Restlessness drove Spike out of the cozy nest of blankets and pillows in the living room, trying not to wake Faith as he slipped back into his clothes and shoes. Birds had been chirping outside the window, effectively keeping him awake more than the brightening rays of morning. Not that he hadn't tried. It had been all too easy to close his eyes and wish he was back in the Boston apartment with nothing to worry about except the daily grind and what Faith wanted for breakfast. He wondered if the tension would ever leave his muscles or if his blood pressure would ever lower to a normal level again. There was some consolation in the fact that he'd nearly grown accustomed to the tangible hum of being near two Slayers. It wasn't exactly comfortable. Somewhere between constant needle pricks and being doused in boiling oil.
Keeping his footsteps barely audible, he crept through the silent house to the kitchen for a glass of water. The coffeemaker was cheerfully advertising fresh caffeine and the clock informed him that the weary occupants had slept well past their midmorning deadline and into the afternoon. Bones and muscles aching, he reluctantly decided against plain water and poured a cup of coffee. For a quiet moment, he watched as the sunlight danced enticingly through the window of the kitchen door. Caving to the temptation, he took the steaming mug and let himself quietly out of the house to enjoy the sunrise.
"Hey." Buffy smiled up at him from the porch steps.
Spike froze for a moment before reminding himself that he was going to have this conversation at some point whether he wanted to or not. Managing a smile that wasn't too strained, he settled down on the top step and tried to think of something to say. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Oh." They sat in silence for several minutes. Coffee swirled and birds sang as the sun heaved itself up through the sky in its endless routine.
"How's life?" Buffy asked softly, eyes on the mug in her hands.
"The usual. Work, sleep, kill a few nasties here and there."
"Dawn says you have memories. Like hers."
"Yeah." Spike shifted, patting the back pocket of his jeans as he checked for his wallet. He set it down on the wood between them rather than handing it to her, still wondering how he was supposed to feel and behave.
She flipped through the wallet without comment, pausing briefly over his driver's license and police ID before placing it neatly back on the step. "You're a cop?"
"Ironic, isn't it?" He grinned as he sipped his coffee.
"There are no words for the irony that is you being a cop."
"Wasn't sure if I wanted to keep on being one after…after I remembered who I was."
"So you don't know why you're here?"
"Does anyone?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Ever find out why Angel's back? Or why you're here again."
"A lot of unanswerable questions in Sunnydale. You get used to it." She answered breezily.
He caught the flash of recognition in her eyes as they flicked to his wedding band. "Yeah. Knew I'd have to come back someday. Just hoping it wouldn't be when every other critter on the planet was due to arrive."
"You always did have lousy timing." One corner of her mouth turned up in a quirky smile.
"Not going to argue that one."
Words drifted into the distant sound of traffic and Sunnydale as the city shrugged off sleep, resuming the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Spike noticed a few new flowerbeds. The house and back fence had been repainted recently and there was a bird feeder hanging above the porch. For the first time since Joyce's death, it looked like a place where people lived and loved. Like a home.
"It's like a Boyfriend Reunion. You, Angel, Riley. As long as you don't kill each other, I'll consider it a success." There was light-hearted humor in her voice.
"Guess I'm not the only one with bad timing."
"It's a conspiracy. A plot. I'm sure of it." She finished off her mug and set it aside gently. "Nothing ever goes wrong in nicely spaced intervals. Just falls apart in one big whoosh like one of those displays at the grocery store. Pick out a completely innocent can of Diet Coke and then..." She trailed off, her cheeks getting a little rosier.
"Whole thing comes tumbling down? Feels like that sometimes." Spike smiled tentatively.
"Crazy Slayer, pregnant Slayer, lots of demons wanting an All You Can Eat Slayer Buffet. And none of them have the decency to RSVP."
"Didn't exactly plan on that happening." He stared down into his coffee a bit sheepishly.
"The Faith being pregnant part?" Buffy frowned disapprovingly but there was a teasing sparkle in her eyes. "You're how old and you haven't managed to figure out birth control?"
"Hey." Spike protested. "Didn't have to care for most of the last hundred and some odd years. Just didn't think about it."
"Like every other male on Earth." She snorted and rolled her eyes.
"Not too inclined to defend my gender at the moment, all things considered. Maybe you should consider switching teams."
Her ponytail bounced as she shook her head. "No thanks. Women are twice as confusing. I spend more time listening to Willow than Xander. Not that I'm actually any help. More like anti-help. But I do think that I motivate them to keep trying."
"So they don't end up like you?"
"Why does it sound so much worse when you say it?"
"You'll find someone, Buffy." He sipped his coffee carefully, grateful for the warmth against his hands. "It takes time."
"Maybe. This is Sunnydale. What are the odds of actually finding a normal, human, Buffy boyfriend?"
"Don't be so hard on yourself."
"I'm not. I mean, not really. Just given up on the whole soul mate, true love forever, and pitter-patter of little feet."
"Give it a chance."
"You mean, if we survive?" She sighed wearily. "I keep thinking this is the calm before the storm. That I'm going to look out the front door and see a mob of demons with torches and pitchforks."
"Could be." He admitted, not knowing what to expect from his own future. The bright sun and cloudless blue sky was deceptively peaceful and calm. Only the chill in the air and Buffy's fuzzy sweater carried any reminder that it was winter in California. There was no hint of the ominous threat looming on the horizon.
"Never a dull moment in Sunnydale." There was another awkward silence as they both stared intently at the non-happenings in the backyard and tried to figure out what they were supposed to be talking about.
"Guess that's it for the small talk." Spike took a deep, calming breath.
"Yeah. Now what?"
"Not a clue. You?"
"Well." Buffy frowned thoughtfully before opening and closing her mouth several times. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"Four years plus a little bit. Be five in May."
"May? Where are you counting from?"
"Bathroom." He stared down at the wood between his boots. Wishing he could feel more that just vague sadness for what he'd done. She deserved more than casual regret but the burning guilt had been worn down by the years between. He almost laughed. Feeling guilty for not feeling guilty enough.
"Oh."
"About that."
"That being you trying to rape me?" Surprisingly, there was no anger or hostility in her voice.
"Could you not say that…word. I know what I did. Saw it every time I closed my eyes for months, years even. Heard your voice in my head until I thought I'd gone mad." Spike rubbed at the tension building in his neck and shoulders, feeling as though all the heavens were staring down at the spot between his shoulder blades.
"And you got your soul back."
"Wanted to give you want you deserved. What I thought you deserved anyway." He shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. "Looking back, I didn't have a bloody clue what you needed. 'Cept my being gone. That seems to have helped."
"I missed you." Buffy folded her arms loosely, picking at the sleeves of her sweater. "And Dawn missed you."
"Clem told me that Tara and Anya died. Sorry I wasn't here to help."
"We lived through it. We always do." There was a beat. "Well, most of us. We lost a lot of the girls. Cara was one of the ones who slipped through the cracks and wasn't found until after. Probably would have been better if they'd never found her at all or if…" The words faded away.
"If what?" He watched her curiously.
"Nothing." Shaking her head, she quickly changed the subject. "You told me, after you found out you could hurt me without the chip firing. You said I was dark, that I belonged in the darkness."
"Buffy, don't. That wasn't true."
"No. You were right." She waved away his protests. "You weren't right the way you thought you were right but you were still right even though you were wrong. Did that make any sense?"
"Sort of. No. Not at all."
"I was dark." She finally turned to meet his eyes full on. "When Willow brought me back, I let the darkness in. It was like I couldn't stop myself. I let it seep in and fill me up until it drowned all the light. This world, this job, being the Slayer. There's so much darkness and I see it every day. I let it take me over."
Spike hesitated, running one hand through his hair as if the very action would help sort through his thoughts. "I think I understand. Being a cop, you see the asshole end of human nature every day, especially in homicide. Some of them can't take it. Alcoholism, divorce, maybe they're all symptoms of the darkness creeping in."
"When I was with you, it was easier to not see the darkness. Treading the gray waters. Never quite drowning and never quite swimming."
"It's complicated." He added softly.
"Way complicated. I had all this hate and rage and self-loathing that wasn't me. I still don't know where it all came from and why. Everything I touched felt like broken glass. Even when it started getting better, when there were days that I could hold on to the light, I still came to you. You were my drug of choice."
"Because I loved you?"
"That was part of it. I think." She looked away uncomfortably. "A team of psychiatrists would probably have a field day with my brain. Definite thesis material."
"You've been through a lot."
"I'm sorry. For hurting you."
"I'm sorry too. For what it's worth." He resisted the urge to reach out and comfort her the way he had longed to do for so long.
"It's worth a lot."
"I should have come back sooner." Spike leaned back on the heels of his palms. "Can't seem to get away from this place anyway. Might as well put down some roots and stay for good."
"The last few years have been pretty boring. Nothing even close to a real challenge."
"Until now."
"If the legions of the undead actually decide to show." A strand of hair danced as she blew it away from her eyes, resting her chin on one hand tiredly. "I never got to tell you that I fell in love with you. Sometime after and between and before. Or while you were gone. I'm not sure."
"You fell in love with something. Wasn't me." Spike disagreed sympathetically. "The idea, maybe."
"I know you don't believe me. Why would you after I kicked it in your face so many times that I couldn't ever love you?"
"It doesn't matter now, does it?" He tried to shift the conversation gently; uncomfortable with her honesty and half-convinced she would regret her words later. "Life moved on and we moved with it."
"You saved me." Buffy looked down at her hands, brushing her knuckles lightly. "Kept me here and alive when I didn't want to be. Whatever else happened or happens between us, I want you to know that. Every night you saved me."
Spike smiled at the echo of the past and his own musings. That he would never have fought for his soul, never found his way to New Orleans and to Faith if none of Sunnydale had happened. The silence wasn't as awkward this time. He could hear the sounds of people moving in the kitchen behind them. Spoons clinking against cereal bowls and the pop of the toaster spitting out bread. A few more minutes and they would have to rejoin the gang, come back to the real world and begin the preparations to keep the Slayers alive. Just a few more minutes, just a couple more things he needed to say.
"She cares what you think. Faith." He continued softly. "Won't ever say it but you mean a lot to her."
"I know. A few bumps and a couple fist fights but we found our way somehow."
"If it comes down to it." He had to clear his throat before he could continue. "If you have to make a choice between me and Faith. Promise me you'll choose her."
"Spike."
"Promise me. I can't do this, stay here and be part of this, without knowing that you'll protect her first."
"Please don't ask me to do this."
"I need this. Buffy, please." The struggle was written plainly in her wide eyes. He saw the moment she crumpled, looking away from him and nodding faintly. Prepared for the familiar surge of electricity, he laid one hand gently over the closed fists in her lap. "Thank you."
There was no denying the temptation to peek through the kitchen window at the back porch. Do more than just listen to the soft murmur of voices as Spike and Buffy started on the mammoth task of catching up. In fact, if it hadn't been for the unmistakable warning in the soft headshake Willow had given her, Dawn would have barreled out the door and invited herself to the party.
"I just wanted to see if they were both alive out there. They used to beat each other up all the time, remember?" With exaggerated annoyance, she took a seat at the island and pretended to pout.
"No one's going to beat anyone. Except you if Buffy finds out you're spying on them." Willow shook her spoon threatening. "We were supposed to be up and research bound hours ago. So eat your yummy and nutritious breakfast and then it's book duty for you, young lady."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Dawn poured a bowl of cereal and dug in without enthusiasm. "When's Riley supposed to be here?"
"Wes was going to have one chemically gift-wrapped Slayer delivered at noon and Riley said he'd be here after they got her secured. So, any minute now."
"Do you think they'll put a mask on her? Like Silence of the Lambs?"
"Dawn."
"What?" Dawn batted her eyes innocently.
"Buffy wants us to be patient with Cara. We're going to try to help her."
"Right. Can I stop being patient when she starts killing people?"
Willow sighed tiredly and pushed a mug of coffee down in front of Dawn, "If I give you coffee, will you be a little more positive about this whole Cara thing? Buffy doesn't need any more people telling her that Cara's dangerous."
"I guess. For coffee." Smiling wryly, Dawn accepted the peace offering. "Cordy probably would have won anyway. She Who Glows Like a Christmas Tree also kicks some serious ass. Do you think Cara would have burned up like a vamp?"
"Who knows?" Willow admitted, taking a seat beside Dawn and sipping her own cup of coffee. "But the whole game plan is keeping the Slayers alive and that means all three of them. Not just one or two, all three."
"I know."
They lapsed into the silence of coffee and waiting for the back door to open, the signal that playtime was officially over, the real world was live, in color, and waiting to kill them all. Dawn swirled her spoon lazily in the leftover milk, watching the waves and patterns left behind by the stainless steel. Another day of reading books and carving stakes. Another day of being useless. She knew that Buffy would disagree and give her another pep talk about how important it was for the Slayer to have friends and family behind her. How important Dawn was to keep Buffy holding on and giving her a reason to keep fighting night after night. She just wanted to do more. Be more than Stake Sharpener Number Four.
"Willow? Remember when demon guy sent me away in New Orleans?" She picked at one of the scorch marks on the counter top.
"We were scared to death you wouldn't come back." Willow shuddered a little at the memory.
"Do you think that I know where I was? Somewhere in my brain, even though I don't remember. Could the memories just be hidden or forgotten?"
"It's possible." The redhead frowned thoughtfully. "Why?"
"Spike said that after he died, he went to somewhere peaceful. And that he knew where I was or that I was with him." Dawn hesitated briefly as the idea that had been shape shifting through her mind finally began to solidify. "It's possible that I just can't remember."
"What are you thinking?" Willow asked warily.
"You got into Buffy's head, sorta, after Glory took me. Is there some way you could do the same thing? Maybe take a look in my brain and see where I was." She left it at that. Simple and straightforward. No use babbling about wanting to know what she was, if she was actually human, and the nagging feeling that all her questions had finally been answered if she could just remember.
"Could tell us what Spike is." Willow's eyes lit up as she considered the idea. "Which would be one question down and only a few million to go."
"It's a start."
"It's a good idea, Dawnie. And I think I know just what we need."
"Really? Like a spell?" Dawn perked up a little, hopeful that she might be able to contribute something other than another demon stat sheet for the commandos to file away.
"Something shiny."
"Huh?" Puzzled, she watched Willow hunt through the kitchen drawers.
"This'll do." With a satisfied nod, Willow fished out a tea strainer and swung it back and forth experimentally. "We should probably do this in the living room. More comfortable. We'll have to be quiet though, Faith's still asleep."
"Do what?" Dawn raised an eyebrow questioningly but slipped off of the barstool and headed into the living room. After clearing away stacks of books and papers, she settled onto the couch a little apprehensively. "Let me in on the plan, Will. It is my brain."
"Just some old-fashioned hypnosis. Nothing fancy." Willow held up the strainer with a smile. "Of course, I'm not very good at it so I might be using a teensy bit of magic if it doesn't seem to be working."
"Okay. What do I do?"
"Well. In the movies, I count back from ten and you go down a staircase or something."
"Not too graceful with stairs."
"We can use a ramp."
"Great." Dawn rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. "So I stare at the tea strainer thingy and you tell me I'm getting sleepy. Sounds like a plan."
"Shhhh." Willow glanced at Faith a little nervously to make sure the Slayer was still sleeping soundly. "It's worth a shot, right? Unless you don't want to know where you were."
"No, I do. I do. Just…let's just do it, alright?" She wiggled a bit to get comfortable and placed both hands palm down on her thighs.
It took a few minutes and more than a few glares from Willow to stop feeling like an idiot and concentrate on the shiny object swinging back and forth in her vision. Left, right. Left right. She was vaguely aware of Willow's lips moving soundlessly and her body getting heavier, sinking deeper into the couch. Left, right. Her eyelashes blurred her sight as they became too heavy to hold up, forcing her eyes closed. Other senses were lulled into a peaceful slumber and she wondered vaguely if she was being swallowed into the belly of the couch cushions.
Dawn? I need you to concentrate on the last thing you remember in New Orleans. Find that memory and grab onto it.
Find a memory. That shouldn't be too hard. Floating in the darkness, she caught bits and snatches of conversations she recognized from her past. Flashes of Buffy and the Scoobies. Carefully sifting through them, she resisted the impulse to stop and watch the memories play out. The ones of the trip home were still vividly painful and lonely, tugging at her heart with renewed intensity. She followed those back until she found the comfortable lounge of Sanctuary and the unusual demon who had befriended Spike. Buffy, Faith, Willow. She watched sadly as Willow channeled Spike's soul through the Orb, the tearful exchange before Faith left to do what had to be done. The Dawn in the lounge began to shake.
She grabbed onto the memory with all of the mental strength she could summon and leapt into the rabbit hole.
Images of blood and fire swirled and dissolved as Cara gradually became aware of her surroundings. Tough, clawed hands and bull horns curving away from endless, violent eyes. The Beast. She could remember the smell of brimstone, feel the phantom ache in her side where he had dug one claw through skin and muscle. Dead bodies littered the floors like fallen leaves in a mortal changing of the seasons. Every time she closed her eyes she was finding her way through the bodies, half carried by Wesley out of Wolfram and Hart.
Wesley.
The curtains were unfamiliar, with the dim paint wearily flaking and falling away from the stained walls. Nothing but the sound of her heart beating and determinedly keeping her alive to fill the silence. Muscles were still languid from the slippery chains of the chemicals. Drifting in the soft haze of almost waking, she wondered how long they would keep her conscious this time. How long before fear took over and one more needle jabbed into her skin. It had all started with a needle. One tiny prick in an elevator before the gates of Hell opened up to swallow her.
Done was done and dead was dead.
Fighting. Killing. It was the closest she came to living. The moment before there was only dust or a blood stained corpse, that moment where she could stare Death in the face and know. Just for a moment, she would know that she was still alive. That she could still touch and taste and feel. Traveling the road other Slayers had followed into darkness and pain. To know. Could anyone ever really know what it meant to be a Slayer? Cara had fallen to the wayside, a wilted flower or forgotten seed tossed by the wind, and the line of truth became smudged by the relentless advance of indecision. A legacy of blood and only the promise of endless sleep to urge her on.
Just more of the emptiness that she no longer wanted to fill. There were lines to be read and a part to be played but she couldn't find the energy to dig into the confusion to find them. Didn't want to look into her own mind long enough to sift through the bits and pieces, reform the patterns she had found when there was nothing to distract her but the chirping of frogs and the rustle of the rainforest. There was something she had to do.
It was fatigue that kept her still as the voices began to filter into her mind, as the words began to form a pattern she could recognize and understand. Pressure and weight against her wrists told her that she was bound. Again. Nausea crept into the pit of her stomach as the chemicals broke down and dissolved, slipping away through blood vessels and leaving her muscles shivering with their absence. Even if she had wanted to stretch her stiff and weary limbs, they would have been sluggish and unresponsive until the last tendrils of the drug were washed away. The dull ache of her burns resumed their marching throb through her nerve endings even as her body repaired the damage from the inside out. Healing the only wounds that could be healed.
"…we never discovered exactly what Connor was." Bits of Wesley's voice came into focus, resonating through her mind with bitter familiarity. "From our observations of his abilities, we believed that he possessed many of the strengths of a vampire."
"With none of the weaknesses?" Another man. Giles.
"It appeared that way." Wesley hesitated, leaving the room in expectant silence. "It's not unreasonable to assume that he did possess other weaknesses. Human weaknesses."
"But you were able to confirm that he had a soul?"
"Yes."
"If Cara is correct and Spike is similar to Connor, then we must assume that Connor would have had the same reaction to Slayers."
"I don't remember anything out of the ordinary when he met Faith." Papers rustled softly. "But it wasn't exactly a situation conducive to getting to know one another and I never thought to ask him."
"Spike described it as an energy. Electricity. A burning sensation." A soft click meant that Giles had removed his glasses. "And that it increases significantly with the proximity of the Slayers. Given that being near three of them rendered him unconscious, that would appear to be a weakness."
"If there was commonly more than one Slayer but this is a particular situation. I don't believe there has ever been three active Slayers before."
Soft footsteps sounded against the carpet in an even rhythm, "Unfortunately, the nature of Spike is probably the least of our concerns. Have you spoken with Iverson?"
"Briefly. There have been reports from all over the globe of unusual demon activity. He was quite apprehensive and believes that a large percentage of the demon population will be arriving in Sunnydale within the week."
"Riley and the military have begun to plan for the worst." There was pause in the footsteps before Giles resumed pacing. "I have asked him to prepare a containment cell for Cara. I also believe this is the best course of action, given her current instability."
Silence.
"Wesley?"
"I have given my opinion of the situation to Iverson and he has made his decision." Wesley's voice was hollow.
"And that would be?"
"That she is beyond any method of help available to us."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Nothing." Wesley cut Giles off sharply. "She refused a Watcher and I have no authority over her or her fate. I have offered my personal opinion only. Given the extent of what was done to her, I'm surprised that she is lucid at all."
"But she is lucid."
"And quite dangerous."
"There is nothing we can do?"
"Iverson believes that we should salvage what we can and make the decision that is best for Cara." His tone softened. "Dr. James has agreed to remove and cryogenically preserve her ovaries for future use in regenerating the Slayer line."
"And Cara?" There was resignation in Giles' voice.
"Dr. James has assured me that it will be done quickly and painlessly once he finishes the extraction." Silence stretched uncomfortably into several minutes.
"Buffy will object." Giles sighed wearily. "You are sure there is no other way?"
"What the Council did to her was horrendous and what Lilah did to her was brutal." There was a chord of desolation in Wesley's careful phrasing. "But the Council didn't make her a killer, they merely taught her to be more efficient. Lilah's memories didn't make her kill those men, they simply took away any reason not to. We cannot undo what she has become."
"Perhaps it is for the best."
"It is the only peace she'll ever know, Giles. I know you understand that much."
It was Giles' turn to be silent.
The conversation turned back to demons and battle plans. Cara retreated into the aching cocoon of her tired body, finding solace in the pain that had become her constant companion. She could feel sunlight dripping onto her arm from a gap in the curtains, blinking the haze away to focus on the golden light beside her. From the height of the sun, she guessed that it was nearly afternoon. How much time did she have?
She already knew that part. Knew the feeling of poison dripping into her veins and numbing muscles into useless stone blocks, knew how it felt to lie on a table with the smell of her own blood in the air. Not death. That would come later when they were done stripping her down for spare parts down like an old, battered car. She wasn't afraid of dying. How could she be? How could she taste and feel death every moment of every day and still be afraid? There was no place for fear when every time she closed her eyes, she dreamt of blood and endlessly vacant eyes glaring up from broken bodies.
Just one more needle.
She hated needles. Hated the sting and the liquid that stole away her will, her power, left her weak and helpless to fight against them. And the men would ramble on about what was going to happen to her in that soothing, wild animal voice that she had learned to fervently despise. Not an animal. Not just an animal. She had a human face, human hands, and that meant she couldn't be just an animal.
The tightly woven nylon around her wrists was smooth to the touch. Almost lovingly, she pulled her bound hands closer and brushed the smooth surface against her cheek. Imagining. Warm instead of cool. Rough with five o'clock shadow instead of the touch of silk. For a moment there was tremor of nervousness that was Cara's forgotten innocence. Just a moment before it was swept aside in the visual glory of Lilah's experience. She stilled immediately and forced her body to remain motionless rather than rip the restraints away from her skin. Remade in the bitch's image, there was no hint or sliver of inside or out that had escaped the withering, sickening touch of Lilah's dead hands. Still pulling Cara's strings the way she had pulled Angel's and Wesley's.
Cara kept waiting. Kept biting and clawing for the clarity and the sanity she knew was possible. For the time she would close her eyes and see memories that weren't Lilah's, hear a voice that wasn't Wesley's. Know something beyond the madness. Why had she come back? Why couldn't she just tell her aching limbs to stop moving and wait for the end? The blood kept screaming in her head, adrenaline and rage pouring through her veins until it wasn't about survival or victory. Just blood and pain. Primitive and basic. She had just wanted to help and was no help at all. The floods were rolling in to swallow the earth in a single gulp, tides of evil washing one last wave before there was nothing left between them and the endless eyes of humanity. She wanted to care even when she couldn't feel anything but the gnawing ache of emptiness.
Emptiness was better than the overpowering rage. The tidal wave of fury and bloodlust that threatened to drown her in darkness and evil. To wash away everything she had ever known or believed, every moment in her past that didn't burn or splinter. She focused on the worn threads of the dappled bedspread, searching for something to pull her away from the darkness inside. How had she fallen so far?
Half expecting them to notice that she was awake, she turned her head just enough to see them standing in the doorway. Her Watcher. Buffy's Watcher. The image of Wesley bathed in sunlight soaked into her mind like a drug. There were dark circles under his eyes and a weariness that she had never noticed before as the world finally began to take its toll. For a moment, she let the memories drift back into the forefront. The taste of his skin and the touch of his hands. Gentle and soothing.
Lilah.
It had never been her. His touch had never been meant for her. She was just Cara. Dangerous and insane Cara. Another check mark on the To Do list that Wesley carried for Angel like a medal of honor. Doing what had to be done. That was Wesley's strength, his gift. Making the decisions that no one else had the stomach to make, breaking the rules no one else was willing to break. There had been no true gentleness in his caress, no truth in his lips, and she was just one more burden for him to carry. Doing Angel's dirty work. The same way he was now standing aside and letting the Council put her down like a rabid animal. She wanted to close her eyes against the vision of golden sunlight wrapping him in a warm embrace. Wanted to look at him and feel something. Anything.
Six months of practice made it easier to turn inward and block out the world around her. Slow and easy breaths that made the insanity just a fraction less and kept the blind panic at bay as her mind churned through the conflicting past in search of truth. It was about control. Keeping the Slayer tightly leashed until she was needed to rip and tear through whatever lay before her. Cara was just the shell that she slept within, the mask that she wore to hide her face from the world. Lilah was an infection, a cancer eating away at the disguise and determined to strip everything away until she was exposed and destroyed. Seen for the monster she really was.
For a quiet moment, Cara was almost aware of the Slayer itching nervously beneath the surface as she assessed the threat of death that awaited them both. Lilah's memories were strangely silent, offering nothing. There was a sense of relief that it would soon be over and each second would no longer be spent in the inferno of war. Just flesh and blood and bone. A mortal coil to be sloughed off and returned to dust in the belly of the earth. Her mind mechanically processed the sounds around her without interest in what the voices were saying as they moved around the room or what the hands were doing as they brushed against her raw skin.
"Riley should be ready by now." Wesley checked his watch quickly and nodded toward the open door. "I would like to stay with her, explain what's going to happen and make sure she's taken care of."
"I would like to inform Buffy before Dr. James proceeds with the surgery." Giles replaced his glasses quickly and stepped through the doorway.
"Iverson is expecting to hear from her."
With a curt nod, Giles disappeared from view and Wesley closed the door behind him, shutting out the enticing glow of sunlight. The room darkened, filled with the rusty hue of the curtains hanging over the window. One hand rested against the door, his shoulders rising and falling slowly beneath the weight of a burden she couldn't see. As though the door was the only thing between him and collapse.
"How long have you been awake?" He didn't turn around, his words precise and carefully measured.
Cara tucked her arms tighter against her body and kept silent. There was nothing she wanted to say. There was nothing she wanted to hear from him. Not anymore.
"What I did." He paused, taking another deep breath before finally turning around and meeting her gaze. His face was deliberately neutral. "I did what I had to do. I'm sorry if it hurt you."
"Sorry." Her voice caught and scratched hoarsely in her throat.
"We needed to know what's in your head. Time is running out and so are our choices."
"We." Cara repeated softly.
"We didn't want any of this to happen, Cara." His voice was almost comforting.
She wanted to leave it all behind. The motel room, Sunnydale. She wanted to go back to the comfort of the jungle. Of endlessly silent days with a rigid routine to keep the Slayer bound and leashed. The pity in his half smile sickened her. Still pretending to care when he was simply delivering her to the butcher. When he was the one who had written away pieces of her and the life in her veins. Who had kissed and touched her with another woman's name on his lips.
"I wish there was a way to help you." His steps were hesitant as he crossed the room and eased himself down onto the bed beside her, reaching for her hands and working at the knots keeping them bound. "A way to erase what has happened to you."
For a moment she felt the freedom of unrestricted movement, a tiny slice of what it would mean to be freed from the shackles of all that she was and was not. Warm and familiar hands brushed against her skin and she longed to feel the same hunger for his touch that she had known for six long months. The delirious ache that had always filled Lilah when she had been around Wesley, willing to do anything to feel the roughness of his hands once more. All that came was the bitter emptiness of knowing that he looked through her and past her but did not see her as Cara. He saw a Slayer. He saw his past with Lilah and a problem to be solved but he did not see her. He would never see her.
She was numb, vaguely registering that the man she had once respected was not to be trusted. That he believed she was lost forever, predestined and chosen to be a killer. Everything she had seen in his eyes was tainted by his disappointment and his fear. His belief that she was wrong, that she was broken and damaged beyond repair. And his shattered hope that he could reshape and remold her into a more suitable image of what he thought she was supposed to be.
With guarded sympathy, he kept hold of her hands. "You've never known anything but pain and death. I want you to find some peace."
Cara didn't even try to fight against the waves of memories washing over her. "I've suffered enough." It was a hollow echo of the single memory that Lilah had cherished above all others.
"More than anyone should ever have to suffer." Tenderly, Wesley brushed a stray hair away from her face. "But it will be over soon, I promise."
"Don't." There were a thousand words that could have followed but no reason to let them slip past her lips. He was not listening to her and he never would. His eyes would only see Lilah, his ears would only hear her voice.
"There isn't much time left." His eyes were a little too bright in the darkened motel room. "Is there anything I can do? To make it easier."
Stiffly, she managed to push up into a sitting position, close enough to feel the soft fabric of his sweater and breathe in the clean, distinctive scent that was Wesley. "How long?"
"Once we get to the base, a few hours. We don't have to leave right away."
"It'll be over." She leaned against his shoulder cautiously and slowly drew her hands away from his. "No more fighting."
"It will all be over." His arms slipped around her gently, pivoting on the bed to settle her against his chest. "You won't have to hurt anymore. I can give you that much."
Cara let him hold her. Rough hands caressed her back lightly as he dutifully tried to comfort her. No awkwardness, no stiffness. There was no need to uphold any sort of propriety now that she had been declared broken and her sentence passed. The contact, the touch, that she had craved without understanding why was now hollow and cold. His fingers caught in her hair, tugging softly as he combed through the heavy locks. Before Lilah, she would not have known how empty the gesture was.
She wouldn't have known that it was all a lie.
Lowering her head brought her deeper into his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat resounding in her ear as she pressed against his chest. The contrast of smooth, unbroken skin and the angry burns curling up her arm was a stark reminder of where she was. How she had raced from the jungles of Brazil with death at her heels, knowing only that she needed to get back to Los Angeles. Held on to that thought when there had been nothing else to keep the darkness at bay, until her body ached with the effort of just staying sane long enough to get to them. To tell them something she could no longer remember. It had all fallen apart, scattering to the far corners of her mind when she had seen Wesley again. She had lost her grip and plunged back into not knowing who or what she was. Maybe she would never be able to hold on as long as he was there, remaining unreachable even as his hands played across her shoulders.
Now it was too late. It had all blurred together into the chaos of her mind and there was nothing left but the nagging feeling that she had lost something important. Forgotten the key. Let it slip away with the sight of his face and the sound of his voice. Washed it away with the warmth of his touch even knowing that it wasn't meant for her. Beneath the surface, the Slayer bristled. He had looked at her with brilliant blue eyes and she had been content to drown in them.
Her thoughts began to converge toward a single, focused point. His every touch was just another deception, his every word a honey coated lie meant to make her death a little easier to accept. The death that he assumed was a foregone conclusion and a necessity. More importantly, as long as she was near him, she would be lost and useless. He had made her weak.
"Cara?" His rich voice was husky.
Waiting for any doubt or reluctance, she stared down at her hands and wondered if they would ever be washed clean of the blood they had shed. The world was empty now, everything that had anchored her shown to be false security. She had come too far to fall, fought too hard to just let go, and she wasn't ready to die.
Slowly, she lifted her head until she met his eyes, forcing back the rush of emotions that would have overwhelmed her. Desire, hurt, anger, love. A whirlwind that had begun to rip her apart long before Lilah's emotions had been added to the mix, before she'd had names to give them. Her hand moved of its own accord and she watched the flicker of alarm flash in his eyes as she reached up to press her palm against his cheek. Uneasiness as he tried to decipher her touch. He didn't trust her.
"Cara?" He was nervous.
"You can't save me." She whispered, almost mesmerized by the rise and fall of his chest. The fingers of her right hand skimmed over the rough fabric of his blue jeans, down the inside of his calf, as he searched her face for an explanation of her question.
"I'm sorry."
"Because I'm not the one you're trying to save." Her hand stopped over the subtle outline just above his ankle, catching the cuff of his pant leg and sliding it up gently. The slender dagger was expected and familiar. Military issue. Cool against her skin, there was something natural about the weight of a weapon in her hand.
"I don't understand." His expression was puzzled. Eyes widened as the blade sunk into his stomach, his grip on her shoulders tightening and color draining from his cheeks. A low hiss slipped through his teeth as she pushed the knife further into his body, hot blood seeping through the fabric and staining her hand.
"You never did."
"There has been a change of plans." Holland Manners hadn't changed a single hair or crease in his expensive suit since his death. Even the fact that Lilah found him to be insufferably patronizing remained undiminished by time or mortality.
"Obviously." Lilah settled for looking out the windows of the limousine rather than rolling her eyes.
"The Senior Partners felt that your input would be valuable in this situation."
"With all due respect, this situation is no longer my concern." She frowned as Holland handed a slick, black and white photograph across the seat. "What is this?"
Her eyes refused to focus on the image, fiercely denying that they recognized the shape of the man slumped on the floor of a seedy motel room. That they wouldn't have immediately known the slope of his shoulders and curve of his jaw. Wesley. His eyes were closed and there was a lifelessness that Lilah could see even in the photograph. With all the glory of a crime scene photograph, she could pronounce the cause of death as a sharp object to the stomach. It took every ounce of willpower to keep holding the photograph even as it burned into her lifeless fingers.
"The surveillance team reported it immediately and the seers have given confirmation." He smiled pleasantly. "As you can guess, the Senior Partners are quite interested. All indications thus far have led us to believe that Miss Sewell was still firmly on the side of good. Psychotic and unbalanced as she may be. Our attempts at gaining an insider in this circle of do-gooders has also been problematic."
"The artist?" With difficulty, she pulled her eyes away from the picture.
"Is hardly a match for a Slayer. Although she may have success in other areas, we never believed she would be capable of actually killing Miss Sewell." Casually shrugging away the issue, he stroked the luxurious upholstery absently. "But this has presented us with a new opportunity."
"Which is?"
"Recruitment, naturally."
"You can't be serious."
"The Senior Partners are quite serious." Leaning forward, he focused on her attentively. "This was an act of intent and premeditation according to the seers. One that cannot be explained in any other way. It was cognizant and deliberate."
"Do we know why?"
"That is the question that fascinates me. I don't suppose you could shed any light on the subject?"
At that moment, Lilah had realized that she'd counted on both her own and Cara's feelings for Wesley to keep him safe. "No. Are we sure she did this?"
"Surveillance also took these."
More photographs were handed over. There was a stark black and white of Cara standing in the doorway of the motel, the knife in her hand still dripping with the murder behind her. Another of the Slayer looking in the direction of the camera, only the intensity of her gaze giving any indication of emotion. Lilah's grip tightened involuntarily until the thick paper bent and wrinkled around her fingers.
"Precisely why the Senior Partners are so interested." Holland chuckled amusedly. "Of all of them, why would she kill him? It's fascinating, isn't it?"
"Something like that." Lilah forced a brittle smile. "But I can't help you with what's going on in the bitch's head so I'll be on my way." It was impossible to keep the bitterness and dislike from tainting her words.
"Lilah, Lilah." He shook his head with paternal disapproval. "You know as well as I do that Sunnydale is going to be completely destroyed in less than twenty-four hours. When the party starts, it won't end until they've managed to kill all three Slayers and probably every human being in a considerable radius. What we have here is a window of opportunity to save a Slayer for ourselves."
"I was under the impression that killing the Slayers was the whole idea."
"It is, it is. Slayers are typically champions for good and truth and all of those honorable ideals. But a Slayer with, what is that bit of prophecy? A soul drenched in blood. Ironic, isn't it? All this time we believed that Faith was our best candidate. It's very interesting indeed. The Senior Partners merely want you to offer her a deal. If she refuses, then she dies with the rest and there's no harm done."
"And the negotiations won't be threatened by the fact that the we haven't eliminated all of the Slayers?" Lilah raised an eyebrow testily.
He dismissed her concern with a wave, "Corruption is as good as death. The only requirement is that there be no Champion race or meddlesome Powers That Be to interfere when the investors arrive. Given the advanced time table, the Senior Partners feel that they have more than adequate time to fulfill our end of the bargain."
"Fine. I offer her a deal. The usual hired gun contract or does she get special treatment?"
"We've tailored a contract just for Miss Sewell." Holland reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of paper.
"And you know where she is?"
"The driver has directions. Once we arrive, you will have less than half an hour to convince Miss Sewell to join the team before the risk of exposure becomes significant. It would be best not to tip our hand just yet."
"If I can't convince her?"
"I doubt she'll survive the next few days alone and I don't presume that Miss Summers or anyone else will be particularly inclined to help her. She really has no other option if she wants to live."
Lilah nodded and kept her mouth shut. She was just the delivery girl and the Senior Partners wanted the Slayer served up on a platter. If they couldn't kill her, they'd turn her into a weapon. If the girl's fate had been up to Lilah, she would have had the psychotic bitch agonizingly tortured to death with every second recorded on videotape so she could watch it over and over for the rest of eternity.