Disclaimer: No ownership. It's so sad… the only things I own are Bryan, Mia, Cassandra and Daniel… and from what you've seen of Bryan and Mia, would you even want to own them?
Rating: I think I'm boring everyone to death repeating the same thing each time. See the first fourteen chapters if you haven't, yet :)
A/N (Isn't it generally normal to have holidays right after you get exam marks back? sigh another two weeks of term… and then holidays! With… holiday homework. Oh well! does a random dance of excitement anyway. Thanks so much to BAKAMAN and Kim for reviewing :P. And Dieu Anonyme? Patience is indeed a virtue : ). Thankyou for all of you for putting up with my long two week study-period, and as a result, I'm updating again early for your wonderful reviews! And I've written the Riley scene here specially for you, Dieu Anonyme. : ). Yes, he is a very loyal and honest and clean-cut guy… but he's not for Buffy, and what he did to her was horrible as well. But I'm not here for gratuitous Riley bashing (unfortunately. Maybe I'll write another fic for that if I'm feeling down. : ) ) I'm here for Spuffy! Enjoy, everyone, and please R&R!)
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The voice made me wake. The sun shone so brightly I had to blink It didn't hurt. Things never hurt around here. Except for when she comes. So bright like fire. Knives that flash everywhere. So fast that I can't follow them.
It's disorienting. I sit down, and then he comes again. Always with a smile on his face. I laugh behind my tears.
"Hey."
He doesn't talk this time. I don't know why. I go to him. Look at him concernedly. "Hey? What's wrong?"
He still doesn't talk.
"What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong!"
I can hear my voice echoing off non-existent corridors, growing more hysterical with each reverberation. He's not talking. He never not talks! What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong? It's an endless litany in my mind. I find myself chanting it.
"What's wrong! What's wrong!"
He still doesn't respond. It scares me, and when I get scared, bad things happen.
The grass underneath my feet was soft before. Comforting, with gentle dew drops glimmering in the sun. I laugh at myself. Gentle? Haven't heard my voice form those words for a long time. But then I don't laugh anymore, because they suddenly prick me, and I'm bleeding as they turn into knives.
I try to reach him. I don't know what I'd do. Protect him, maybe? He never needed protection before. But it's my first instinct.
They hurt. They really hurt. Blood drops from the steel and I know it's mine. And then I'm screaming, because he's gone, and he spent all the time looking at me as if he was trying to say something, but he just couldn't. And I already ache, knowing that those words were vital. What's wrong! What's wrong?
I hear my voice, and it's a wail now as the sun grows dark and the knives begin to dance around me. Blood seems to be everywhere, and I know with a horrible certainty it's not all mine. I know whose it is, too. And then suddenly there's more. A crimson river of it mixed with tears, and I scream.
"What's wrooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnngggggggg!"
My voice draws out each letter with such fervent urgency I start to cry. And when I start, I don't stop. The tears pour out of me like an ocean. How long ago was the last time I cried? How long ago was the last time I really felt unafraid? Unashamed?
I scream it out again, because I'm on my knees, now. The knives have vanished, and the sun's shining bright again on soft grass. But I know they can come back at any time now. Along with her. And him…
He's there. And he's looking straight at me.
"What's wrong?" I ask softly. I don't recognize my voice. It's hoarse from crying and scratchy. I need to blow my nose. My eyes sting like anything. I feel like crap.
He doesn't reply again. But I know he will!
"What's wrong?" I repeat. Louder. More insistent.
The third time I say it, he finally replies.
"Why, you, of course."
And then I scream like I've never screamed before as the waves of guilt and terror I've dammed up crash down on me unrelentingly. They suck away my breath and I'm drowning…
And then there was light.
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"Pythagoras?" Cassandra asked.
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Come on! Does it really get any simpler? A squared + B squared C squared! Get over it already!"
"But you did it wrong!" Daniel cried melodramatically. "In this question, it's C squared – B squared A squared! The horror! The tragedy! We'll have to spend another five weeks studying it!"
Even Cassandra, who was obviously stressed out, had to laugh at that.
"I wonder who's going to win the Drama Queen award of the month," Dawn teased.
"Spike," Daniel nodded sagely.
At that, they stopped laughing. "He has been acting weirdly lately, hasn't he?"
"Ever since… Harmony," Dawn swallowed.
Cassandra took a breather from hyperventilating about their upcoming maths test to pat her on the back. Daniel was oblivious. He was off following a speculation that was beginning to unfold.
"From what you lot have told me, he's been acting weirdly since the spell. I wonder if it's affecting him?"
Dawn and Cassandra looked at each other, the understanding shared by female teenagers shining through.
"He has no clue, does he?" Dawn mouthed silently.
Cassandra shook her head, eyes glinting mischievously. "No, he really doesn't," she mouthed back.
"I don't think even he has a clue," Dawn mused. "I bet you he doesn't even notice half the time."
"Yeah."
They sat with mirrored smiles on their faces until Daniel finally stopped rambling and saw their eyes on him.
"What?" he asked.
They looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
Daniel snorted, and then sighed and shoved the maths book back into his bag. "Will the bell just ring already?" he queried, agitated. "I'd rather get this maths test over and done with without having to keep on waiting."
"Me too," Cassandra agreed. "It stresses me out."
"Everything stresses you out," Dawn joked. "Come on, you two! Just chill. Are all people from wherever you two come from so stressed?"
"Not really," Cassandra mused. "It's not that different here. Just without the Hellmouths and the demons and the…"
"Random disappearances?" Daniel supplied.
"Yeah, that too," Cassandra agreed.
"I wonder what it'd be like," Dawn murmured. "I mean, whole life living with Slayer, here! Well, most of my life. Well, only after Buffy was Called, but you know what I mean."
Cassandra and Daniel shared a look over Dawn's head, the same thought going through their minds.
How are we going to tell them that every second of Dawn's childhood was a lie?
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I couldn't believe the raw power that was surging through me now. The complete and utter strength that seeped through my body. My heart beat a staccato rhythm, but this feeling of invincibility… it was beyond anything I had dreamed of. So this is what Buffy feels like when she patrols, something sung in my mind. This is what it is like to be a Slayer. To feel this power coursing through you, to know that your physically attuned body could overcome anything. It was like a high delivered directly from a needle, I mused. Not that I'd taken drugs before… Iowan born and bred. Clean. Unlike that filthy demon…
Why she kept him alive, I had absolutely no idea. I'd never really seen him fight. Not properly. But now, with this… strength, I could surely take his place! Every single time she went to that fiend for help or backup, I longed to shove a piece of wood into his dead heart. And now, I was about to take advantage of my power. To tidy up a few things. Buffy had been affected by the spell, that was all. Everyone had. I was the only one with a clear mind around here. Why else would that demon help them? To ultimately betray her, of course. And I couldn't let that happen to her. I had to protect her from that. And the best thing was that she'd never know. There'd just be a pile of dust left on the floor. Maybe after she'd calm down, I'd tell her. And then she would thank me.
I stormed into the crypt, stake ready in my hand, only to feel…
I roared and struggled, but the net didn't give way. I was trapped… what the…? How could he, it have…!
8 8 8
I looked down at the snarling, half-spitting Initiative scum. And a hatred I couldn't believe filled me. Bloody hell… if it hadn't been for the piece of silicone the weakling in front of me had helped shove into my brain, I would've killed him. Right there, right then. As it was, I watched him futilely struggle around for a little while.
"You… filthy… demon!" he spat. "How did you know!"
My voice was hard. Incredibly cold. "What? That you were going to come and try to off me? Haven't you heard of vampiric hearing, you stupid sod?" There, I kept my promise to Nibblet, Platelet, and Junior.
"Try to kill you?" Whitebread snarled. "Damn well wouldn't have tried. I'd have succeeded."
"Is that so?" I prowled around him lazily relaxed. And then my ears finally picked up on his heartbeat. It wasn't just the fear that was starting to seep through the bravado. It was… irregular.
"What are you going to do?" He struggled to a kneeling position, and then realizing what it must have looked like, almost leapt upwards, still hopelessly entangled. Watching him carefully, I strolled casually over to where the rope that would release him dangled.
"What's wrong with you?" I demanded abruptly. "Your little ticker's going haywire. And even I know you can't be that afraid. Riiight?" I smirked.
"What would you know?" he demanded.
I concentrated on his heartbeat, and the sound of his blood pounding through his veins. Then I whiffed the air. There it was! A distinct, faint, scent of…
I laughed. Hysterically. This was beyond ironic, and the bitter side of me did a bloody dance of joy. "Well now… looks like the fancy lil' drugs the Initiative pumped you up with have done their job, haven't they? Too bad they didn't look at the side effects before turning you into right little guinea pigs, eh?"
He only glared at me, murderously. "What? You too coward to face me? Going to keep me tangled up in this net just so you can taunt me?"
He thought I was a coward? I would have laughed again. This boy had no idea who he was dealing with.
"Well, actually, I was planning on bringing the Slayer here to see you in such a mess," I drawled. "But I think I'll have more fun letting your sorry ass go so you can go home with your tail between your legs."
"You can't hurt me," he said defiantly. "The chip's still working."
"Yeah," I agreed diffidently.
"Well, I can still hurt you," Capt'n Cardboard struggled again. "Or at least give Buffy a good enough reason to stake you when she comes. Who do you think she'll believe? In fact, why would she care if I came here to stake you?"
I pulled the rope, and watched with growing glee as he tried to fumble himself out. "Because, Mr. I'm-trying-to-play-hero, what would I gain out of tyin' you up and havin' a few laughs? And she already knows you're a little boy trying to be a man. You think you can protect her from me?" I bared my fangs at him, eyes flashing gold. "You don't know what you're up against. Even if I was trying to kill Buffy, which I'm not, and if you hadn't shoved this chip into my head, you would just be another body in my wake. You think those drugs they pumped into you make you strong enough for her?" I laughed derisively. "She's the bloody Slayer, mate."
"You're a demon," he finally got himself loose. I knew I'd hit him in the core, and it gave me a deep glow of satisfaction. He had so many weak spots below his G.I bloody Joe exterior. And it felt good giving them a good prod. I dodged the stake he threw at me, and it clattered against the wall uselessly.
"Now, don't try taking me on by your little self," I shifted to gameface, grinning. "Why don't you bring along the Slayer to hide behind? Oh, right, if she'd even agree to killing me in the first place."
He moved so quickly I wasn't expecting it. Ah, right, you soddin' fool, my brain told me. The drugs, remember? The knife had appeared in his hand, it slashed down my face, but I gathered my wits and dodged backwards. The scent of my own blood put me back in full fighting mode. I couldn't hurt him directly, sure. But Angelus, I inwardly half-shuddered half-growled at the name, had taught me many things.
He moved at me again, curving the knife in a tight arc. I sneered. He thought he could use it? I'd been up against bloody fledgelings who could use a knife better than him. For all of his soldier training, and even his enhanced status, he was no match for me. I dodged again, and his fist slammed into the crypt wall. But instead of Whitebread roaring with pain like I'd expected him to, he merely shrugged it off.
Right. The drugs.
I often thought that the reason I fought the Slayer so many times because every single fight we had, either of us knew when to beat a strategic retreat. I was not going to spar with the idiot for the entire afternoon. The sun outside blocked me going out the more conventional way. But the sewer entrance…
I flipped the trapdoor open and leapt down, risking a few broken bones. Luckily, I landed softly, and then sprinted through the sewers, leaving Capt'n Cardboard shouting behind me.
"You're nothing but a demon, Spike! Why don't you face up to me like a real man?"
Oh I will, boy, I thought. Mark my words. I will.
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She runs after me. Knife in hand. Chases me through the graveyard, vaulting over the tombstones of the cemetery. I remember this one. This was the graveyard we first visited on our nightly patrols. Back when we were still wary, but were beginning to realize that the other wasn't a threat/ Slowly, during the course of that night, we began to trust each other. Mirror each other's moves. Communicate without thought. It was the first time I'd ever felt that spark of recognition well up amongst the fierce blaze of primal joy I always felt when slaying. That spark that just named her as kindred. A sister. Closer than a sister, in a way. Her death triggered Kendra's, and Kendra's death triggered my power, so in a sense, I had a lot to thank her for. I can still remember how easily I forgot that. How quickly I became confused under their righteousness and judgemental attitudes. All black and white? No way. It was simple, to me. I'd lived by my three rules for so long anyway. I had to.
Want… Take… Have…
But now, everything is different. I have a sudden feeling of déjà vu sweep over me, only I'm not entirely sure why. She's never held that knife in front of her. It's intricate. A bejewelled dagger of crystal. The moonlight reflects off the hilt as she chases me. The perfect circle of predator and prey.
And then we hear other footsteps. We break off our chase, as the newcomer saunters towards us.
He smiles. "Hello, Faith."
And the knife he holds in his hand flashes me back to memories I would rather have forgotten. From, 'this is a thing of beauty, boss,' to Buffy shoving it in my gut. The way it slid into me, accompanied by the cold bite of metal and my insides screaming with pain. A hollow victory. I wonder if she ever knew I felt that kiss… in my fevered dreams wracked with pain and bloodshed. But it wasn't my blood. It was his. The deputy's. And then it was my mother's blood as she lay before me, haemorrhaging from the heroin overdose. And then my Watcher's, as Kakistos shattered her. And then the demons'. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood…
We're at a standstill. In a triangle. Buffy at the top, me and… him, and the bottom. Both of them looking at me.
"I trusted you, Faith. You betrayed us. You nearly got us all killed!"
"Come now, girl. Don't let her talk to you that way! You always were a sassy thing."
"Faith, don't listen to him!"
"Faith, Faith, are you going to let her stand there and talk like that about you? About me?"
And then, for the first time, I speak.
"He loves me," I tell her. I watch her eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow. "He loves me like a daughter. Can't you understand that?"
She glares back at me, roughly. "Yeah? Well my dad left us after fifteen years of him telling me he loved me. So no. I guess you could say I can't understand that."
"Come now," he says, that same smile pasted across his face. "Not all fathers are bad just because your little daddy decided that he was better off without the likes of you!"
She stiffens, and then turns the full icy blaze of her stare on him. "You might love her," she enunciates, slowly and carefully. "But you killed half of the people at Graduation. God knows how many years they spent living in the Hellmouth on a city that you built, just so you could entertain delusions of being a big snake! Weigh that up, oh snakey one."
"Did no-one teach you manners?" he retorts. "In my days, no-one talked to their elders like…"
I cut him off. To them, it's not about me anymore. It's about the hatred between them. Of two predators, facing each other off before they attack. Fighting over the last morsel of meat. Well, neither of them are going to get it. They've forgotten that I'm a predator too.
"Shut up. Both of you."
They turn to look at me in sheer disbelief. "Come now, Faith. Don't use that language…"
She, however, doesn't say anything. I look into her eyes, and I wonder at the lost opportunities. I see them now. If I had trusted them. If I hadn't gone into such a downwards spiral and signed my soul over for some love. If I hadn't been so blind, I would have seen that they loved me all along. How ironic.
"You two are not fighting over me like a bone," I spit. "I'm a person. A goddamn, person! You see, I've learnt a lot from you two in the last year. Learnt a lot about you as well. And you," I point at her, "Are an arrogant, holier-than-thou, self-righteous bitch."
She takes the words in her stride. "Oh yeah? Well you're just a crazy psychopathic bitch who went to the dark side. Where does that leave the both of us?"
I grin at her fire, because I feel it too, and then turn to him. "And you? You were funny. Kind. Gentle. You took care of me. Never hit me. Never hurt me. You loved me."
"As a daughter, Faith," he smiles. "I see that you've finally found out. You've finally made your decision."
8 8 8
Faith woke up.
8 8 8
Buffy ran desperately through the graveyard, her heart pounding in fear.
"Hyperadrenal overload and a bunch of stuff that sounds even worse than that, and all it means is he's way stronger than he oughta be and feeling no pain. His heart can't take it. We've been at him for weeks about it."
There's a specialist waiting at Sunnydale General, fourth floor neurology. Get Riley there. If you don't-
"Engleman said Walsh were feeding you drugs."
"Something's crawling inside me."
"I don't want to think about the damage our guys could do under the stress of withdrawal."
"I'll get him there."
The words kept ringing through her head. Fast. They hurt. They whirled and played scrabble with her neurons as she ran towards the grey crypt. Knowing instinctively he would help. Knowing instinctively that as a vampire, he could follow Riley's scent. That thought didn't even freak her out anymore. Hell, nothing could freak her out even more at the moment. Her nerves were still frazzled from the chance run in with a bruised and beaten Graham, his voice filled with such an urgency it scared her. She reached the crypt door, knocked twice, waited impatiently, and then was about to rip the door off its hinges when it was opened.
"Slayer," Spike greeted her. "What's got you in a huff?"
Just because he was there, and just because she was worried, scared, and angry, and just because he was looking so full of himself, she slammed him against a pillar. It relaxed her immediately.
"Oi!" he cried indignantly. "I haven't done anything…"
"Riley," she resisted the impulse to bloody his nose and step back. "Riley. He's got some heart problem because he's reacting to the drugs the Initiative pumped into him to make him superman. I need to find him and take him to the Initiative doctor. And I need you to help me."
He lazily stretched, rubbing his back where she'd shoved him against the pillar. "And what's in it for me?"
She wanted to scream in frustration, but she was ready. Still, she felt her heart sinking a little bit as she dug in her pocket. So it was back to this.
"Three hundred after you help me," she said curtly. "Now let's go!"
He moved, but he didn't take the money. Instead, he closed her hand over it and then turned around to shrug into his duster. She gaped at him.
"What?" he demanded.
"You're not taking the money?" she queried uncertainly.
"No. Because it would be kicking you when you were down," the words came out in a jumbled mass. "I mean, I c'n see you're worried about the soddin' soldier boy, okay? It's just that…" he ran his fingers through his hair, and then sighed, frustrated. "Look, forget it. Let's just go so that I can catch a whiff of his not-so-manly cologne and deliver him safe and sound to the doctor who could take my chip out, okay?"
Her eyes widened, and she reached for her stake, but he had already whirled past her, that strange moment of tumbled words and nervousness gone like the wind. "C'mon, Slayer," he called impatiently, looking back at her. "Let's look for Whitebread."
It was only then that she realized half of his face was caked with blood.
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