A/N: *Please do not distribute or post this story anywhere without my permission.* Thanks to cookiesarefood for her betaing skills.
Omega Rising
The door swings open and Buffy steps through. I take one more glance at the setting sun. I had one of the worst moments of my life today. But somehow, I feel better than I have in months.
"Faith," Gunn pokes his head out the door, "You coming in or what?"
"Yeah," I step inside and close the door behind me.
Chapter 9: Faith's Choice
Mr. Meyer, or whoever actually owned Meyer's Sports and Tackle, must have had a lot of free time on his hands. I find a stash of Penthouses in the back of the desk, tossed under some files. They're from last year, but I don't care. I've got hours to kill keeping watch in the storeroom. Angel and Spike are out tonight, looking for supplies, and I'm the lucky one who drew guard duty. These will be a nice distraction.
Propping my boots up on the desk, I start a casual flip through the first magazine. Dark hair, too tall, boobs too big, oh, a petite blonde. That'll do. I guess you could say I've got a type.
A quiet cough causes me to drop my feet to the floor, flinging the porn across the desk casually. "Hi," Tara says shyly. "I thought you could use some company."
Nodding to the other chair, I invite her to sit down. "Can't sleep?" It's actually only around 10pm, but there's not a lot to do in here after sundown. Mostly everyone's bedded down.
She shakes her head, taking the seat and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Tara doesn't say much, and that's just fine with me. I appreciate a quiet person—the kind that lets you do your own thinking without running their mouth all the time. She's peaceful. Exactly the type you want around you when you're a new resident in Zombie America. Not to mention that over the last three days, she's practically the only one who's talked to me.
The cops seem a little jittery. Maybe they can sense I've done time; I don't know. I'm in no rush to find out though. If my time in Sunnydale taught me anything, it's that the SDPD isn't exactly the cream of the police academy crop. I don't need these morons starting any crap with me. The others are nice enough—but quiet. I guess everybody's keeping their heads down right now.
Tara offers me some dried banana chips, and I gratefully accept them. We munch quietly on the snack. The silence doesn't bother me, but there's something I wanna say to her.
"I'm real sorry about Willow," I tell her.
Tara swallows hard and manages a small smile. "Thank you."
"I know I only saw you guys together that one time," I cringe a little bit, thinking of the body swap, "but I could tell she was happy."
Tara starts to cry, and I feel really bad. I shouldn't have brought this up. "I'm sorry," I say.
"No," Tara shakes her head. "Please don't be sorry. Th-that was sweet of you to say." She wipes her face with her palms. "She made me really happy too."
A quick series of knocks sound on the back door before I can respond. Tara and I exchange surprised looks. The vamps have only been gone a few hours. I wasn't expecting them back yet. Pushing the furniture away from the door, I flip the lock free and peer outside. A grinning Spike stands in front. "We hit the jackpot tonight!"
"What'd you get?" I cock a skeptical eyebrow.
"Come out and take a look," Angel calls quietly from behind him. "It's clear right now."
Motioning Tara out first, I step into the cool night air. Angel and Spike stand in front of a squat yellow bus, beaming proudly.
"You found a bus."
Angel nods, "And that's not all." He leads me to the back of the bus. The space behind the seats is packed full of bottled water. "There's more inside," he tells me. "Plus batteries, flashlights, first aid supplies, food, the works."
"Someone was prepared," I whistle.
"Their loss is our gain," Spike's smiling face appears above the packages of bottled water.
"Weapons?"
Spike nods, lifting his hand to display a shotgun. "Couple guns, some heavy tools we can use in a pinch."
"We've got most of these supplies already," Tara points out. "But it's always good to have more."
"It's even better to have transportation," Angel declares. My face must reflect my surprise because he adds, "We can't stay in Sunnydale forever."
I guess we can't, but I haven't given much thought to what our next move should be. The Dale's overrun with Omega, but isn't everywhere? Every place that had people living in it anyway. And the Mojave Desert doesn't sound too hospitable.
"Where is everybody?" I can hear hesitant footsteps coming through the storeroom. "Faith?"
"Out here, B," I call, and Buffy appears in the doorway, her hair and clothes rumpled from sleep.
"Is somebody hurt?" She asks, concerned.
"No," Angel responds quickly, "everyone's fine."
"Everything's more than fine." Spike clomps down the bus steps, joining our group. "Found us a ride."
Buffy's arms fold across her torso. I can see this isn't sitting well with her. "Where to?"
Angel's brow creases in confusion. "LA first. We need to pick up our people, and then we can figure out where to head."
"We can't just leave," Buffy argues, visibly upset.
Tara swoops in, placing a comforting arm around B's rigid shoulders. "Buffy, I'm sure Angel didn't mean right away."
"Actually," Angel cuts in, "I did." He looks at Buffy in concern. "Buffy, we can't stay here."
Before she can respond, a thin moan echoes down the alley.
"Let's move this inside," I suggest uneasily.
Tara and Buffy lead the way. Inside, Angel and Spike carefully reinforce the door.
Buffy wastes no time in reiterating her point. "I'm not leaving."
"Why not?" Spike demands. "We're living on borrowed time here. We all know that."
"We haven't found my mom," Buffy answers. Her voice is thick and low. "She could still be alive. I can't leave without her."
We all exchange pained glances. No one wants to be the one to state the obvious. Finally Angel steels himself. "Buffy," he says in his best gentle tone, "the odds of finding her alive now—"
She holds up her hands, cutting him off abruptly. "No," she insists. "She's smart. She'd know to hide and keep quiet."
"We haven't found her yet," Spike points out, not unkindly.
"We haven't been looking!" Buffy raises her voice before she pulls herself together. "I haven't been able to look for her like I've wanted to because I've been busy keeping our supplies up." Her eyes flick to me. "I was hoping with the extra help, I could really search."
"Is everything okay back here?" Giles stands in the doorway, drawn by the sound of our voices.
"We're having a disagreement," Angel sounds pissed. "We found a bus tonight. Fully stocked with supplies and ready to move."
"But I told him we're not going," Buffy adds firmly. "We're not done searching for survivors."
Running his hand over his tired face, Giles takes a seat.
"You agree with me, don't you, Giles?" Buffy's voice is pleading. She sounds all of seventeen years old. "She's still alive. I know she is."
For a moment, he doesn't respond. Then her watcher sighs heavily, raising his eyes to meet hers. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I think Angel is right."
Buffy's eyes are watery. Her mouth opens, but all that comes out is a startled, "Oh."
"This is a discussion we need to have with the whole group," Giles points out. "We don't need to decide tonight. Let's all sleep on it and pick it up in the morning."
Angel and Spike exchange peeved glances but nod in agreement.
"Fine," Buffy bites out, clearly upset that Giles doesn't want to stay. She walks out of the storeroom without wishing anyone goodnight. Tara looks torn but goes after her.
Giles sighs heavily.
"You made the right call," Angel tells him.
"That must be why it feels so good," Giles mutters, climbing to his feet.
"We're going back out," Spike says, once the watcher leaves. "Need to stock up on blood if we're getting out of dodge."
I help clear the doorway and then carefully box myself back in once they're gone. I pluck the old Penthouse back up from the desk and settle in for a while. Nobody's coming to relieve me for a couple hours, and this showdown tomorrow ain't gonna be pretty. Might as well get a little R and R while I can.
XXXXX
"I can't believe we're really arguing about this," Angel's voice is exasperated. The whole group of us is gathered around a particularly nice patio furniture set, trying to hash things out. The fact is, most of the people I give a damn about are already in this room, so I don't have much to say about whether we stay or go at this point. I'm snacking on trail mix, reclining on the loveseat next to Tara, just watching the debate. Buffy and Angel do most of the talking, the rest of us glance back and forth like enthralled viewers at a tennis match.
"Buffy's right," one of the cops—Barrigan, I think—pipes up. He turns to his partner. "We made a commitment to the town. We gotta make sure we've found as many survivors as we can."
"Barr," Andrado protests, looking wrecked from all this arguing, "look around you! The town is dead. If we don't get out of here, there's not gonna be any survivors."
I zone out a bit as they start bickering. Without any conscious decision, my eyes find their way to Buffy. She leans her butt against the tabletop, arms folded in front of her chest, fingers knotted in the cuffs of her shirt. We're all wearing clothes from the store. I never thought camo was particularly flattering on anybody, but damn if Buffy isn't making it work. Beauty aside, she's clearly on edge. Her posture is defensive, and her mouth's drawn really tight.
She turns her face my way, and I drop my eyes, pretending to be interested in my trail mix.
"I think we have to put it to a vote," Giles suggests, getting everyone's attention. "This is getting us nowhere."
"Fine," Angel agrees, and most people start nodding their heads.
"All those in favor of leaving?" Giles asks, raising his own hand. He counts five. "And those who want to stay?" He counts five again, and all eyes turn toward our little settee.
"Tara," Giles says, "you haven't voted."
"I can't," Tara answers, her face a mask of sorrow. "I understand both points. I just don't know what to do, I'm sorry." Her eyes drop to her lap, hoping Giles will let her off the hook.
The watcher sighs heavily before looking at me. "What about you, Faith?"
I've been chewing enthusiastically up until this point, but I swallow quickly once all of them are staring at me. I'm the tiebreaker? This can't be right. It shouldn't be my decision. I can barely keep my own self together, let alone help chart the right course for all of us. "Uh," I sputter, unsure what to say. Angel is nodding at me, silently encouraging me to back him up.
"I was hoping for something a bit more definitive," Giles points out.
I start to say I don't care and they should duke it out amongst themselves. But I find myself looking at Buffy, and her eyes meet mine. I take in the desperate look on her face, the tense hunch in her shoulders. She waits for my response, not trying to influence me in any way. But she doesn't have to say anything. Just the look in her eyes is enough. "We stay," I respond confidently, like this has been my belief all along. "Let's give it a few more days; search the rest of the town." I meet Angel's displeased scowl. "LA's not going anywhere."
"Our friends could be," he bites back.
I flinch, but Giles responds before I can. "We put it to a vote and this is how it fell." He looks around the group. "Two more days and then we'll go."
Buffy's nodding in agreement now, clearly relieved. "Two more days," she confirms. "Thank you." I think she's thanking everybody, but when I look over, she's got eyes only for me.
XXXXX
Angel finds me as I'm getting ready to go out with B. "What was that about?" He asks, skipping the pleasantries.
I finish lacing up my boots without comment. I get why he's upset. Angel's one of few people who ever really gave a crap about me. I know without a doubt I owe my life to him. After Sunnydale, I was on a downward spiral. I would have kept going until someone finally put me down, and I would have taken a lot of people down with me. Angel reached for me, plucked me up, and set me on the right path. There ain't a lot I wouldn't do for that guy. Unfortunately, no matter how you do the math, he comes out somewhere below Buffy Summers. Everybody does. It's not something I want to explain to him. It's just the way it is.
"You know this is stupid," he says.
I shrug. "Maybe she's right and her mother's alive."
He shakes his head sadly. "Joyce is dead. Buffy's not thinking straight on this."
"It's only two days," I say, as I stand up to put on my backpack.
Angel looks at me closely. "I know you know I'm right. Why are you backing her up?"
I shrug my shoulders, silently willing him to end this line of questioning. When I look back at him, I can tell the pieces are starting to fall into place in his mind.
"Oh," he says finally.
"It's just two days," I say again, unsure what else to say. I never intended for anybody to know how I feel about Buffy, least of all Angel, but I'm not going to try to deny it. I respect him too much to lie to him.
"Yeah," Angel responds tonelessly.
I look at him, feeling guilty and sick. I know I had these feelings before I ever gave a crap about Angel, but it doesn't make me feel any better.
From the back room, B calls my name. She's ready to get this show on the road.
"Go," Angel tells me quietly. "She's waiting for you."
I step over to him. "Are we okay?"
Without hesitation, he nods. "Be careful out there," he advises, squeezing my shoulder for a second.
I have to blink to keep a few tears from leaking from my eyes. "Hey," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about me. I only gotta fight for my life with hordes of the undead. You're gonna be stuck with Spike all day."
The tension breaks, and Angel smiles. "Don't remind me."
XXXXX
It seems SoCal's having a heat wave. I love the heat, always have, but in this instance, I could do without. I'm moving up Revello Drive, my hair plastered to my neck from sweat, and the smell is ungodly. Between the actual dead bodies and the undead walking ones, it's completely overwhelming. Buffy looks a little green, so I know it's not just me. In spite of the stink, we're moving fast through the streets, mostly trying to dodge the dead rather than fight them. Occasionally, we can't avoid them, and we stop to put a couple down.
As we approach B's front lawn, I spot an elderly woman on the walk. She's stooped by arthritis, but that doesn't stop her from flashing blood-speckled dentures at us. "Ah," Buffy clucks sadly. "Mrs. Winston. She lived up the street."
"You want me to do it?"
"No," she responds, "I can do it." Stepping forward, she snares one of the old lady's grappling, gnarled hands. "I'm sorry," Buffy mutters, as she brings her machete up. It slides like butter into the folds of Mrs. Winston's neck, up through her chin and into her skull. Her last moan falters, and Buffy holds her frail hand as her corpse collapses to the ground. Pulling her machete free gently, Buffy leans forward to close the woman's eyes.
She wipes the blood from her blade on the woman's clothing and stands up. Taking a deep breath, Buffy marches up the walkway and onto her front porch. I follow, watching for the dead all the while. Buffy places her hand on the knob and pauses, as if reluctant to turn it.
"It's gonna be okay," I offer, immediately flushing when I realize how lame that sounds. Her mom could be a zombie in there! In fact, looking around Sunnydale, the chances of anything being okay seem pretty slim.
"Yeah," Buffy replies automatically. She turns the knob.
The door swings open silently, revealing an empty foyer. "After you," I gesture.
Following B inside, I close the door behind us. We don't need any company. Could have enough in this house as it is. Moving as quietly as possible, we do a thorough sweep of each floor. The place is totally empty and looks pretty undisturbed. There's nothing to indicate Joyce ever made it back here.
Buffy sits down heavily on the couch, her machete dropping from her slack hand. Covering her face, she tries to hold back tears. I know without a doubt I am the last person she wants with her while she falls apart, but I'm the only one here. I sit beside her and place my hand cautiously on her shoulder.
"I'm fine," she insists, waving me off.
"B," I tell her, "it's okay to not be fine. It's okay if you need a few minutes. Nobody here but us."
She half sobs, half snorts.
"What?"
Through her fingers, Buffy says, "I just never thought that would be a comforting statement."
Ouch. My hand drops from her shoulder and I get to my feet.
"Faith," she emerges from her fingers. "I'm sorry; that came out wrong."
"Nah," I shrug her off. It came out exactly right. It hurts like hell, but I'm not gonna let her see that. "It's fine." I don't even know why it hurts. Of course she feels like that. I can't think of anyone in the world she's got more reason to hate than me. I'm just kidding myself thinking things can ever be different.
"No," Buffy stands too, trying to meet my eyes. "It's not." I won't look at her. "I'm trying… I really am…"
I turn to face the window, pretending to watch for zombies. I'm the picture of disinterest even as I'm hanging on to every word.
"Can we just forget I said that?" She asks, moving further into my space.
"Sure," I agree, even though she's got every right to say what she said.
"Look," she tries again, stepping forward and putting her palm on my forearm. "Faith—"
My hand covers hers and I meet her gaze. "I said it's fine."
"Okay," Buffy mutters. We look at one another for so long I start to get uncomfortable. Finally, she squeezes my arm and lets go. "I need to get a few things from upstairs."
I keep watch at the front window as the sun dips lower in the horizon. I hear Buffy moving upstairs, first in her room and then her mother's. She falls quiet after a few minutes, and then I pick up the slight sounds of her crying. I'm torn, wanting to comfort her, but knowing she doesn't want that. From me at least.
When she comes down the stairs, her pack's a little heavier, and her eyes are red.
"Okay?" I ask gently.
She glances away. "Yeah."
I cock my head toward the window. "Sun's almost down. We should head back."
Buffy nods, her gaze moving over the living room almost searchingly.
"We'll look again tomorrow," I reassure her. "We're not giving up."
"I know," she agrees, but her tone doesn't match her words.
XXXXX
It's fully dark by the time we get back to Maple Court. More of the dead seem to be out tonight than usual, and we've had to fight more than flee. I'm pretty exhausted by this point, and B looks about as fresh as I feel. We head for the back entrance to the sports store, and fuck, the alley's got more zombies than we need. At this point, one would be more than I need. Eight is definitely not making me happy.
Buffy takes point, rushing in first and cutting down anything standing between her and the door. I'm following right behind her when something grabs me around the waist. My instinct is to wheel and plunge my ax into its head, but Spike drops to the ground, palms raised in submission. "It's me," he manages to pant in spite of the fact that his throat is partially torn out.
"Jesus," I reach down, plucking him up from the ground.
"Couldn't... get away," he barely warbles. Blood coats his shirtfront, and when he frantically clutches at me, I can see oozing wounds through the tears in his sleeve.
"Alright," I say, trying to keep him upright. "It's alright." Spike's eyes roll in his head and he wobbles in my grip. "Yo, B," I call to Buffy, needing some help with the barely mobile vamp in my arms. She's twenty yards away, and coming closer, a concerned look on her face. "See," I glance at Spike, "we're gonna get you inside and patched up." I glance back in time to see the torn, bruised arms of a zombie encircle Buffy's shoulders. Its gaping mouth is headed right for her neck. She's pulling away, machete in hand, but I can tell she's not going to make it.
Terror, cold and thick, rises in my throat. It's like nothing I've ever felt before—not even when I've been fighting for my own life. My limbs move on instinct. Spike crumples to the ground when I release him without a second thought. My ax is flying across the alley with expert precision before I even register my own movement. It embeds itself in the zombie's forehead and he stumbles back, bloated fingers releasing Buffy as he goes.
Buffy blinks at me for a moment, before she manages to say a stunned, "Thanks."
"No problem," I say. My voice cracks, and I pretend to have something in my eye so I can rub away the wetness. To give my shaking hands something to do, I check on Spike.
"What happened?" Buffy demands as she arrives next to us.
"He was surrounded," I offer, dragging Spike into a sitting position. There's two of the dead left, and they're going to make their way to us sooner rather than later. We gotta get inside.
B helps me get him to his feet, and we drag his barely conscious form to the door. I tap out our signal. Whoever's on the other side starts to unlock the door.
"Come on," Buffy mutters, watching the dead drawing closer.
The door is yanked open, and Xander gapes at us from the other side. We shove inside, and I kick the door closed behind me.
"He needs blood," Buffy barks, "now!"
Xander dashes from the room without a word, and we maneuver Spike into a chair. His head lolls backward; he's out.
Xander rushes in, Simone at his heels. I remember now; she's a nurse. Probably doesn't have much experience keeping vamps alive, but any medical experience is better than none. I back up, letting the others check the unconscious vampire. Simone whips out scissors and snips the corner from a blood bag. Handing it to Buffy, she starts cutting off Spike's shirt to get a look at his wounds. Buffy bandages Spike's neck as best she can and then tilts his head back carefully, dribbling blood into his mouth.
Xander steps back, glancing at me as he does so. "You didn't see Angel?" He tries to ask quietly, but Buffy flinches anyway.
"Angel was with him?" I ask, dread forming in my stomach.
Xander nods. Over Spike's head, Buffy's eyes meet mine. I see my own horror mirrored in her eyes. Where is Angel?
XXXXX
Questions? Comments? Braaaaaains? :D