Hey, guys, sorry 'bout the wait. I know, I'm evil J Anyway, shout-outs to Bunnykat, Awesome Possum, ecstacy of grief, leauh, PunkassBitch and everybody who reviewed! You guys ROCK!
Anyway, without further ado, I present to you, …………..
Bring Me to Life
Part 8
Feeling Out, Feeling In
"43 bottles of beer on the wall, 43 bottles of beer...", Whistler was 'singing' at the top of his lungs. If one could call his grating, scratchy, eardrum-popping rendition of the open-road classic singing, that is.
It had been almost 15 hours on the road that Lindsey and Whistler had traveled on. Already, thanks to some quick driving, the pair had driven through several state-lines. Lindsey had spent a good deal of money on the re-fills for gas along the way, regretting slightly giving the waitress at the bar so much of his pocket money.
"If one's not there, I don't care, 42 bottles of beer on the wall..."
And regretting even more that he hadn't brought a pair of earplugs or a mouth gag with him…
"Oooooh….41 bottles of beer on the wall, 41 bottles of—"
"Would you SHUT THE HELL UP! That's the SIXTH time you sung that friggin' song since we drove past Montana! Gddamn, it's hard enough keeping awake on only two hours sleep per switch, I can do without the damage to my eardrums!" Lindsey snapped, irritably.
"What else is there to do on road trips?" Whistler shrugged. "Besides, if my singing is as bad as your driving, it'll be enough to keep you awake until we get there."
"Which is where, again, by the way?", Lindsey asked, tersely. "Look, I just took off from my life AND my job to follow you on this little venture of yours, ransacked my own apartment to grab a bag of very dangerous, highly contraband Wolfram & Hart materials even I forgot about, driven halfway across the western United States territories, and I STILL have no idea where the hell it is that we're going, when we should have made a beeline right for L.A!"
"Just trust me, okay, slick?" Whistler simply replied. "Besides, we're almost there...Make a left, right now."
Lindsey looked up at the green interstate road sign just above the car as he turned left:
'Seattle, Washington. Next Left.'
Lindsey looked at Whistler in confusion. "Seattle?"
"Yup. Grunge Music, Space Needle, Starbucks...where else to find a gay ol' time, eh, pal?", Whistler grinned.
"Don't call me 'pal'. I'm not your pal, Whistler", Lindsey ground out.
The half-demon smirked. "Boy, with people skills like that, no wonder the big W & H didn't put you in their P.R. division."
Lindsey said nothing as he continued to look on into the darkness of night, Seattle's skyline dazzling in the nearby distance. Traveling with Whistler had been a...trying experience. Between the half-demon's atrocious singing, his habit of spilling coffee onto the passenger seat of Lindsey's pickup, and the demon's little insights and one-liners, it was a wonder Lindsey hadn't picked up his shotgun and blown him halfway across the interstate. Unfortunately, he knew that without Whistler's help, he had no way of getting to and helping Darla. And for that, he simply gritted his teeth, lowered his head and drove onwards into the city known as the Home of Grunge…and Starbucks.
He sighed as he found himself dwelling on thoughts of Darla. Lindsey had known many girls in his day. It was pretty easy, when one looked like he did. But out of all the girls, all the women he had known, in every sense...none of them were anything like Darla. Which, in a way was good. After all, going around with vampires was only asking to get eaten. But there was something about her that captivated him, from the moment he first laid eyes on her. The night that Wolfram & Hart resurrected her in that wooden crate. He remembered the wildness in her eyes, the look of confusion, of fear, something feral and dangerous, and at the same time, innocent. Terrified. Of course, he later learned that she was much more dangerous than he thought. But he still felt her seductive pull on him, anchoring him like a harbored ship. He remembered the late Holland Manners's words of advise in regards to his fixation with the beautiful vampire: "Remember, Lindsey. Healthy Attachments, hmm?" But then again, if he wanted healthy attachments, he never would've joined Wolfram & Hart in the first place, when he understood what it was they stood for and represented well before he signed his contract in his own blood.
He sighed lightly to himself as his thoughts drifted back to Darla. He remembered their very first kiss. The hesitance at first, then a slow, tender buildup, the softness of velvety lips, the subtle fragrance of jasmine, Darla's fragrance of choice. When he closed his eyes, if he waited long enough, he could still remember her taste, that sweetness, like honey clovered sugar...It was simply and undoubtedly the best kiss he had ever had in his life...
"Thinking about her again, aren't ya?", Whistler smirked knowingly .
"None of your business", Lindsey testily replied.
"I can tell, you know", Whistler continued. "Whenever you start thinkin' 'bout her, you get that distant, 'Days of Our Lives'-ish stare, like when Bo was staring into Hope's eyes after he rescued her from that--"
"Are you always this annoying, or did you make a special exception just for me?", Lindsey snapped.
"Little bit of both", Whistler smirked. "Look, I'm just sayin', is all...she's inside you, boy-o. In your head, in your heart...it's not too often a chick's got that kind of love mo-jo on a guy, but then again, Darla did always have a knack for drivin' guys koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs." He let out a wolf-whistle. "Now THAT was one dame built like a brick house--"
"I have a shotgun here, you know", Lindsey growled as he shot the half-demon a death glare. "Unless you fancy having whatever qualifies for you as brain matter dribbling out of your ears, you'll stop talking about Darla."
"Ooh, and now he's defensive", Whistler said bemusedly. "But I just got to understand something...you know, the African Killer bee, in mating season, will pursue a mate up to 100 miles from its course. That's a long way from the hive. I know your motivation here. Darla. There's a queen bee if I ever saw one. But what's your drive for the chase? Is it really love? Is it the vision of the brave knight in shiny...pickup truck, that spurs you on to the princess? Is it the thrill of the hunt? Simple lust? A guilty conscience after what you did to her, or--"
"What I DID to her? What the hell are you yammering about," Lindsey said as he turned to him with an angry glare.
"Eyes on the road," Whistler shouted. Lindsey quickly returned his focus to the car, and with a quick, hard steer, he pulled his truck out of the path of an oncoming SUV, thus averting disaster.
"You see what you made me do," Lindsey snapped, pounding angrily on the steering wheel.
"Hey, I'm not the one who can't juggle a conversation and drive a car at the same time, Slick", Whistler retorted.
"Conversation? You've been flappin' your gums 'bout every 3 seconds about my personal life, and you call that conversation," Lindsey scowled. "And what the hell was that about guilt? What the hell do you know 'bout my guilt?"
"He-llo? Work for the Powers that Be, here, remember? Besides, I can sense it coming off you in waves, little demon aspect of myself I sometimes use ," Whistler rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about, McDonald, don't play me like you don't."
"Care to elaborate or is this some sort of new torture you've devised to keep me awake behind the wheel?" Lindsey sighed frustrated.
"Oh, 'd be more than happy to, cowboy", Whistler smirked. "You once, still do, probably always will be in love with Darla, correct? Not like I can blame you, I mean, if she was any hotter, they'd have to use a fire extinguisher on every room she steps into…but I digress. But whoa, flash-forward…now, suddenly your esteemed now-ex employers dish you the files on her records…syphilitic heart condition, terminal. She's got, what, a month left ,two if she eats right? Poor thing, and she just started on her second chance at life, too. Sad thing, really…"
"Your point?", Lindsey tersely asked.
"Let me finish", Whistler said. "Now, you're in a panic. You use up all the connections the big W & H has, get about a billion opinions on the matter, which all come up the same: no luck, no dice. Nothing in the medical world can help our girl. But we both know there are other ways of getting around the stuff or mere mortals, don't we? Like say, oh…bringing in a psychotic blood member of her vampire family to turn her back into a vampire against her will?"
Lindsey's jaw clenched and his knuckles grew white as he kept his hands on the steering wheel, trying ever-so-hard not to submit to the urge of throttling him with his bare hands. "You don't know anything about that."
"I know you were the one who brought her in with your W & H flunkies, burst into her hotel room, tasered Angel 'till he nearly passed out as your boys held 'im in place until the Sane-less Wonder could do the deed—"
"They told me to do it! You think it was MY idea, that I wanted to do it! I was following orders back then, OK!", Lindsey practically roared.
"Isn't that what Eichmann said during the Nuremberg trials," Whistler shook his head.
"Just shut up, ok," Lindsey gritted out. "If you only knew how much I've thought about that since then, the nights of sleep I lost just thinking about what I—"
"What you did," Whistler finished, looking down casually at his fingernails. "Betrayed her. That's what you did, Lindsey. Handed her over to Drusilla practically on a silver platter. You didn't sell just your soul that night…you sold hers."
The bitter memory flashed through his mind as he recalled the night Darla was turned again. He regretted that every day of his life, for having set Darla up and held in place as Drusilla sauntered in with her empty, crazed gaze as she drained Darla of her blood, and her human soul. He wanted so badly for her NOT to die, to be taken away from him, that he resorted to a last, desperate and evil resort. But he still remembered the look in Darla's eyes, the fear, the sheer horror, and, when they met Lindsey's eyes, a look of hurt. Of betrayal. Before the light completely dimmed in her eyes altogether, as death clouded them. Albeit temporarily. But the heartbreaking look on her face would be enough to haunt him the rest of his nights.
Now at last, he had an opportunity to make it up to her, something he once thought impossible. To make amends with her...and maybe, if things could be different this time, if she could see how different HE was this time...maybe he could finally earn that which he had longed for since his eyes met hers...her love...
"Okay, right turn...and we're here!", Whistler's voice snapped Lindsey out of his thoughts.
Lindsey parked the car at a screeching halt. He took a look around the surrounding area. It was a fairly seedy-looking area, few streetlights, few lights at ALL, except for the blue and green neon glow of a large sign in front of a large apartment-like building, one of many in a complex. And the people shuffling in and around the area looked like the types that you would normally cross to the opposite side of the street if they went your way.
"Hmm, startin' to miss home already", Whistler sighed at the sight, with a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
"I'll bet", Lindsey muttered. "So let me get this straight...this new player, someone who's supposed to make a difference in the Ultimate Final Battle between Good and Evil...is going to be found at a club called 'Sky's The Limit'?"
"What, you were expecting shiny pearly white gates, Cochran, Jr? Please, this isn't some cheesy B-movie", Whistler replied as the pair started to walk towards the entrance of the club. "It might not look like much from the outside, but the club's got a killer rep...relax, I'll handle the fees, OK?"
After giving the bouncer a $20, the two men walked down a flight of stairs into the bottom of the building...where a large bar/club full of partying 18 to 20-somethings were, either rocking out to the tunes of the band playing, hanging by the bar, or standing about making idle, but loud chitchat.
Lindsey took a glance around the smoke-filled room, shrugging. "I don't get it", he shouted over the noise to Whistler.
"WHAT?", Whistler shouted back.
"I said 'I DON'T GET IT!' SO WHERE'S THIS MYSTERY GUY OF YOURS?", Lindsey shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth to project his voice. "OR DID YOU JUST DRAG ME ACROSS THE INTERSTATES TO GET A GOOD PARTY ON?"
"HARDLY THE CASE, McDONALD, BELIEVE ME, YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY MY KIND OF PEOPLE", Whistler replied as his eyes traveled onto the stage, smiling. "BESIDES...WE ALREADY FOUND HIM."
Lindsey scowled in confusion, following Whistler's eyes towards the stage. His gaze rested on the band playing onstage. He saw the name of the band emblazoned on the drum set. 'Dingoes Ate My Baby'. He was drawn at sight to the dark-haired lad singing loudly his lyrics mixed with teen angst and rebellion, with a style so uniquely his own. The crowd responded loudly, several lighters flying upwards, heads bobbing wildly up and down and girls screaming, calling his name: 'DEVON! DEVON!'
"That's him, isn't it?", Lindsey shouted to Whistler.
"WHAT?"
"I SAID 'THAT'S HIM ISN'T IT?'", Lindsey shouted louder. "THAT'S YOUR NEW PLAYER?"
"WHO, HIM?", Whistler scoffed. "PLEASE. THAT KID WOULDN'T KNOW APOCALYPSE FROM A-MINOR...BUT THAT GUY", Whistler pointed to the one next to Devon. "THAT'S our PLAYER."
Lindsey took a glance at the young man playing lead guitar. He was incredibly focused on his playing, so focused that he barely looked up to register the crowd. But when he did, he would smile coolly, in a way that made the girls near him swoon and faint. He was small-ish, perhaps no more than 5'6", and he had blonde, spiky hair, fairly good looking. And he had a look in his brownish-hazel eyes that hinted of something more within him, something deeper than the skin-scratched surface.
Lindsey looked at Whistler, incredulously. "THAT'S YOUR PLAYER? HE SEEMS A LITTLE...SMALL, DOESN'T HE?"
"HEY, IT'S NOT ABOUT THE SIZE, IT'S HOW YOU USE IT, McDONALD", Whistler replied.
"THAT WHAT YOU TOLD YOUR LAST DATE?", Lindsey smirked.
Whistler scowled at him. "SO, I SEE THEY ACTUALLY TAUGHT YOU GUYS HUMOR AT EVIL, INC., HUH?"
"HOW DO YOU THINK WE GOT THROUGH ACCOUNTING BLUNDERS DURING CHRISTMAS EVE?", Lindsey shot back.
"WHATEVER", Whistler shrugged it off. "NOW,LET'S SEE WHAT WE CAN DO TO GAIN A LITTLE ACCESS."
The final chords of the song died down, with lead singer Devon MacLeish crowing "THANK YOU, SEATTLE! WE LOVE YA'S!" to the roar of the crowd. Devon and the band took off down the stairs, some of their fans flocking over to them, but held back by hefty security personnel. Devon, of course, in rock star fashion, motioned for a few select young ladies to join he and the band.
"Man, how great is this life?", he crowed to the lead guitar player. "Come on, Oz, TELL me you didn't miss this."
Oz shrugged non-chalantly, as was his fashion. "Here and there. Sort of."
Ever so epigrammatic, also as was his fashion.
"Sort of!", Devon blurted as one of his scantily-clad groupies hung off of him adoringly. "Come ON, man! Things have been great! We have that meeting with that guy from Columbia Records next week, Oz, next WEEK! This could be the big break we've been waiting for in, like, years!"
"We'll do well", Oz nodded, while re-tuning his beloved guitar. "We just have to keep our Dingoes sound and there we'll have it."
"Man", Devon sighed as he autographed the top breast of one lovely groupie. "Imagine what'll happen if we get this deal? Man, the tours, the fame, the spotlight, the money...we'll be up to our EARS in chicks, dude."
"I heard that can be hazardous", Oz quipped, keeping his cool straight face as he said so.
A pretty blonde with heavy make-up, a tight black top and even tighter black mini-skirt with matching boots sauntered up to Oz as he was packing away.
"Hey", she smiled, her voice dripping with adulation.
"Hey", Oz smiled back, his voice as laid-back as he was.
"You know, I think guitar players are sooo...sexy...", she drawled as she trailed a well-manicured hand up his arm, smiling seductively.
"Well, we are pretty cool", Oz chuckled.
"Totally", she smiled. She plucked a piece of paper with her number on it from her side-pocket, drawing it out slowly and placing it in his hands. "Call me?", she smiled as she walked away, her hips swinging ever-so-scandalously.
Oz said nothing, only gave a half-smile and nodded. Ever the calm one. It was as if he was made of ice or steel, his composure was so unflappable. He showed little emotion and spoke even fewer words at times. But there was no denying the goodness in his heart. Or his courage when the time called for it. His days as a Scooby member battling vampires, demons and dark fiends on the Hellmouth of Sunnydale had brought that out in him.
Devon shook his head. "Man, you never change, do you, Oz? Lead guitar, you could have any chick you want in this building, and you're still the same lizzy-faire guy you were back in Sunny D."
"LAISSEZ-faire, Devon", Oz corrected. "Staying in high-school long enough to finish taught me that one."
"Man, it's a wonder you never married that cute little red-head you used to run with...Willow, was it?"
At the mention of her name, Oz's eyes flashed with both love and pain passing through them, a thousand memories, most good, some bad, all memorable passing through his mind and his heart with the mention of that one name. The name of the woman who was, still was, perhaps always would be, the queen and owner of his werewolf heart. Willow Rosenburg.
"Devon, you're my boy, and all", Oz said, as he turned to the lead singer, his face more serious than usual. "But we don't talk about Willow. Ever. Understand?"
Devon was slightly taken aback by his friend's demeanor. "Okay, okay! Geez, man, don't have a cow! I didn't know it was like that between you and your high school ex, alright?"
"Whatever", Oz said as he grabbed his guitar. "Look, I'll meet up with you guys later, okay? I'm taking a little walk."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Oz, wait, man!", Devon hastily said as he stood up as Oz did. "Dude, was it something I said, because I didn't--"
"No, it's cool, man", Oz smiled, shrugging it off. He knew Devon was a little dense, but his heart was always in the right place. "I just...wanna take a look around, you know. Seattle, and everything?"
"Well, how about me and the guys come with you?", Devon suggested, smiling. "We'll live it up, man, paint this town red--"
"Nah, it's cool, Dev", Oz shook his head. "I just...got to do some thinking, is all. Get some Oz time."
Devon nodded. "Cool...we'll meet you back at the hotel, yeah?"
Oz nodded as he exchanged his handshake/high-five with his childhood friend. "Cool. Later." They went their separate ways.
Truth be told, Devon's words did have a meaning to Oz. Especially since they involved Willow. He sighed as he remembered his beautiful, sea green-eyed goddess with the strawberry-kissed hair. He hadn't heard from her in almost two years. He thought about calling up Sunnydale, asking about her. But in the back of his mind, he held himself back. Oz knew full well she had a new life there, with a new...girlfriend. That Tara person he met when he returned there years ago. He knew she was happy, which is what she deserved. And truth, be told, he really didn't feel like Willow telling him over the phone how wonderful Tara was. It was weird enough hearing that from your ex, but it was nothing short of torture when one still was madly in love with said ex.
And yet, he held no grudge. Not against Willow. How could he? He left her, he reminded himself, time and again. The Veruca incident wasn't just a passing thing, an adventure to be looked at with boastful pride. It was a sign. A warning sign. Written with screaming blood-red letters. Leave now. Leave before it's too late. For you. For your friends. For her. Veruca may have been a cold-blooded killer, but her words hit a deep truth within Oz, a truth that made him realize the danger that lie in wait within.
You're a wolf all the time and this human face is just your disguise. You ever think about that, Oz?
For the longest time, hell, every couple of precious moments alone, that was all he thought about. There were lines once, faint and unstable, but existent nonetheless. He knew who he was, and he knew what he was. What he became every three nights of the month, a tragic side-effect of the bite his young cousin Jordy passed on to him in a moment of innocent childhood play, and who he was since the moment his eyes first met the light of this world. But the more frequent the transformations got, the more the hunger, the craving, the raw, primal instinct took him over, the less certain he became of the lines that held the boundaries within him. The less certain he became of where the line between man and beast was anymore, no black and white, only a growing shade of gray.
Who was he, really? Was he Daniel Osbourne, 'Oz' for short, son of Timothy and Rita, lead guitarist for the Dingoes, Scooby gang member, silent genius, stoic poet, and first true love of the beautiful Willow Rosenburg?
Or was he the wolf, the insatiable, blood-thirsting, restless beast, predator of the night, tooth, claw, and roaring howl? Was he man? Was he beast? Human or animal? Hero or monster?
He needed to know. If he ever wanted to find true peace of self, and perhaps, one day, find love's way again, he had to know.
He still wasn't even sure of what prompted him to return to the states, after spending an extended period of time in Tibet under the tutelage of a wise sensei named Master Shan'tou, who taught him how to control the wild beast, the werewolf that clawed away within his body, his mind, his heart, howling, screaming for release. After he learned how to reign in the primal power within, he simply returned, hooked back up with Devon and the Dingoes, and inspired by the trials he endured over the last few years, wrote and performed music that had landed the Dingoes some widespread success in the underground circuit, enough to draw the attention of Columbia Records, who scheduled a meeting with them in the very next week. It was nice to be enjoying some success after a while for Oz. But still, he would have traded it all away in a heartbeat if he could just see Willow one more time...
Life's a winding road, Oz thought as he walked out the side exit of the club, hands in his pockets. And the paths we take are numerous, split like the branches of the redwood trees...and if the stars above were the Gods, and the Gods were truly benign, then surely one path, one branch may one day lead my travels back into your arms, my love. My heart. My Willow.
"Daniel Osbourne?", a voice called behind him.
Alert, Oz spun around in a heartbeat to find two gentlemen, one dressed in the most ridiculous attire he'd seen in some time, just a few feet from him.
"That's the name on my driver's license", he replied coolly.
Lindsey looked at Whistler and rolled his eyes. "You know, somebody ever tell you that calling out people's full names when behind them is really creepy?"
"Creepy, but it grabs your attention, don't it, Slick?", Whistler shrugged, turning back to Oz. "Hey, no worries, pal, we're not here for trouble."
"Dark alley, by myself, two strange guys know my name when I've never seen either of them before...no, no cause for alarm", Oz said simply.
"Sorry, he does that a lot", Lindsey shrugged. "I'm Lindsey, Lindsey McDonald. And the creepy little guy with the porkpie hat here is Whistler."
"Hey, watch it!", Whistler said.
"Nice to meet you", Oz said stoically. "You're not gonna, like, try to kill me, are you?"
"Don't worry, we're white hats...well, sort of", Whistler said as he looked at Lindsey for a brief moment before turning back to Oz. "Actually, we kinda need your help."
"Do tell", Oz half-smiled.
"Believe me, there's plenty to--"
"Wait", Oz silenced them with a hand gesture, before sniffing the air around him. He could pick up their scents, all right, but he smelled something else in the air...and that something...no, some-things...didn't smell human...
Whistler tensed up, evidently sensing it, too. "Uh, McDonald? You wouldn't happen to have that shotgun in hand right now, would you?"
Lindsey looked at him, suspicious. "Two of them, actually. Why?"
"We're not alone", Oz said. Just as five dark-robed figures dropped from above onto the streets...surrounding all three men.
And wielding sharp, curved blades.
Lindsey shot out both hands, drawing forth two spring-propelled sawed-off shotguns, tossing one to Whistler, while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a switchblade, tossing it to Oz, who handled it readily.
"I shoulda known you were going to get me into trouble", Lindsey said to Whistler as he set his stance in defensive position, pumping his shotgun.
"Well, don't say I never brought a little spice into your life, Lawyer Boy", Whistler said, praying silently to the Powers that they would live long enough to get to L.A...
Meanwhile, back at the Hyperion...
Buffy stood opposite Angel, somehow managing to pry her eyes away from the burning intensity of his gaze, which, at the same time was soft as well.
"Um, hate to break this fun little moment of awkward silence here, but...one of us has gotta say something soon", Buffy smiled almost shyly.
"I guess so", Angel sighed. "And the smart money's not on me."
An involuntary smile crept onto her face from his unwitting joke.
"So, uh...apocalypse stuff non-withstanding, how are you?", Buffy asked, grimacing inwardly from the lameness of her question. How ARE you? Yeah, that's a GREAT ice-breaker, Summers.
"Ok, I guess", Angel replied semi-cheerily. "You?" O-kay, I GUESS? What the hell was that?, he chastised himself mentally.
"Swell", Buffy mirrored back his smile. "Um...so...I, uh...umm...like your hotel. It's very...hotel-y."
Hotel-y? Is that even a word, Buffy thought.
Hotel-y? Now that's a weird one, Angel wondered.
"Thanks", Angel nodded. "I, uh, just put some new carpeting around."
"Oh, that's…good", Buffy nodded back.
They were stalling. And both of them knew it. Dancing around the plethora of life-altering issues that lay before them, past, present and the oh-so-important future. Both of them knew the roads that they had to take to deal with those issues. It was a road too familiar for the both of them, for it was a road they had traveled together and apart. The way of pain. Of anger. Of rage. Heartbreak. Sorrow.
Loneliness.
Apparently, they weren't the only ones who noticed.
Skip rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of Pete! Can we just fast-forward to the angsty, teary, heart-wrenching part of this whole deal? At least that's more amusing than watching you two tip-toe around the issue like a bunch of 12 year-olds."
Buffy and Angel both whirled on him, their eyes narrowed.
"You know what I find amusing?", Buffy asked in a falsely sweet voice. "How's about I find Willow and her finger and get her to put a little Infinite Agony hurtin' on you? What do you think, Angel?"
"Sounds hysterical to me", Angel replied in his low, icy voice.
Buffy could have sworn that the metallic demon had gone a few shades paler. "NO! No, no, no, that-that-that's okay, really!"
"Are you sure? I mean, she's just a few doors up", Buffy asked, feigning concern.
"I'm sure she'd love to stop by, Skippy", Angel smirked, almost dangerously.
The mercenary demon chuckled nervously. "No, I, heh-heh, don't think that's really necessary, I—"
"Oh, Wi-llow!", Buffy shouted up the stairs in a sing-song voice.
"OH, GOD, no!", Skip shouted back. "Okay, I'll be quiet, I won't say another word, I swear! Just, please…keep her as far away from me as possible!"
Buffy shook her head. Underneath all of the arrogance, the snappy comments and the foreboding sense of doom the demon tried to convey, Skip was just a big, scared weasel. Out for anything that involved saving his own metallic skin. Then again, most demons she'd known turned out to be such.
Sighing, the little blonde slayer turned back to Angel. "Maybe we should…discuss…somewhere in a more quiet setting…? Y'know, without any creepy baddies listening in."
Angel smirked a little. "Liking that suggestion."
"What can I say? Born to problem-solve", Buffy smiled, making a grand gesture to herself with her arms in mock cockiness.
"And she remains ever so humble", Angel said in mock sarcasm, though smiling through the comment, as much as Angel could smile, anyway.
"Hey, you save the world a couple of times over and you'd be gloating, too", Buffy shrugged.
Angel whirled and took two large, menacing steps towards the entrapped demon. "Here's the deal. We're going to leave now. Take this conversation to a more private place. In the mean time, you are not to make any noises, you are not to speak to anyone within the confines of this building. You so much as sneeze, Willow can be down here in the blink of an eye...and she won't be happy with you at all." He turned around taking a few steps back towards Buffy, when he paused and turned back to Skip. "Oh, and by the way, do you breathe?"
Skip shrugged. "Well- -"
"Don't." Angel said, that one word filled with as much stark warning and foreboding as possible. Skip swallowed hard, suddenly quite nervous.
"We'll be back", Buffy added, with a smirk on her face. "Not like you could but…Don't go anywhere."
The two warriors turned their backs to the mercenary demon and began their ascent up the stairs to a more private setting for their conversation.
Skip scowled after them. "That chick's really startin' to bug me."
There was silence, mostly. Not a word was spoken as Dawn walked side-by-side with Connor, the other girls a step behind them as Connor led the way across the long halls of the first floor of the Hyperion.
Dawn was expecting him to start with the asking of the questions, or anything, to start a conversation going. But he mostly kept on walking, leading them further up the stairs, through the corridors. She was getting fairly anxious. There was a lot she wanted to know about this handsome new boy, who just happened to be the son of two vampires. Little did she know that Connor felt the same, anxious, even nervous about approaching her.
"So", Dawn said, looking up at Connor. "You're Angel's son, huh?"
The boy visibly stiffened, the topic of his parentage not a happy one for him. "So I'm told", Connor replied stoically.
Dawn was slightly taken aback by the non-chalant attitude of the boy, but shook it off. "Well, you sure can fight like him...it's not too many people that can give my sister a run for her money."
"Buffy...the Slayer...that's your sister?", Connor asked, his eyes turned to Dawn in interest.
"Technically, yes and technically...not exactly", Dawn sighed. "It's complicated."
"There's a lot about this world that is", Connor sighed back.
"You're telling me", Dawn rolled her eyes. At that, Connor looked at her and gave a hint of a smile.
"So, uh, Connor", Amanda spoke up. "Have you lived in L.A. your whole life?"
"No", he replied. "I'm...pretty new here."
"Truth be told, a lot of us are", Molly shrugged. "I've never even seen America until my Watcher sent me here with Mr. Giles a few months back to find safe haven with Buffy and her friends..." She paused before regretfully adding, "before he was killed, I mean."
Connor turned to Molly, a spark of interest in his eyes. "Your voice...you're from London, England, aren't you?"
Molly's eyes lit up with pride. "London-born, yes...just a stone's throw away from Piccadilly Square! How did you know?"
"My fa...", Connor paused, correcting himself. "Someone I used to know...talked to me about it a lot once. He taught me how to recognize different English accents." He broke off, staring back ahead. "Always wondered what his homeland would look like with my own eyes."
Molly sighed, nostalgia laced in her voice. "It's a beautiful country...by now they should be entering Spring-time, the blossoms starting to bloom on the trees in the city parks, just a few shades warmer, not too stuffy, but just enough to..." She broke off, wistful. "Oh, how I do miss home."
"Cheer up, Molly", Amanda patted her on the back. "I'm sure you'll get back there soon enough...besides, springtime's starting in California already. And-and we have a lot of blooms around here and stuff!"
"Assuming we all live long enough to see them bloom", Vi muttered.
"Don't say that, Vi", Amanda chastised.
"Why not? In case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly making leaps and bounds in our training", Vi pointed out. "And after Annabelle, and Chloe...I don't know if even Buffy or this Angel guy can protect all of us from the First...or this new big bad, whatever it is--"
"Hey", Dawn said, as she turned around, facing the three of them. "That's where we stop. Look, you guys don't know Buffy, and you haven't seen what she can do, or what Angel can do, for that matter. But I have. When they're together, they've stopped, like, a BILLION apocalypses...apocalii, whatever...they suffer, and they hurt, but they always come through, because that's what they do. We're going to get through this. ALL of us. Because neither of them will have it any other way.
"And I don't know about you guys, but I, for one, am a little sick and tired of having to be worried about. I want to make a difference, I want to help. And you guys should, too. I mean, you're all Potential Slayers, with powers that are, like...way bigger than anything I've got. So, instead of worrying whether or not Buffy and Angel can save our asses, we should start thinking about what we can do to help cover theirs. Because that's the only way we're going to count for anything around here other than helpless victim or potential worm food . Okay?"
The others looked at Dawn in awe, seeing as how this girl, who had nothing particularly special about her in appearance or fighting power, was suddenly taking a commanding role. Inspiring them. Connor's eyes lit up at her words. So, she was apparently as brave as she was beautiful. This only increased Connor's attraction to the smaller brunette, furthered his desire to get to know her better.
She turned to Connor. "So, our room?"
Connor shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts. "Oh, yeah, uh...this way."
After taking a few more steps, Connor stopped the group at one of the many white doors. He opened the door wide, letting the girls take a full-on view of the beautifully refurbished room. Red silk curtains lined the spacious windows and a breathtaking balcony view of the sun-lit city. The room was lined in emerald-green wallpaper, two enormous king-sized beds to the right of the room. There was a mid-sized refrigerator built into the wall, a small kitchen within it, its new utilities shining in all their factory-fresh glory.
"Oh, my God", Vi breathed.
"It's beau'iful", Molly smiled excitedly.
"Can I live here?", Amanda wondered aloud. "I mean, it's not like I have...school, or anything..."
Connor looked at Dawn, who was as wide-eyed as the rest of the girls. "Like it?", he smiled, anxious.
"Like it? Well, DUH!", Dawn chuckled gleefully at Connor. "God, I had no idea that Angel's hotel was so beautiful. I've got to come here more often."
"Not the worst of things that could happen", Connor smirked. Dawn responded with a shy smile. Was it her or was Connor just hitting on her? Not like that would be a BAD thing or anything!
"Yeah, it's got pretty much everything here", Connor said as he took a few steps into the room, the girls a pace or two behind. "Nice view, big screen TV, plenty of room--"
His sentence was cut off as he felt the sharp impact of something breaking over his head, shattering everywhere. Connor, stunned, stumbled to the floor, slightly dazed .
The girls let out a startled cry as they all took a step backwards.
"Connor!", Dawn shouted as she came to his side, concerned. She looked up at his attacker.
"G-g-get AWAY FROM ME!" A frightened looking, pretty young girl with an unbecoming bruise on her chin was standing just a few paces away, wielding a very sharp, jagged edge of the shattered vase she used to hit Connor over the head with.
Everyone stared at this girl in shock . "Ooh, I didn't know the room came with a free homicidal maniac", Vi quipped, but with worry in her eyes.
"Vi, please", Molly chastised her quietly.
"Wh-what's going on? Who's that girl?", Amanda asked, confused.
Connor gazed up at her, shock and regret in his eyes. The girl from the factory. The one he almost got killed...he had forgotten about her.
"Oh, God...", he trailed off, stunned.
The girl's eyes ticked to Connor and her eyes went wide.
"YOU!", she hissed. She pointed the sharp piece of pottery towards him, but still kept her distance, like a frightened animal trapped in a corner. "Get away from me, you-you-you freak! You did this to me, YOU did!"
Dawn stood up slowly. "Uh, look, um...you...I-I don't know what's going on here but--"
"Oh, God! Did he kidnap you, too?", the girl asked, fright in her eyes.
Dawn's eyes scrunched in confusion. "Kidnap? Connor? What's she talking about?"
Connor slowly stood, his eyes remorseful and sad. "Um, yeah, I...kinda forgot to tell you guys this, but--"
"He KIDNAPPED me!", the girl shrieked. "Took me to some weird, smelly dark place, tied me up...you were trying to kill me!"
"I'm sorry", Connor said quietly.
Dawn stared at him in disbelief. "Connor...You...you…kidnapped her? But...why?"
"Long story", was his short response.
"You mean...she was taken here...against her will?", Molly asked, her eyes scrunched in confusion.
Vi's startled glance shot back to Connor. "But, I thought you were...like, one of the good guys", the redhead said, taking a hesitant step back.
"He IS one of the good guys!", Dawn said defensively, before turning back to Connor, with an uncertain gaze. "Right?"
"I'm on your side, I swear", Connor said, clutching his head.
Dawn took a step towards the girl, but froze when she saw that the girl held up that sharp slice of pottery up higher, letting out a slight whimper, fear in her eyes.
"Look, I'm not going to hurt you, okay?", Dawn talked slowly, her hand up in a pacifying gesture. "No one here is gonna hurt you, not even him."
"Yeah, right!", the girl sarcastically said, her eyes flickering with fear, the pottery slice trembling in her hands.
"You don't believe me, huh?", Dawn nodded. With that, she extended her hands away from herself, and dropped slowly down to her knees. Her big blue eyes met the girl's frightened blue-eyed gaze, a sense of calmness taking over Dawn.
Molly stared at her in disbelief, baffled as to what she was up to. "Dawn, what are you--"
"Guys, get down like I'm doing", she told the group, without taking her eyes off the girl.
"Did you go postal and forget to give us the memo, Dawn!", Vi exclaimed, exasperated. "Look at her, she's got a...sharp thing!"
"And, helloo? No weapons?", Amanda chimed in, apprehensive. "How are we going to protect ourselves from--"
"That's the idea", Dawn said calmly. "No weapons, no stance, no chance of us being able to hurt her...we want to show her we're serious about the whole 'We're-not-going-to-hurt-you' thing, right?"
Sighing, Molly was the first to drop to her knees, mimicking Dawn's position, arms extended away from her body. Amanda then came next, followed by an ever-hesitant, very wary Vi .
"If I get killed, Dawn, I'm SO telling Buffy on you", Vi sighed.
Dawn took a sideways glance at Connor, who watched this whole event transpire with wide eyes. "That goes for you, too, Superboy."
Connor, although miffed by Dawn's little nickname for him, dropped to his knees with the same position.
The girl was watching all this, confused and scared as to what was going on. Dawn gave a tentative smile towards her. "See?...Can't exactly come charging down the gates of Helm's Deep, now, can we? We're just like you...sort of...kind of...in a way...we're not here to hurt you, honest...just put the pottery down, take a seat and give us a chance."
The girl was very apprehensive, at first, but somehow, she sensed there was truth behind Dawn's words. There was just something about this girl she'd never seen before that lulled her into trusting her. Besides, from a kneeling position, they couldn't really do much to her.
"W-will...will he...will he keep away from me?", she asked, pointing to Connor.
"If you want...I promise", Dawn said. "Come on, take a seat. You're among fr...well, good acquaintances."
After a few tense moments, the girl nodded, slowly seating herself down on the wooden cedar floor, Indian-style, settling the shard just alongside her, in case.
Connor was amazed. She didn't look it, but Dawn was quite a leader. With nothing but words and a risky idea, she had managed to disarm the girl and, at least for now, earn her trust. Connor, knowing himself, probably would've tried a more...hands-on approach. But Dawn didn't need it. She was truly remarkable, he could tell, and he'd only met her for a few minutes.
Dawn exhaled in relief, before smiling again, lowering her hands back into her lap, the others following her lead. "Guess here comes the name game...I'm Dawn. Dawn Summers. And these here are my friends, Amanda, Molly, and Vi...and he's Connor, but I guess you've...already met, huh?"
"Hi", came the hesitant greeting from the crowd.
"What's your name?", Dawn asked, smiling slightly.
The girl swallowed before softly, and nervously uttering her name. "A-Anna...?"
"Anna", Dawn nodded, smiling. "That's a pretty name."
"Um...thanks", Anna said hesitantly.
"How long have you been up here?", Amanda asked.
"I don't know", Anna shook her head, confused. "One minute I was getting home, trying to finish off a history paper due this week...then there was this guy with his...face all messed up in an alley, tried to...and then he came", she motioned at Connor. "He...saved me...and then everything went black, I woke up in some dark, scary place...he kept talking to himself the whole time, and I was just trying to convince him to let me go home and.…there was the crazy lady with the knife, and another one, dressed in white and...last thing I remember was this flash of white light, and then I woke up here."
Dawn gave her a soft understanding look. "It must've been scary for you...I know, I was...kidnapped myself once, or...a couple of times, actually. It's scary, I remember...though I try hard to forget about it sometimes."
Dawn's thoughts flashed back to the most terrifying moment of her young life, being held captive by the hell goddess Glory, to be sacrificed in an unholy ritual that would've destroyed the entire universe. She remembered well the fear, the terror, the dull aches and pains in her body…the terror when Doc, a man-reptile worshipper of Glory took it upon himself to bleed Dawn dry to open the portal. In her darkest nightmares, sometimes, she could still feel Doc's blade slice across her stomach, could smell her own blood seeping out of her, could feel the flashes of pain as her skin was pierced methodically, precisely, by the icy blade…before she could wake up either screaming, or covered in sweat.
"My mom's gonna kill me", Anna said, almost in tears. "God, she's probably worried sick about me right now."
"Well, here, use this", Dawn said, plucking out her cell phone from her side pocket, handing it over to the new girl. "Call your house up, talk to your mom. Talk as long as you like. Hey, you don't even have to give it back, I hate that thing anyways. Been trying for weeks to get my sister to get me one of the new Motorola's."
"Thanks", Anna sniffled.
"We had a friend once named Anna", Molly piqued up. "Well, actually, it was Anna-BELLE. She...was killed a while back, though. 'ts a terrible thing that happened to her. Poor Annie." Molly trailed off sadly, brief flashes of her friend Annabelle running through her mind, of that fateful night that the first Turok-han unleashed upon the Slayer and the Potentials claimed Annabelle's life as its morbid prize.
Anna took this in. "I'm sorry", she said, in a sympathetic voice. "She must've been close to you guys."
"Well, not entirely", Vi said. "I mean, I didn't even meet her, neither did Amanda, but...she was about our age. It was pretty scary to deal with, you know, when somebody as old as you, like you, just...dies?...It's weird to think about."
"I know the feeling", Dawn sighed. "God knows how many friends, kids I went to school with, I grew up with...they dropped like flies back in Sunnydale, and that was even BEFORE all this started happening."
Anna's eyes widened. "Sunnydale? You mean that freaky town upstate? With the giant snake thing and everything? THAT'S where you guys are from?"
"Actually, it was less a giant snake, more like a humongous DEMON...snake", Dawn clarified as best she could. "Well, see the thing is...Anna, there's a lot of...there's things that you don't...I mean, what I'm trying to say is--"
"Vampires are real. So are demons", Connor cut in. "They've roamed the Earth and much of the universe for thousands of years now. We fight them on a daily basis."
Dawn shot him a glare. "Way to be soothing, Tact Boy. Why not just go up and lunge at her so you can send her screaming out of here to the police even FASTER?"
"What? It's not like I'm lying", Connor shrugged. "Besides, how else could she understand why I almost did to her what I...almost did?"
"What, you mean when you kidnapped her at knifepoint, bruised up her face and apparently nearly had her killed?", Dawn said, her voice harsher than she intended to be.
"I didn't use a knife, I...", Connor broke off, flustered. "You wouldn't understand."
"Sure, I wouldn't", Dawn said sarcastically. "What, being kidnapped myself a few dozen times, what COULD I understand about fear, terror and the uncertainty of walking out alive! Or about the fact that you LIED to me, to US, about Anna?"
"I didn't LIE!", Connor snapped. "I said I was sorry, okay! I just...forgot."
"With all due respect, Connor, it's pretty implausible to forget about a girl whom you abducted and hid up in this hotel", Molly noted.
Amanda agreed. "You can forget homework, you can forget to rewind videos..."
"But forgetting a crime you committed? Not very likely", Vi finished.
Connor inwardly flinched at the word 'crime'. He had felt guilty enough already about it, but Vi's label on his actions put a different perspective on the situation. A crime. He committed a crime. An act of evil. An act against another innocent being. Acted the way not a man, not a normal person...but the way a demon would act. That which he most feared was inside him, in his blood, brewing beneath the surface…an evil thing...no, he wasn't...he wouldn't allow himself to be that...
"I know", Anna said.
"See? She agrees", Vi pointed out.
"No, not that" Anna said. "About that stuff about vampires and demons?...I know. I know they're real."
At that, the group's heads collectively whipped around at her, and they all exclaimed one single, unanimous thought aloud:
"WHAT??"
"I said 'You're sleepin' on the floor', got it, Frodo?" , Spike snapped irritably.
"But there's two beds here!" whined Andrew huffily.
Faith smirked. "One of which I called, might I add. And since being a slayer in addition to a girl works in my favor, I say, either way, I'm restin' comfy tonight." She patted the bed she had thrown her stuff onto with affection.
"You know, th-this isn't exactly team-friendly behavior", Andrew said. "Imagine how the Fellowship of the Ring would've ended up if they hadn't learned the values of friendship, comradely and sharing. They never would've lasted long enough to make a final stand against the evil Sauron and his mass of murdering hordes to save Middle Earth and make their bonds of friendship last a lifetime."
After briefly trailing off to bask in the afterglow of his brief surmise of the Tolkien classic, the skinny teenage kid looked expectantly at the two warriors, hoping that his short-lived tale would've inspired them to have shared at least one bed.
When both sets of eyes returned simultaneous blank stares at him, effectively dashing his hopes, he threw up his hands in an exasperated, almost feminine manner, defeated . "And besides, the floor carpeting makes me chafe!"
"Too much information", Faith snorted.
"And not our problem", Spike shrugged. "Unless, of course, you fancy tryin' to take the bed for yourself, mate."
"I say you guys fight for it," Faith grinned wickedly.
Andrew visibly blanched an even paler-than-his-normal color as his eyes shot from Faith to Spike, who himself seemed to be pondering the idea.
"You know, luv? That don't sound like too bad of an idea", Spike smiled, flashing a rather sinister looking grin. "What say you, little fella? Wanna give it a go wit' ol' Spike?"
"Uh, that's okay! Heh, no problem, really", Andrew quickly replied.
"You sure?" Spike asked, his smile growing even wider as he motioned to get up off the bed. "Oh, come on, it'd give your fellow joystick buddies a real tingler when you tell 'em you went toe-to-toe with a real live demon…hell, maybe I'll even let you keep some of your fingers."
"NO!", Andrew exclaimed, his voice going a few octaves higher than normal…boys. "I can do the floor. Floor guy, they call me! I am so…", he paused as he pointed down twice, gesturing to the carpeting "…the floor." He sat down Indian-style on the carpet, hands folded neatly in his lap, staring intently at both his roommates.
Sighing, Faith said, "Okay, I know I'm going to be sorry I asked, but is there a reason why you're looking at us like we've got Ewok masks and making the Klingon sign?"
"Uh, actually- -"
"Got your genres mixed up, pet", Spike corrected for Andrew. "Ewoks are the little furry blokes from that Star Wars set and the Klingons are the tall guys with the wrinkly foreheads from Mr. Roddenberry's Star Trek saga."
Faith raised an eyebrow at the blonde vampire, who shrugged. "I've had some time to sit down in front of the telly, mind you. I'm not hard on for it like Spanky over there."
Andrew breathed a sigh of relief. "Kudos, Spike, for your well-versed…ness, of sci-fi Dom…I was just basking…this is a pretty cool little moment, huh? Us three, sharing this room…the three murderers of the Scooby Gang…we've walked on the dark side, we have" he continued, his eyes narrowed in a comical impersonation of an ominous glance. "…Tasted the forbidden fruit, danced with the devil in the pale moonlight…death row, is what they call- -"
"Bloody Hell!", Spike said, his patience with the boy on ends. "Either lay your nappy little head to rest or I'll put you to bloody rest."
"Sorry", Andrew said, as he stood. "I guess I'll use the bathroom now. I haven't urinated in about 5 and a half hours and I've really had to go bad."
"Again with the overabundance of information", Faith rolled her eyes.
"You need a lifesaver in case you fall in, Spanky?", Spike snickered. "Can't have you floatin' round in LA's sewer system. God knows what sort of unmentionable things live there…you might scare 'em back up here."
Completely oblivious to the snarky remark, Andrew shook his head. "No thanks, I'm cool", before he closed the bathroom door.
"In 'is dreams", Spike snorted.
Faith let out a small laugh and shook her head. "He's a hoot, isn't he?"
"Yeah, a regular breath of fresh bloody air, 'e is", Spike muttered, as he pulled out his carton of cigarettes. "Thank God I don't breathe."
"He's a good kid", Faith shrugged. "Wish he came with a mute button or an 'off switch' sometimes, but…"
"Well, guess I'll have to get used to the little nancy. 'll be stuck wi't 'im for a bit. Figure if I can go a whole night without rippin' 'is tiny little head of 'is even tinier little shoulders, I'll be good to go." He pulled out a cigarette to Faith. "Wanna bum one?"
Faith smiled. "Ooh, read my mind." She plucked the cigarette from his hands, their fingers slightly grazing each other as she did. Spike noted the difference, her warm fingers contrasting towards his often cold ones.
"Need a light?", Spike asked, rather lazily, as he lay backfirst against the headboard of the bed.
Faith shook her head. "Got it covered, man", she smiled as she pulled out a shiny black metal Zippo lighter, a rather impressively decaled metallic skull and crossbones emblazoned on the front of the black metal of the lighter.
Spike whistled, impressed. "Nice lookin' piece ya go there."
Grinning, she replied. "Got it from an old boyfriend."
"Anniversary present or somethin'?"
"More like a 'Thanks-for-cheating-on-me-so-I-can-steal-and-pawn-all-your-stuff' present", the dark-haired Slayer replied.
"Hmm…remember who he did the deed with?", Spike asked, intrigued.
Faith let out a distasteful 'pfft' before answering, "Some red-headed bitch from a local Wal-Mart store he worked with…Imagine this, I'm 16 years old, comin' home to his place, even wanted to surprise him with a 'Metallica' T-shirt I caught him eyeballing in a mall a couple weeks earlier? I'm all giddy like a school girl, thinkin' he'll get a real kick out of it…I walk in, stupid shirt still in hand, walk right into the living room, and much to my naive little heart's surprise I find my boyfriend…with a pair of long legs wrapped around him, with Miss Wal-Mart sprawled under him like a rug, lookin' like a scene from some cheesy porn-flick."
"Ooh", Spike winced. "Had to hurt."
"It did", Faith shrugged, before smiling wickedly. "Of course, not as much as it did him after we…discussed my feelings."
"I'm guessin' there was less talkin', more fist-meets-face action", Spike grinned as he raised his eyebrows at her.
The raven-haired beauty smiled coyly. "Now what would make you think somethin' like that?"
"I'm also guessin' that's about the time you recently discovered your fantastic new Slayer powers", Spike took a guess, after puffing his cigarette.
"Pretty much around then", she nodded. "Anyway, after I beat the ever-holy crap out of my jack-off now-ex, I grabbed everything I could into a sack. His favorite clothes, cash, credit cards, jewelry, the works…burned the clothes, spent the cash, hocked the jewelry, even wrecked the car…but I liked the lighter I found in his drawer. Figured it was a keeper."
Her face flickered a brief orange glow with the light of the Zippo glaring off of her. She leaned back and lazily let out a jet stream of smoke, staring straight ahead at the wall.
Spike watched her with interest. Here she was, a slayer, bunking the same room as he was. Spike knew slayers, killed a pair of them back in his wilder days. But it was clear that Faith was an anomaly. She sensed something about her that he'd seen only glimpses of in Buffy. She had a type of joy of living within her, mingled with the experience of the horrors of life. Faith had a certain type of spark, a power. Her very aura screamed danger and warning, but it was still hard to take one's eyes off of her. She was the hot stove that mom and dad scolded their children to stay away from, but one couldn't resist giving it a tap, even if you'd be burned in the end. But then again, Spike never did care much about doing what was good for him. One didn't earn the reputation of the legendary William the Bloody by playing it safe.
"I heard that Buffy put you in charge of training the potentials," he said. "How's that workin' out?"
"I'll know as soon as I start," Faith said. "Never been much for the leadership ring, and now I'm playing teacher? A little weird."
"Well, you know what they say", Spike shrugged. "Desperate times…"
"Desperate measures," Faith smirked. "Guess B's gotta be feeling the heat to put one of her former arch-enemies in charge of training the wannabe's."
"She did what she thought was necessary," Spike said, looking at Faith intently. "Nothin' more, nothin' less, pet. And she put you in charge of it, then she thought that you were the best one up for it."
"Hey, not like I'm complainin' or anything," Faith said. "It was just…unexpected, is all."
"Well ,welcome to life in Sunnyhell," Spike replied.
"Dude…we're in L.A. now", Faith reminded him.
"Don't matter where you go, luv. The Hellmouth's vibe is felt everywhere. Even here in the Land of Fruits and Nuts."
"Yeah, well, guess those nuts fall pretty far…how else would people like us end up back here?"
"I'm not a people", Spike groused.
"Yeah, but you're not exactly a demon, either", Faith ventured. "Not really, anyway. You've got a soul now."
"But not a pulse", Spike retorted, simple, absent of aggression.
But Faith kept at it. "Buffy and Willow filled me in on some parts…told me 'bout how you've been helping out to fight this First guy…out on the front lines, keepin' the peace…some pretty damn heroic stuff. Don't figure the old you would've been up for any of that."
"Hmmph…if you'd only met the old me", Spike smirked, not bothering to tell her about the first few years he spent in Sunnydale in his less soulful, more chip-having days, when he threw himself into the heart of the battles against the powerful Hellgoddess Glory, among other fiends, all for the love of one little blonde Slayer.
He got so enraptured in his own thought that he almost didn't notice Faith looking at him, a knowing smile and a tiny little glint in her eyes.
"What?", Spike asked, baffled.
"Oh, I know a bit more about you than you think, William the Bloody", Faith said.
Spike snorted. "What, just 'cause you popped open a few textbooks and went research-girl on my life story makes you think you got the inside scoop on my head? Not likely, pet."
"Well, I did do a little reading", Faith said. "But I find the best way to know about someone is from a more…hands-on approach."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Not that I don't mind the mental visual but…meaning?"
"I mean that I've met you before…you know, pre-soul", Faith smirked.
"Is that right," Spike smirked back. "Doubt it much…'d be hard to forget meeting you for the first time."
"We did, though", Faith said. "I was kinda wearing a different body."
Spike gave her a slow and steady once-over glance, before grinning somewhat lustily. "Pity."
"You seemed okay with it." Her eyes met his, brown orbs dancing with something hidden, a private joke that he was on the cusp on being in on.
Spike's eyes widened as he got it. "A body swap", he smiled. "With Buffy."
Faith laughed softly. "Give the vamp a prize…so she filled you in on that whole deal?"
"Told me it went down", he shrugged with nonchalance. "Failed to mention who was driving 'er skin around."
"Gives a whole new meaning to 'walk-a-mile-in-my-shoes', huh," Faith grinned.
"Should' a known", Spike mused. "I knew somethin' was off 'bout her that night, but…"
"You were too busy trying to keep your load from blowin' to give a crap, huh," Faith teased.
"Huh, you wish," the blonde vampire scoffed, smiling.
"No, actually, I think you were the one wishing that night," Faith slyly grinned at him. "I know that look you were giving me way too well. You were dying for a taste, weren't you?"
"Already dead," Spike retorted smartly.
"You know what I mean, smart-ass," Faith rolled her eyes playfully.
"Oh, so I'm the one who wanted to give you a good shag when now you're talkin' 'bout my ass," Spike wiggled his eyebrows.
"Eat me, Blood Boy" Faith retorted, but with a bemused smile on her lips.
Spike gave her a slow once-over look, his eyes trailing from her black leather clad legs, stretched out before her, slowly up her flat stomach, roaming over her other…features on her tight red cut-off tee-shirt, before gliding to her face, blood-red lips, pouty enough to make a man wish many a things, stopping at a twin pair of big, dark chocolate pools of eyes.
He flashed a most seductive smile, almost leery, but enough to be flattering. "Any time, any place, pet."
She raised her eyebrows, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Sounds like a challenge to me."
A lazy smile spread slowly across his lips. "I'm always…up…for a challenge."
She gave him a slinky smile. "I bet you are."
Oh, yeah, was there ever a connection. They'd barely spoken for about five minutes and already, they could sense that. They could sense the mood becoming more and more intimate, and even though Spike was a cold corpse, even he could feel the heat starting to rise…
Whoosh!
And then the moment was shattered.
"Hey, guys, check it out," Andrew exclaimed as he walked out of the bathroom, bouncing up and down on his heels in giddiness. "The water in the toilet turns blue when you flush it! It's like, 'I go poo, but my poo go blue!'"
Off of Spike's red-faced, peeved look and Faith's muffled giggle as she shook her head, Andrew brought himself to awkwardly ask, "Um…did I come in the middle of something?"
Faith turned to smirk at Spike, whose knuckles were squeezing even whiter than normal. "Come on…play nice with the geek."
Spike forced a grin that looked like he swallowed a rotted lemon. "In fact, Spanky, I think you did."
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand thr—oh, bugger it.
He vamped out, growling, effectively brushing aside his chain of thought to attempt to keep a cool head.
"My supper."
Andrew let out a girly scream as he bolted for the door as if the devil himself were behind him. Which, in fact, wasn't that far off, as Spike was hot on his heels. "Come 'ere, ya scraggly little pansy-pickin' git! I'll tear you a new one or three!"
Faith laughed out loud this time, shaking her head. "Boys."
Elsewhere…
Nightfall – Birmingham, Alabama
"Girls….dirty, dirty girls."
The man wiped his blade clean, the black cloth he used now soiled with the moisture of the freshly spilled blood of the knife's ending target.
At his feet, the body of a beautiful, young brunette lay silent.
Motionless.
Eyes wide, forever freeze-framing the horror of her final moments on Earth. Her blood became a steadily increasing pool of vile-smelling crimson, the site of it very much out of place with the otherwise beautiful moonlit courtyard in the center of a small redbrick church. Quiet now, as compared to when the dying scream of a young teenage girl pierced the rural night's gentle lull.
The handsome young man's dark eyes sparkled shockingly with a sense of accomplishment as he studied his latest victim. Perhaps more shocking was his otherwise innocent appearance…black pants, black shirt, and a priest's collar around his neck. To the common eye, he would have appeared to be a preacher, a local pastor listening to confessions, comforting the lost with soothing words of forgiveness. A Sheppard to line the stray lambs on the path of righteousness.
The sight of a supposed man of God standing over the body of a dead girl, blood-streaked knife in hand, would be quite a graphic distortion of that image.
"And then he answered, 'It is written, Do Not tempt the Lord, thy God'," he said, quoting the sacred Biblical passage as he slowly circled his victim, like a vulture hovering about the carcass of a fallen cub.
"And yet, there you went, dressin' like a filthy whore, your perfume dancin' in the air like some fly trap, followin' me all the way here…didn' think I'd see, now, did ya, li'l miss?"
His voice, laced with a laid-back Southern twang was a gentle, almost a condescending tone, like a father reprimanding a toddler for running with untied shoelaces. "Didn' think I could see behind those pretty little eyes and a blossomin' little body and see that you were tryin' to corrupt me? To test my faith? Reckon I had to teach you this the hard way: A man's true strength…is his conviction." He took a deep cleansing breath. "So let it be written."
"So let it be done."
He didn't even blink at the registering of a new voice. Without turning back, he calmly answered the owner of the voice, "You ain't never gonna stop with the poppin' in, poppin out hocus-pocus, are ya?"
The First, in the form of the murdered girl, smiled as she, it, entered the courtyard. "Oh, and here I thought you enjoyed me watching you work."
"Almost as much as I know you like watchin' it yourself," the man drawled.
"Cocky, aren't we," the First raised an eyebrow.
"Well, if you'd been on the roll I've been on since we put your plans in motion, hell, you'd be struttin' like a rooster in a hen house", the 'clergyman' shrugged.
"You've done well", the First conceded. "You've exceeded my expectations, Caleb. You're first few rounds in the field went smoothly. Organizing the Harbingers…"
"Quite nicely, might I add," Caleb smirked. "'Em boys can fight some'in fierce, now."
"Executing the murders of the Potential Slayers around the world…," the First continued.
"Without a hitch," the false preacher added.
"And, of course, setting up the bombs that destroyed the Watcher's Council and everyone in it."
"Ain't nothin' like the cleansin' fire to clean that place of sin," he crowed.
"Which is why I need your help a little sooner than…planned", the First sighed, discontent.
"I live to serve", Caleb said. "Tell me what you need, and thy will be done."
The First turned its attention to the cold body of the girl whose skin she was wearing. After staring down at the dead girl, she turned to Caleb. "Who was she?"
"Her?" He shook his head disdainfully at the corpse. "'Nother dirty girl. This one was a might filthier 'n the others. One of 'em potential slayer ilk." He studied the girl's face, for a moment. "At least she was. 'Till she met me, that is."
"Slayers", the First sighed. "They're like cockroaches. Just when you think you get rid of one, more of them spring up. "
"Then I'll squash 'em like ones," he said. "A bug's only as strong as the shoe that crushes the life outta 'em. And there's lots more to be purified."
"We have a little change of plans", the First said to him. "The one encharged with the vessel has compromised our security…"
"Ain't that jus' like a woman", Caleb sneered. "Always mussin' up a good man's work."
"Which is why I need you to rectify the situation", the First finished. "Send a team of your finest to L.A."
"Los Angeles?", Caleb frowned. "Why we gotta send 'em there for? I thought Sunnydale'd be our Jerusalem, and instead you're sendin' the boys to Sodom & Gomorrah? "
"The Slayer is there", the First patiently explained. "As is the Champion."
Caleb's eyebrow raised. "The Slayer? And Angelus, as well?"
"Unfortunately", the First sighed wistfully.
Caleb seemed to be a bit apprehensive now. Clearly, he was looking like he was having second thoughts. "Um, heh, not that I'd question your methods and all, but, takin' 'em both out? Seems like a tall order for the boys to handle. Not that I couldn't do it by m'self, course."
The First chuckled. "Oh, ye of little faith. Trust in my plan, Caleb. I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I? Was it not I who granted you the strength of 20 men in your fist alone?"
"Of course", Caleb bowed his head. "Forgive my doubt."
"Just do as I have told, Caleb. Everything will present itself soon enough", the First said, looking again to the corpse of the girl. "She won't be the last dead little girl."
"Speakin' of which", Caleb said, turning to the First. "The Slayer. When am I- -"
"Soon", the First said. "Patience, sweet Caleb. You'll meet her soon enough. Your time will come."
"Jus' remember. I'm your good right hand" ,Caleb said with a touch of awe in his voice.
"I know," the First replied. "Stick with me, and you'll be the one to separate the righteous from the wicked. And the righteous shall burn eternally. And the Slayer and Angelus will be the first to burn." The First looked Caleb directly in the eyes, a gaze of pure malice and evil, a look only able to be generated by the most evil, awesome force to have ever been known.
"Burn for me."
Caleb looked at the brink of tears as he smiled gleefully. "Hallelujah."
TBC….
Next chapter…As the Scoobies and the Fang Gang race to find a cure for Cordy, Connor and Dawn hatch a rather scary plan of their own. Can you spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E?
Buffy and Angel have a talk…'cause we know those are ALWAYS easy, right?
And some startling new revelations come to light!
BTW, I'm going to just stop promising when I update. Truth is, I haven't published this for a while, because I wanted it to be absolutely perfect. I refuse to write crap underneath my name. Only the best for you guys! But I swear, I won't stop until this is finished, and finished it will be, just as soon as school, work, family and other stuff eases up on me.
Read, review, suggest, and let me know what couples you'd like to see. I'll take EVERYTHING into account. Promise!
See ya!
Jean-theGuardian
