tired of being the sane one, you know?"
"I turned out just fine, B."
"You weren't crazy. Not like this. I'm afraid to turn my back on her and I hate it. Sorry for the yelling, my plate is pretty full of stress food right now." Buffy sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and reminding Faith of a little girl. "Is it really him? I don't know why I'm surprised after everything I've seen. It's just hard to believe."
"Took me a while." Faith kept still. "I'm sorry. About what you said earlier. You can't have kids, can you?"
"Not without a lot of help. Lucky me. You should probably get checked out at some point."
"I'm pregnant." Faith winced as the words left her lips, tensing for Buffy to push away and the yelling to resume once again.
"Oh." There was no movement, her response almost lost in the gentle breeze. "It's his, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"God, it still hurts." Buffy took a deep breath. "The pain is our friend, right? The pain is good."
"Buffy, I'm sorry. I didn't, this isn't how I wanted it to go."
"It's of the good, Faith. I mean, you guys are happy right?"
Faith felt a strange combination of relief and sadness as she nodded, "We're happy."
"Then I'm happy for you. It's good to be happy and that you make each other happy. Do I have to keep going?"
"It's cool."
"Thank God. I was starting to sound like a Hallmark card."
Faith patted Buffy's shoulder awkwardly, "I know it's a bitch, this whole Slayer gig. And maybe we are dark and evil more often than not but you don't really think we should just give up, do you? What about Save the World Buffy? She go on vacation or something?"
"Save the World Buffy turned into Prison Guard Buffy." Ever so slightly, she leaned closer to Faith. "I feel so guilty. Wondering if there's nothing we can do for Cara and if we shouldn't just finish it. I know I can't but part of me still thinks that's the only way."
"Too much time with the Council, B. You're starting to think like them."
"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm getting old and stuffy. Next thing you'll know I'll be wearing tweed and polishing my bifocals."
"Nah. I'll put you out of your misery before it gets that far." Faith smiled gently.
"What about Cara's misery? Do we put her out it? Or is being miserable part of being a Slayer?"
"Maybe."
"I'm the longest living Slayer. I've died twice and killed more demons than I can count but I still don't know what I'm doing. What I should do. Maybe that's part of being a Slayer to. I never did get a copy of the manual." Buffy sighed again, "When she does talk, it's all creepy and First Slayer-y. There is only the kill, blah, blah, blah. Maybe I wouldn't be as confused if I'd known what's-her-name who did the brain switch."
"I met the bitch once. Real piece of work and not in a good way."
"Every now and then she'll say something that makes sense and I'll think we're getting her back. Then she disappears again."
"If anyone can get through to her, it's you. Although tapping Wesley might not be the best idea, with his track record." Faith grinned as Buffy rolled her eyes.
"Why can't
my life be simple?" She directed her plea to the night sky. "Why couldn't someone else be the
Slayer? Why did it have to be me?"
"Cause you look so damn good
doing it, B." Faith joked lightly.
There was a lull in conversation as she found the words to voice her
question. "Are we good? The whole Spike thing. Me not telling anyone? It's not like you told everyone when Angel
got Fed Ex-ed back from Hell."
"Don't remind me." Buffy groaned, a sorrowful smile on her face when she turned toward Faith, "We're good. We're still in shock but we're good. Not much of a choice with this year's fiendish and evil plot to kill us, is there?"
"We'll get through it. No way I'm putting up with all this pregnancy shit for nothing."
"Giles is going to be researching for weeks. One of theses days, he's going to fall into a library somewhere and we'll never see him again." Hazel eyes strayed back to Cara briefly. "Hopefully Wes can get some answers."
Faith rubbed her hands to warm them. "I need to get inside. Check on Spike, change clothes."
"Sorry."
"No worries, B." She uncurled stiff legs and pushed herself up onto her feet slowly, joints cracking as her back twisted and unwound.
"He'll be alright, Faith."
"I know." Faith smiled, grateful for the reassurance. "I watched a metal rod go straight through his chest and he's still kicking."
"That's our Spike."
Faith wrapped her arms tightly around her chest but couldn't stop the shivering. When Buffy held out her hand to help her up off of the step, she took it slowly. Her body ached and howled with every step she took, perilously close to collapse as muscles clamored for sleep. Vaguely aware of other voices, she let Buffy lead her into the house. Promising herself that she was only going to close her eyes for a minute before finding Spike, she sunk into the couch and huddled against the cushions. Just for a minute.
The first thought that managed coherence was the realization that he was back in Buffy's basement and everything smelled of lavender. A second after that, Spike felt the headache split into his skull with all the power he remembered from his days with a chip. Teeth and bones ached with the slow burn that made every breath torturous.
"Spike?" Dawn's voice was a familiar anchor in his seasick world.
"Bit?" Throat constricting, he nearly gagged on the word and moaned. "What the bloody hell happened?"
"You collapsed." Cool hands pressed against his forehead and chest, staying a moment longer than necessary. He could almost taste the anxiety radiating from her and tried to think of something to ease her worry.
"Where's Faith?" It struck him that he'd left her alone to explain his new lease on life. Dawn pushed him back down when he tried to sit up.
"Easy, easy. She's asleep upstairs. She'll have a pretty nice shiner tomorrow but she's alright."
"Shiner? What? Who?" His eyes felt like sandpaper as he blinked into the dim light of the basement.
"Big Slayer fight on the front lawn. I didn't get to see it, of course. I always hear about these things last." Warmth spread over his side as she sat down carefully. "Guess you just can't stay away, huh?"
"Guess not." Finally able to focus, he found her face in the darkness and tried to smile. "Hey there. Long time no see."
"One of these days, you could try coming back without all the drama. Or letting us know you're alive. That would be a good place to start."
"I'm sorry." He winced at the despondent tone of her voice.
"I expect groveling for a good long time."
"Sorry." He repeated lamely.
"Of course, I'd settle for an explanation. Those are definitely of the good."
"Sorry again, Little Bit."
"It's Dawn now."
He almost called her on it but saw the way her eyes darted nervously across his face and merely nodded. "Dawn. I don't know how it happened. Woke up one morning with a heartbeat. I didn't even remember who I was until a few months ago."
"Weird. Like you just popped into existence?"
"No." He slowly reached up to touch her hand lightly. "I have memories of a human life. School, friends. Family."
Dawn smiled knowingly. "But they're not real. I get that."
"Figured you would."
"Are they happy memories?" She stared down at his hand for a moment before linking her fingers through his.
"Mostly."
"Mine too." Fingertips brushed lightly over the back of his hand as she tested the surface of his skin. "You're warm. It's different."
He hadn't expected the overwhelming sensations that her touch created, the dance of her fingers across his hand. Hadn't expected to feel something tighten in his chest, to realize that he had truly missed her. No more invisible walls between them, no more hesitation because the nagging bloodlust would drive him insane if he got too close. All that time believing that humans weren't connected to anything larger than themselves when it was right there in front of him. He just hadn't felt it before. They were connected to each other.
"Beats being dead." Trying for lighthearted, he could hardly believe how much she'd changed. It was subtle. There were faint streaks of blond in her hair while the proportions of her face had shifted, giving her an exotic type of beauty. Definitely not the fourteen-year-old girl who had stared up at him with wide, fascinated eyes. Her taste in clothing had changed. More elegant than the flamboyant teenage outfits she'd worn. More mature.
"Are you human? Like the rest of us."
"Mostly."
"So, like, what's different?"
"Stronger, faster. Like your sis." He frowned as the memory of his rather embarrassing entrance began to clear. "There's something else too. Something to do with Slayers. I can feel them. Thought it was just Faith at first but it's all three of them. Felt like I was on fire."
Dawn tipped her head to the side curiously, "Anything from me? Cause I'm supposed to have Buffy blood in here somewhere."
He tried to focus on their hands and finally shook his head, "Not the same. Different than it was before but not the same. Might be a human thing."
"Well. The big brains upstairs probably have a zillion theories by now." Her fingers tightened in a quick squeeze. "And Dr. Dawn Summers says you'll make a full recovery."
"Wouldn't want to disobey the doctor's orders, would I?"
"Usually not a good idea."
"Dawn?" Another hazy memory was beginning to focus and somehow he knew it was important. That it was another piece of a puzzle.
"Yeah?"
"I remember a place." He fought to clear the fog from his mind. "After I died. I remember that it was peaceful there."
"Like where Buffy was?"
"Different." The headache pounded against his attempts to get a closer look. "But I remember that you were there. Or somewhere. You were close. I knew where you were." He felt her hand tighten. "Maybe you were with me. Doesn't make a bloody ounce of sense, does it?"
"It does sound a little crazy."
"Probably just the mind playing tricks on me again."
"But it's a good trick. That maybe I was with you and that you weren't alone." She pulled her hand away slowly. "I should check upstairs, see if they've found anything yet."
"Thanks, Bi…Dawn."
"I'll be back soon."
Grateful to close his eyes and sink back into the mind-numbing pain of his headache, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes gently. If he stayed motionless, he could feel the humming beneath his skin that he'd learned to associate with Faith. Only it was about three times as powerful. Damn. Why couldn't Fate have given him a normal, boring life? Maybe a caveman chasing after Mammoths and making fire. It would be a relief to only worry about gathering berries and finding a good rock to crack nuts. No world ending, no world saving, just endless days of finding food and shelter. If only life could be that simple.
A faint creak alerted him to the presence of someone else and he bit back a groan. "I hurt too much to give a damn who's there. Unless it's Harris, of course. In that case, sod off."
"Spike." Quiet and almost unrecognizable, it took him a few seconds to realize who he was talking to.
"Angel? That you?"
"Unfortunately."
"What are you doing here?" Spike twisted onto his side, noting that he had been laid on a narrow mattress along the wall a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. "There a SunnyHell reunion going on?"
"Could ask you the same thing." Angel answered softly, still hidden in the shadows across the room.
"Yeah, well, I asked first."
An irritated sigh was punctuated by another creak, "Not in the mood to play grade school, Spike."
"That's your problem. All work and no play makes Angel a very dull demon. You are still a vampire, right?"
"Much as ever." There was a long pause. "And you're not."
"No." Spike squinted into the darkness.
"Congratulations." Angel sounded tired and defeated.
Pushing himself painfully up onto his elbows, Spike almost choked at the increase in the throbbing behind his eyes. "Don't break out the champagne just yet. Still don't know what the hell I am. Could be something horrible, you know."
"Are you trying to make me feel better?"
"What? Course not." Spike grimaced. "Just saying."
"What else do you want? You had Buffy, you have Faith, you have a heartbeat. Dawn worships you. I'd say you're looking pretty good."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"Nothing. Just…had a bad day."
Spike hesitated for a second before deciding to change the subject. "How long have you been here?"
"Since noon or somewhere around there. Came in with Cara."
"She's the crazy one, right?"
"You could say that."
"You'd know. Being an expert on helping people with that pesky sanity problem." Spike stretched hesitantly, pivoting around to press his back against the cool cement of the wall.
"She's not like Dru." Angel answered with some difficulty. "At least Dru was predictable most of the time. As long as she had her dolls and her stars, she was happy."
"You fucking bastard." Spike ground out painfully. "You did that to her. You. And you have the fucking gall to joke about it now."
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
"S'pose you'll be happy to know she's dead. Finally free of the hell you damned her to." There was nothing but silence for several minutes as Spike seethed, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress tightly.
"How?"
Spike was startled by the gentleness in Angel's question. "I killed her. She turned to dust in my arms."
"I'm sorry."
He winced as he ran one hand through his hair. God, even his hair fucking hurt. "Why don't we just stop talking? Bloody headache is bad enough without having to put up with your bullshit."
"Spike."
"Just shut up, Angel."
"How's Faith?"
"My favorite color's black. I told you, I don't want to talk." Spike's head was still aching from the rapid subject change.
"Don't much like your company either but there's nothing else to do at the moment."
"She's fine." He tried to push away the lingering resentment over Dru and the general frustration of being once more stuck in the Summers basement with little more to do than try not to hurt.
"You're treating her well?"
"What kind of an idiot do you think I am?"
"You don't really want me to answer that question, do you?"
"One more word out of your mouth."
"Relax, Spike. I remember you having a sense of humor."
Spike bristled for a moment before forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down. At the very least, he could get another dig in by reminding Angel which one of them had working lungs.
"Is she happy?"
"What is it with you? Did you wake up this morning and decide to piss me off? Yes, she's happy. She's fine." He held up his left hand and tipped his head toward the ring on his finger knowing that the vampire would be able to see it in the faint light. "Made an honest woman out of her and everything. Satisfied?"
"You're married?" Angel asked incredulously. "Didn't think she was the marrying type."
"I asked and she said yes. End of subject. Nothing left to talk about."
"Congratulations."
"Like you fucking care." Unable to keep his calm, Spike climbed to his feet and fumbled for the light switch near the bottom of the stairs. If he was going to have to listen to the self-righteous bastard then he was damn well going to look him in the face while he was doing it.
"Don't!" Angel's hoarse shout was nearly drowned out by the thundering in Spike's skull as the light hit his eyes.
Blinking and covering his eyes as they adjusted to the change, Spike grabbed onto the railing for support until the raging pain subsided and he could stand without swaying dangerously. Assured that he wouldn't trip and make a fool of himself, he turned in the direction of Angel's voice and prepared to vent both his pain and frustration on the vampire. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks, mouth open and nothing to say. Angel was sitting carefully on the familiar cot, a sheet wrapped loosely around his waist and legs. Chest and arms were covered with raw and weeping burns. Almost unrecognizable, there was a hint of a smile as he met Spike's gaze steadily.
"Should have seen me earlier. Much better now." Angel said quietly.
"Bloody hell." Spike slid down onto the bottom step, still trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. "Decided to take an afternoon stroll?"
"Sort of." His disfigured features twisted in pain as he shifted carefully. "I'll be up and about in no time. Don't worry about me."
"Like I would." Even to Spike, it sounded hollow. "Don't suppose you had a good reason for the grand gesture of stupidity?"
"Needed to get to Sunnydale and warn the gang."
"About?"
"You don't know?"
"Know what?" Spike tensed, hating the fact that Angel knew something he didn't and hating the idea of imminent danger even more.
"Three Slayers left. Once they're gone, no more are called."
"Yeah. Figured that out for myself."
"Now everyone knows. Every vampire, every demon." Angel stared down at his hand absently, watching bits of skin flake drift down to the sheet over his legs.
Spike was frozen. Terrified. Unable to do anything but watch the world fall out from under his feet, leaving him hanging. He'd known something had happened, had felt the nagging doubts as they continually grew in the back of his mind. How many would come? Could they even begin to fight an entire Earth of demons and monsters? His earlier fears were magnified a hundred fold, rearing back to mock and howl at his meager hopes. Trapped in the onslaught of worst-case scenarios, he barely understood the movement as Angel reached slowly down to the side of the cot for a jar of blood sitting on the floor.
Head swimming violently, he pulled himself to his feet and started across the room in a daze. Detached and reeling, he watched his own hand reach down and pick up the jar of blood, handing it gently to the injured vampire. With feet and legs that felt leaden, impossibly heavy to move, he waited for Angel to finish before returning the empty jar to the floor.
"Thank you." Angel whispered.
"Figure we'll need the muscle." Spike tried to force the edge back into his voice but it came out dull and flat.
"Go." Angel nodded toward the stairs. "Take care of Faith."
Spike nodded, unable to do anything other than force his feet to move toward the steps and nothing but the thought of Faith to keep him going. One step felt like scaling a mountain, each moment adding more to the pile of fear threatening to overwhelm him.
"Spike?"
"Yeah?" He couldn't turn around, reaching out blindly to leave the basement in darkness once again.
"She's pregnant. Isn't she?"
"How?" His voice broke as he looked back over his shoulder into the shadows.
"The look on your face." Angel explained softly. "I know how it feels. That kind of fear. It's the most amazing feeling in the world, being a father. And the most terrifying."
Spike tried taking deep breaths and focusing on the stairs. Only silence followed him as he continued the trek one step at a time, closing the door behind him. There were voices coming from the living room and lights burning into a much more frightening night. He couldn't lose her. Couldn't, wouldn't. Fists clenched until pain stabbed up his arm, he kept placing one foot after another. Deep breaths. He could feel the familiar warmth of Faith and the steady power of Buffy. The barely restrained fury of the third Slayer was absent and he breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he would only have to deal with the sensory overload of two Slayers. Head still pounding, he rounded the corner and squinted against the light of the living room. Conversation halted as the remaining occupants watched him enter the room.
His eyes fell to Faith immediately, trying to memorize the image of her curled up on the couch in peaceful sleep. Stiff and aching, he moved a stack of books aside to sit next to her and pull her tenderly into his arms. She nestled against him out of habit, silken hair caressing his neck lightly. Convinced that she was still sleeping soundly, he met the curiosity of the people around him bluntly.
"So what's the plan?"
Wesley turned the volume of the television down when he saw her stir. Pale light had just begun to creep around the edges of the worn and dirty fabric covering the small window. His eyes were dry from lack of sleep and his head ached. Most of the night had been spent searching for a way to get around the mental barriers Cara had built. Through the silence and distance to the Slayer inside. He knew there had to be a way, knew that if he pushed the right buttons he would be able to navigate the maze inside her head. But what buttons to push? Would he do even more damage? Just before dawn, he'd come across a different set of possibilities that might work. If he dared try that route. With time possibly running out before all out war was declared against the Slayers, he wasn't sure he had the luxury of not trying.
Muscles coiled beneath her skin as she tested the straps that bound her tightly to the chair. He hated it but he was more afraid of what he would see in her eyes when she finally looked up. An endless string of imagined possibilities had paraded through his mind since she had left Sunnydale months before. Would he see Cara or Lilah? Her head lifted slowly, blinking as she fought off the drug and cautiously took in the bare surroundings of the dreary motel room.
"How do you feel?" He asked softly. The corner of her lips lifted into a sardonic smile and he knew.
"I've been better." Even her basic speech patterns had changed. No longer clipped and precise, he could hear the seductive nuances of Lilah's voice in the way she formed each syllable.
"Do you remember who I am?"
She laughed, quick and biting. "Like I'd forget."
"Cara."
"Come on, Wes." She glanced down at the straps crisscrossing her chest and stomach. "Your tastes have changed. Used to be glasses and school girls."
"You're not Lilah."
"Right. Lilah's gone. How lucky for me."
"You can fight this, Cara. I've seen you. I know you." Warily, he pulled another chair over to sit directly in front of her. Mentally, he tried to project the next move. A psychological chess game played against a fractured but devious opponent. Just Cara, he could handle. Just Lilah, he understood. It was the evolving combination of the two personalities that was uncharted territory. Wolfram and Hart had made the same mistake in expecting either one or the other. A lone Slayer to charging in or Lilah's subtle but equally anticipated method of attack. Instead, Cara had done the something the Senior Partners hadn't planned for. Contacting Knox, enlisting the Riley and the Army, and the complete obliteration of the Los Angeles office. None of it fit either profile and left Wesley wondering exactly how he was supposed to find his way in.
"I know what you want." She fidgeted against the bindings, never quite meeting his eyes.
"I'm just here to talk and to listen."
"Go to hell."
"Cara."
"Stop calling me that." Her voice echoed harshly in the small room. "You don't fucking know me. You never knew me."
"Listen to me."
"No. You listen to me." Her cheeks flushed, the burns on the side of her face darkening with the rush of blood. "How do you sleep at night? How can you sit there and judge me? I can see it in your eyes. The pity. You think it was your fault and you know what? You're right. This whole fucking mess is your fault."
"Just calm down." The hostility in her voice stung and her anger pricked at the heavy guilt over what had happened.
"Why? So you can lecture me? Why don't you explain it to me, Wes? Tell me how everything I've done is all right because I'm crazy. Because I got a fucking memory makeover from your psychotic ex-girlfriend. Explain it to me." Her words ended in a bitter snarl and she continued to fight against the restraints.
Wesley took a deep breath, keeping his hands open against his knees. "I know it's hard to see us. To deal with those memories. What we've done and what Lilah has done. I know it's difficult."
"What you've done?" Full lips curled into a sneer that was all Lilah. "Big bad Wesley. Kept a girl locked in a closet. What else did you do that was so dark? So bad. Oh yeah. You slept with the enemy. Makes you a real bad guy, all that rough and tumble sex. You like to pretend you've changed but you're still the pathetic, useless failure you always were. A disgrace to your family, to the Council. Every Slayer you touch turns evil. How does that feel?"
"You're not evil."
"Prove it." She challenged fiercely. "Prove that you don't think I'm evil. Untie me."
He didn't move. Hands flat on his thighs and his face carefully blank. "Where do you think all this rage comes from, Cara?"
"Let me think," Her head tipped to the side for a moment. "Oh yeah. You stuck me with a fucking needle and tied to me a chair. How about that for starters?"
"You attacked Cordelia."
"And your point? You hate that two-faced bitch as much as I do, you're just better at hiding it."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? Out of all of them, Cordelia should have taken your side when you took Connor. She was your friend and she did nothing. Just stood back and let them treat you like shit. If anyone should have had the decency to hear you out, it was her."
"That wasn't her fault."
"No? And Miss Perfect Chase has never done anything wrong, of course. She's a goddamn saint. Except for that one time when she shacked up with Angel's son. Don't forget that."
Wesley smiled tightly, "You didn't curse nearly this much before."
"Spend a few months with the Marines and we'll see how good your English is." Cara stopped struggling for a minute, sweat dampening the hair along her forehead.
"It has to be painful." He motioned to the places where the straps rubbed against the bandages.
"Pain, pleasure. It's all the same line."
"A line that you haven't even begun to understand."
"And I should bow to your wisdom? I'd rather slit my wrists."
"When the First Slayer was called, do you think there was a first Watcher?"
"God forbid there should be a Slayer without her Watcher." She spat bitterly.
"Why does a Slayer even need a Watcher?" He kept his voice soft. Every word needed to be carefully laid and her answer predicted. Facing him seemed to bring Lilah's personality to the front, making it both easier and more difficult to maneuver. The trick was getting her to answer his questions without triggering the stonewall silence or violent rage of Cara.
"I don't know. Who else would bore her to death?"
"They didn't have Watchers, not in the beginning. Not until they realized what they'd done to her, the first Slayer. We weren't intended to guide or to train them. We were meant to stop them if they lost sight of the mission." Slowly, he slipped a narrow blade from the side pocket of his cargo pants. It caught against one of the straps, fraying and slicing slowly through the tightly wound fabric. "Family. Friends. And the occasional rogue. Just meant to watch them." Another strap fluttered to the floor. "And when or if they cross that line." He eased the knife under another strap, slicing through it and the dark fatigues she was wearing, exposing the bandages beneath. "We were meant to take care of it."
"Figures." Cara answered guardedly, dark eyes fixed on the knife in his hand.
"Do you know why?"
"You're probably going to tell me whether I want to know or not."
"Because everything has a price." He finished the straps around her legs and began to methodically cut away the bindings over her chest and arms. "And the price of a Slayer, the price of the world, is that you're dark. Impure. Tainted."
"I'm assuming you have a point to all this bullshit."
"The Cruciamentum, as it turns out, was created in an attempt to force the Slayer into gaining mastery of the darkness inside her." He pulled his chair closer until her knees bumped against the wood, one leg on either side of hers and trapping her ankles against the legs of the chair. "I started looking after you left for South America. After I started thinking. Faith, you, even Buffy has had her share of darkness. I went through as many of the Watcher's Journals as I could find, searching for a reason why Slayers fall."
"Poor baby. Grasping at straws. You couldn't face the fact that you're just doomed to have evil Slayers. Let me say that again. Evil. Kills people. You're the big brain, do the math."
"I know you're not evil, Cara." The last strap fell away, he watched as she flexed her hands repeatedly to stimulate the circulation and adjusted the bandages wrapped around her right arm.
"And how's that?"
"You could have killed me and you didn't." Very gently, he leaned forward enough to press the blade of the knife against her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath her skin.
"What are you talking about?"
"That day on the base here in Sunnydale. You knew what was in that syringe and you knew a full dose would kill me."
"So I didn't want to kill you. So what?"
"Cara." Slowly, he eased his left hand over her shoulder and tangled his fingers into the cool heart of her braid. "You need to make a choice."
"A little late for that, don't you think?"
He knew it wasn't fast in Slayer terms but he was on his feet quickly enough to catch her off guard, yanking her head back sharply and digging the blade deeper into her skin. "You can be Cara or you can be Lilah but you can't be both. Choose."
"Let go of me." She hissed threateningly.
"I am your Watcher, Cara. If I can't trust you to be the Slayer then you leave me no choice." Counting on both Lilah's obstinacy and Cara's formidable determination, he continued to test the water, waiting to see just how far she would let him push.
"Fuck you." Cara glared up at him. "Go ahead. Do it. You can go back to Angel like the good little dog you are and tell him that you've fixed everything. Killing is always the answer with you and your pathetic friends. It's evil, kill it. That's all you know."
"Are you going to be a Slayer or not?"
"You have no idea what it means to be a Slayer. You're just the sidekick, Wesley. You're nothing. It's been all about Angel since you came to Los Angeles and you can't stand the thought that you've all been wrong."
"Give me a reason to trust you." Blood oozed out of a thin slice in her skin, dripping down the blade and staining his fingers.
"Angel's just convenient. The Powers needed a Go To boy and he jumped when they said jump. Do you really think they had any intention of giving him a reward? They gave your precious Cordelia to Jasmine and they let her pull Connor's strings the whole time. The Beast, blocking out the sun. All with their blessing."
"It's not true." He tightened his grip on her hair, leaning close enough to feel her breath against his skin and forcing himself to maintain eye contact.
"But you can't prove it. You can't prove that I'm lying, can you?"
He saw the blur of movement in his peripheral vision a second before her hand closed down on his forearm like a vise, twisting his hand away from her neck and wrenching his wrist hard enough to force his fingers open. The knife had barely touched the carpet before she attacked, knocking him back and to the side. Wood splintered and exploded as she kicked his chair into the wall. She grabbed onto his shoulders as he tried to twist away from her, forcing him down against the bed with a cruel smile on her face. Strong legs trapped him firmly, straddling and keeping him completely in her control
"You're still a servant, Wesley, only this time you're panting after a vampire. How pathetic is that?" Her eyes glinted triumphantly as she caught his wrists painfully and pinned them above his head with one hand.
"If helping Angel makes me pathetic then I'm proud of it." It was time to switch tactics, he kept his voice soft and made no attempt to fight her.
"How noble of you. Wasting your life so that a demon can be redeemed. Newsflash, lover, there is no such thing as redemption."
Wesley stilled completely as he watched her. It was eerie. The blurred line between violence and raw sexuality. Uncanny in the way she spoke almost with Lilah's voice, every inflection and pause so achingly familiar. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"That you were so unhappy." Slowly twisting his right hand, he held his breath to see her reaction, a little surprised when she allowed him to slip away from her grip. He reached up slowly to cup the unburned side of her face in his palm. "All those years and you never said a word. Not one. Why?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Lilah."
She blinked rapidly and tried to pull away from him, releasing his left wrist quickly. "What are you doing?"
"Lilah." Taking advantage of her hesitation, he gripped her arms tightly, twisting to the right and rolling her onto her back. "I just want to help you."
"I don't believe you." It was barely a whisper and he could see the confusion in her eyes.
"There's a dollar bill in my wallet if you want proof." He waited for it to sink in, caressing her shoulders lightly and leaning down to kiss the line of her jaw softly. There was no protest or attempt to stop him. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, fists clenched tightly at her sides. "All those secrets you've been keeping. You could have told me."
"What secrets?"
"About Angel and Connor. About Jasmine." Careful not to put too much pressure on her burns, he eased his weight onto the left side of her body and continued to trace a path down her neck. Nipping teasingly at her collarbone and the base of her throat, he caught a drop of her blood on his thumb and brushed it against her bottom lip. "You like it rough. I remember."
"Wesley." Her breath was coming in ragged pulses, hot against his skin.
"Tell me about Connor, Lilah. Tell me why you killed him."
"He, they, they couldn't. Let him live." He watched as her eyelashes fluttered, the flush of her cheeks darkening. "Jasmine was sent to keep him safe. Protected. Until he was old enough."
"I thought Jasmine needed Connor to be born." Turning her head to the side, he bit down hard enough to leave marks on her neck, roughly scraping his tongue against the cut. The taste of her blood nearly choked him.
"She did. She didn't know."
"I don't understand. Explain it to me." He let his hand leisurely slide down her neck, tugging against the collar of her t-shirt and feeling her trembling beneath him.
"They needed something different. A new way."
"A new way to what?" He could feel her nipple harden through the lightweight cotton, her back arching as he curved his hand over her breast.
"They want a Slayer." Her words melted into a soft moan. "Without the price."
Wesley closed his eyes, forcing himself to breath deeply. "And Angel is their way?"
"Yes."
"And Spike? Do you know what he is?"
"He's, he's like Connor." The words caught in her throat as she shifted, hands sliding up his chest to lift his head. He was unprepared for the familiarity. There was blood on her lips, washing away as she kissed him hungrily. A tremor shot through him as the tip of her tongue danced along his and she sucked his lower lip between her teeth, biting down not quite hard enough to be painful. Just like Lilah.
Unnerved by the contact, he pulled away and returned his focus to her neck, "How?"
"There's more than one way to skin a cat." Her hands were hot against his skin as they slipped beneath his shirt, trailing lightly over his lower back and hips.
In a single terrifying moment, it finally registered that he already knew how she would respond to his touch. She would not stop him, would not say no. Lilah would not say no. For a moment he weakened, holding onto her tightly, eyes closed and desperately pretending that it was Lilah. That he could pull away at any moment and see Lilah's face instead of Cara's. Hating that he still wanted it to be her. Hating himself for what he was doing. Finally, he slipped one hand under the pillow above them. Fingers closed around the cold plastic of a syringe. Slowly, he pushed away from her, meeting her eyes for what could be the last time he would ever see anything but fury.
"What's wrong, lover?" Her voice had the same husky quality that drove him crazy.
"I'm sorry, Cara."
He watched her eyes widen with understanding as he pushed the needle into her neck, pumping the drug into her blood. The look of betrayal felt like the lash of a whip. Not because he'd betrayed Lilah. There was no Lilah, not anymore, and betrayal had been the status quo in their twisted relationship. He waited until her breathing was solid and even, eyes closed and blissfully unaware of the world around her before rolling away and reaching for the cell phone beside the bed. The plastic felt like ice burning into his hand as he dialed clumsily.
"Wes?" Fred's voice was tired.
"I have more information."
"How did it go?"
"Fine." He turned away from Cara's sleeping form. "When are we meeting?"
"We're supposed to be at the base this afternoon. Riley's still trying to work something out to keep the commandos from freaking out over Cara being there. How is she?"
"Fine." He repeated numbly.
"Guess we'll see you there."
"This afternoon."
The phone beeped as he shut it off. For what felt like forever, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at the phone. Unable to move and unable to take more than shallow, labored breaths. His hands burned, his skin burned. Lungs ached as his throat constricted, cutting off air. The phone slipped from his hand unnoticed as he stumbled unevenly into the small bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before his stomach rebelled violently to the bitter taste of her blood in his mouth, burning it away with acid. He was shaking as he stood up and rinsed his mouth with cold water. Haunted blue eyes stared back from the warped surface of the mirror. He could see the room behind him, see Cara lying peacefully on the bed. His Slayer.
She had trusted him.