Bring Me to Life - A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 64
Interlude (Running Up That Hill)
And if I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And I'd get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building
See if I only could
"Running Up That Hill", by Kate Bush (covered by Placebo)
Sunnydale, California
15 minutes later
Days Left Before the End of Days: 10
As she lay in Fred's lap, the tiny physics whiz holding an ice pack to her head that they had purchased at a nearby store afterwards while Gunn drove, Buffy stared blankly up at the sky, watching the sun beginning to fade.
Fading like her chances of winning this war were, the bleak thought entered her mind.
It doesn't hurt me
Do you want to feel how it feels?
She had managed to sneak a glance at one of the pictures that Caleb had taken of her. The sight of it almost made her throw up. Buffy knew she wasn't invincible. She had lost battles before. But seeing herself so beaten, so defenseless, so completely humbled and humiliated like that was something else entirely.
She hadn't felt this kind of bleakness or fear from a defeat since Glory. Maybe even more than The Master when he had killed her the first time years ago before she rose again to kill the bastard right back.
She was starting to doubt whether she could beat Caleb. If anyone could.
And if she couldn't beat The First's top lieutenant, then how could she possibly beat The First Evil itself?, she wondered grimly. The last time she took on The First head-to-head, it broke her back and nearly killed her. It could have killed her, but it wanted her around for its own twisted amusement.
And Buffy knew that.
In the few moments before she blacked out in Caleb's grasp, Buffy remembered that her last thought was of Angel. Of wondering if she would never see him again. Missing him. Needing him…only to coldly realize at the last moment that he wasn't coming…
Buffy shook the thoughts from her head. She couldn't think about that now. About him now. It was bad enough that her body was falling apart. She didn't need to add her heart to the list too. Only The Slayer could keep her together, could keep her safe. Now was not the time to be Buffy. Be The Slayer. Be The Slayer. Be The Slayer…
"Are you sure you're okay?" Fred gently asked, pressing the ice to the cut on her head that was marred by a forming bruise.
No. I'm definitely not okay, The Slayer thought miserably.
"Fine," she replied back quietly, however. She had to put up her Soldier Face in front of the others. She couldn't let them see her sweat. The Slayer doesn't sweat. The Slayer doesn't quit, Buffy reminded herself. And that's what she was…The Slayer.
Yet Fred didn't buy it. "Are you positive?"
This time, Gunn jumped in. "She said she's fine, Fred," he replied, almost monotone but his voice giving off a strong hint to Fred: leave it alone.
It wasn't for lack of concern, as Gunn was very concerned about Buffy's state of being at the moment. It was because he knew what she was going through.
He also knew what it was like to be a leader, to have others count on him. Depend on him. Look to him like he was the last hope, the sole shield between them and the wolves at the gate. And like Buffy, while Gunn had also won his share of battles, he knew what it was like to lose them.
They hurt, he remembered, Hell, they still hurt. Knowing that he had let his people down, let himself down, and having to watch the doubt in the eyes of his crew afterwards, like he was somehow less in their eyes, as if they wondered if he was strong enough to protect them anymore…that, Gunn remembered, was worst of all.
He knew that Buffy was feeling all of that and more. So he would spare her that if he could.
Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
Surprised, Buffy peered up at him from her place in Fred's lap, stunned and wondering if Gunn perhaps understood what she was thinking. Gunn, sparing a look at Buffy, gave her a faint smile and nodded at her in understanding.
Gratefully, Buffy reciprocated with a ghost of a smile, nodding back. Both of them were warriors. Both of them silently understood the other right now.
Fred was not oblivious to the subtle look that the two shared, a small pang of jealousy beginning to flare inside of her. No, it wasn't because she sensed some kind of attraction between them, like how Gunn had for that bitchy electro-bitch Gwen Raiden despite the fact that she had technically killed him for a few seconds once. She was well aware that Buffy was a very beautiful young woman, and had a lot of the qualities that made Angel so attractive to her once, the whole noble, brave, good-looking, selfless yet tortured protector working for her. Yet she could see plainly now that Buffy only had eyes for Angel, the two sharing such emotion, passion and chemistry together—kyrumption in every sense of the word— that Fred now felt foolish for ever considering Cordelia as a possible mate for Angel. And besides that, her and Charles had…unfinished business together. That much was evident when she thought back to that moment in each other's arms just before they rescued Buffy. Neither of them had talked much about where they stood now since their breakup, however. Fred knew that was a conversation that was long overdue.
You, it's you and me
What she was jealous of, however, was that little 'fellow warrior' thing that the two bonded over. She knew all about Charles's tragic upbringing, how he was forced to learn how to fight since he was just a little boy after his parents were killed by vampires. And she had heard from Willow about how Buffy had been Called as The Slayer when she was just 15 years old. Fred wasn't doing any of that when she was that age. She was too busy solving complex math equations, hiding indoors instead of going out with the other kids, and occasionally experimenting with marijuana when she reached her teenage years before she lost interest and refocused on her excelling academic studies.
Sometimes, despite having spent so much time with Angel and the others, she still felt out of place. Part of her wondered what she was still doing here. She wasn't a Slayer like Buffy or Faith, or a powerful witch like Willow. Even in her own beloved makeshift family in Angel Investigations, at times she still wondered where she fit. She wasn't a brave Champion like Angel. She wasn't The Heart, a Seer with experience in combat and the occult like Cordelia. She wasn't The Muscle, a well-honed and trained fighter like Charles. She wasn't The Brains, a trained Watcher, warlock and combatant like Wesley. She wasn't The Eyes, a demon with the ability to read people's minds and futures simply by hearing them sing, like Lorne. She wasn't even…I don't know, The Fist, maybe?...or whatever Connor was, with supernatural power running through her veins via mystical genetics.
All she was was the Girl Who Makes Cool Stuff. The mad scientist. Gadget Gal. She hardly felt useful in times like this, when it was a time for warriors and fighters and Champions and Slayers, not builders. Not…geeks, she derisively thought of herself. Nothing that even her brilliant mind could think of constructing was going to be enough to stop The First or Caleb or that army of goons they had at their beck and call.
She remembered feeling like she was just in the way, or outright useless in the last few months. Against Angelus when he had her throat in his grasp the first night he was locked in the basement in a cage. Against Skip when he came within a hair's breadth of killing her before Gunn had to save her. Caleb would have certainly killed her in the school moments ago had Gunn not been there…again. And even against that one lousy Bringer who had a knife at her throat before Gunn was there. Again.
She was tired of feeling like this. Like she couldn't do anything to help her friends.
I just wish…I just want to help, Fred thought sadly to herself. Do something. Anything. Anything but just watch the ones I care about fight for their lives and not be able to help them. I just want to be…useful. But how?
That, unfortunately, was one equation even the beautiful mind of Winifred Burkle couldn't answer. Not now. Not yet, anyway, she thought with quiet determination.
And if I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And I'd get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building
See if I only could, oh
The three compatriots fell silent as the truck pulled away down the desolate streets of Sunnydale, with nary a soul in sight.
London, England - Smithfield Market, meatpacking district, abandoned building
Same time
Geoffrey Peterson sighed as he chained up the door of the former slaughterhouse.
He had been doing the same job for about two years now, in various buildings. Make sure the building is secure, no witnesses around, and "clean up" best he can…afterwards.
He didn't know too much about his "employer", except that his check cleared and the money was consistent. And for an ex-con like Peterson, that was pretty much all he cared about. Even if some of the things that he had heard gone on inside the building made his skin crawl. Even if this guy made his skin crawl.
Best not to ask questions he didn't really want the answers to, he decided.
He had just finished locking the padlock on the door as he was turning to go…
"Hey, Geoffrey," a voice glibly called from behind him.
Startled, the ex-con stumbled backward, barely catching his footing. "Who the 'ell are you?" he asked in his Cockney accent.
From the shadows, Angel stepped forward, like a wraith born in the dark. Clad in all black. Large. Strong. Intimidating. An aura of danger all around him that made Geoffrey immediately nervous.
A small smile was on his face. But beneath the surface, it was anything but friendly. "Just a big fan of your work, Geoff. Had to meet the man in person, Geoff. Had to try and get some pointers, Geoff. Do you mind if I call you 'Geoff'?" Angel asked, a veneer of civility just barely masking his intimidating presence to the career criminal.
Geoffrey tried to puff up, grabbing a nearby crowbar and scowling. "As a matter of fact, maybe I do, mate."
Yet Angel only smiled wider, the ex-con cursing himself for having his knees suddenly start shaking.
"Well, that's just too bad, Geoff. And here I was trying to make a new friend," Angel wryly grinned. Then his smile dropped, his eyes growing dark. "But I'll gladly settle for you telling me about the guy who pays you to lock up here."
"None of your business. Now piss off, ya wanker," Geoffrey said threateningly, motioning to the crowbar in his hand for emphasis. Geoffrey was not a small man at 6'1" and 245 pounds. However, despite this, Geoffrey was only hoping that would be enough to ward off whoever this strange stranger was. Something about him gave the ex-con the creeps.
Yet Angel only chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound that chilled Geoffrey's blood. "You know," Angel said through another chilling grin, "there's another guy that sometimes calls me 'wanker.' Real moron, dyes his hair radioactive, kind of a putz. He's told me to piss off before, too, actually. Or maybe it's to get pissed off." His eyes glittered in the dark, like a cobra hiding in its bungalow awaiting an unsuspecting mouse for dinner. "Maybe I should take that advice. Wanna see me get pissed off?"
…and in a flash of a movement, Geoffrey suddenly found himself getting hoisted by the throat up in the air like he weighed nothing at all, the hand he held the crowbar in suddenly dropping as the strange man in black's other powerful hand suddenly was crushing it.
No, he suddenly realized as he got a look at his face. Not a man.
A vampire.
Angel's terrifying ridged demon face scowled at him, his fangs bared in an animalistic snarl. "Here's what I look like pissed off."
Geoffrey wheezed as his windpipe began to clamp shut, his eyes wide in fear. "Wha-wha-what do you want? Please, don't hurt me!"
Angel could smell the stink of fear wafting off of the man. "Tell me about your boss," the undead detective demanded, his eyes a golden yellow like a lion homing in on its kill.
"I-I-I don't know nothin' 'bout him, mate, honest!" Geoffrey blurted out.
"The guy pays your checks and you don't know anything about him? Gonna have to do a lot better than that, Geoff, or else I'm thinking a little after-dinner snack is in order," Angel menaced him, hand tightening around his throat to show the criminal that this vampire meant business.
"I'm serious!" Geoffrey blurted out, desperately. "I-I-I just clean out the place, lock up afterwards! That's all!"
"Just an honest criminal at work, right? Gee, I wonder how Scotland Yard would feel about your violating your parole being an accessory to murder?" an unconvinced Angel wondered aloud, his iron grip not relenting on Geoffrey's throat. "Or maybe I should save them the trouble and just eat you right now."
"No, no, please!" the con man blurted out, eyes nearly tearing, his heart hammering in his chest in fear. "What do ya want? I'll do anything!"
Angel smiled in dark fashion. "Good. Then after I come out, since we're such good friends now, you and I are going to have a little chat. And remember, Geoff… Friends don't keep secrets. So don't lie to me. That would hurt my feelings…" Angel then crushed one of the man's fingers in his hand, drawing out the start of the con man's pained scream that Angel promptly muzzled with his own hand.
"And then I'd have to hurt you. A LOT," Angel snarled.
With a sudden headbutt, Angel promptly knocked the man unconscious, letting him slump to the floor. Quickly, he used the chain that he ripped off the doors to chain the man up to a nearby concrete pillar before he swung open the doors and made his way inside.
Slowly, Angel made his way through the dark building. His eyes could see well in the dark, part of the built-in night vision his vampiric eyes afforded him. Still, he knew he had to be careful. The intel Fray provided him on this Walter Kindel suggested that he had gotten a lot smarter over time. Craftier. And with the Rune of Shadows in his possession, there was no telling what kind of power this scumbag had at his disposal.
Still, Angel mused, the power was the rune. Without it, Walter Kindel was just a man. Meat, blood and bones like billions of others. Like thousands of others that he had killed with ease before he got his soul back. If he could get to the man, Angel knew he could win this fight.
The sounds of a child crying and whimpering softly perked his supernatural ears.
Angel knew that sound better than he would have wanted to. He had heard it for more than a century. By his own hands.
Shaking off the unbidden images of horror in his mind, Angel began to slowly creep down the dark hallway.
The place reeked of the smell of dead animals. But he could smell a man had been in here. Cheap aftershave, smelled vaguely of garlic, and traces of burnt air were still in the air, indicating magick had been used there recently. Kindle, Angel realized.
He could also smell the clear scent of a child. She smelled of crayons and girl's perfume and innocence. And fear. As Angelus, he used to prowl in the darkness praying on innocent children like this one. As who he really was…as Angel…he now raced to save one from the clutches of a monster in man's flesh. The irony was not lost on the undead hero.
You don't want to hurt me
But see how deep the bullet lies
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts
The cries of the child grew closer, Angel slowly turning the corner. No need to flash Hope's Dagger yet, he didn't want the sun-like blade drawing attention to him in case he needed cover. Besides, if he got the jump on Kindel, his game face and his fists would be all the weapons he needed.
At last, Angel cleared the corner to where the cries of the child were the loudest…
…only to find nothing there.
He found an empty, large room with no one there.
No missing child, and no serial killer.
Nothing except a small table with a recorder, where the child's cries came from.
And a black cell phone.
Angel instantly went on alert, looking around the room for any threats or booby traps.
Should have known this was too good to be true, Angel grimly thought to himself.
Suddenly, the cell phone started ringing. Angel stared at it, letting it ring once, twice, three, four times…
At last, he picked it up and hit the answer button. "Hello?"
"Hello. May I ask why you've been following me?"
Angel froze. It could only be Kindel, he concluded.
Angel coolly answered. "Maybe I just wanted to have a chat."
"Is that right?" the raspy voice asked from the other end of the line. "And praytell, what would you like to talk about?"
"Nothing much. The weather, sports, this year's fashion…the kidnapping of an innocent girl whose parents you butchered like cattle. Y'know, guy stuff," Angel replied, unfazed, a cool edge to his voice. "This is the Home Wrecker Killer, am I right to presume that?"
The voice chuckled. "I never much cared for that name. But yes. I am he. And who might you be?"
Angel's reply was cool, casual. "Just a guy looking to right some past wrongs. Cross some things off my list. And guess what? You happen to be on my list…Kindel."
At that, he looked up and stared straight ahead into the camera above him, with its blinking red light indicating it was on. Angel looked right into it, as if he was staring into the killer's face himself. "Oh, so sorry, do you prefer Walter?"
The voice paused for a moment. Angel sensed he might have surprised him. No way to tell just yet. After a pregnant pause, the voice responded at last. "I've gone through a lot of trouble to keep that name out of the press in the last few years. I'd be impressed if I wasn't perceiving you now as an obvious threat instead of some nameless nobody who has absolutely no idea what he's getting himself into. So, you know my name. And yet I still haven't the foggiest idea of what yours is."
"Angel," the detective replied smoothly.
A short chuckle was the killer's reply. "'Angel'. Kind of a girly name for someone clad in all black so oozing of machismo that he brazenly breaks into one of my buildings."
"Big talk from a guy named 'Walter,'" Angel replied, his voice cool, keeping his timbre even. Best to put on a poker face when dealing with slimeballs like Kindel. They thrived on emotion, fear, anger, panic. Denying them that, giving them something they had no idea how to deal with, that could throw them off their game. "With that name, the kids at the playground just had to be kicking your ass every day. What, your mommy and daddy couldn't think of any more 'old man' names to give you? Were Amos, George and Chester already taken? I've seen your picture, by the way. With that ugly haircut, you kinda look like a 'Chester.' Do you feel like a 'Chester' sometimes, Walter?"
"That's funny, Mister Angel. Very funny. You should be a comedian," the voice replied, a subtle hint of annoyance in his otherwise eerily cool voice.
"I'm a funny guy," Angel replied, staring deadpanned into the camera.
"Obviously," the voice replied with a hint of sarcasm. "But unfortunately for you, I find your intrusion and your knowledge of my identity not amusing at all."
"Not my problem. Where's the girl?" Angel answered back, a hint of grit in his otherwise icy voice.
"Well, Mister Big Bad Detective Angel…you are a detective, I assume? I'll leave that to be your problem. The meat has been seasoned, her tears have made the sweetest of all seasonings, and she's almost ripe for my feast," the killer replied, no emotion as he made his chilling remark.
"Gonna be real difficult for you to feast after I rip your jaw off and shove it so far down your throat you'll be able to chew your own ass out for pissing me off," Angel replied, fighting to keep the growl out of his voice. "And I can. I've done it once. Not as difficult as you'd think."
The killer laughed now. "Oh, but I like you! You are a challenge. First one I've had in a long time. So I'll tell you what, Guardian 'Angel'. Let's raise the stakes a little. I usually do take my time in devouring my prey, these little creatures. But you've forced me to speed up my timetable. Try finding me within the next 24 hours. Because that's all the time she has left."
"Fine. Tell me where you are, and we'll make it a date," Angel goaded him. "I'll even bring the hor d'oeuvres."
The killers' chuckle was the response Angel received. "Nice try. But I wouldn't want to insult your obviously great deductive skills. So I'll leave that to you. 24 hours. And then I start mailing the pieces of this tiny meat back to her grandparents. One week at a time."
Deciding that Kindel was no longer going to give him anything useful, now Angel looked into the camera, dropping his cool exterior. Letting the angry parent in him show. The protector.
The Champion.
"You don't have weeks, Walter," Angel growled softly into the phone, letting his voice drop into a tone so sinister that it made men, women and even demons quiver in fear of him for centuries, and even to this day. "You have as much time as I say you have. And, buddy, you don't have much left. You just told me that I have no idea what I'm dealing with. But actually? It's the other way around. You think you're scary? You think you know what suffering is? You can't even begin to understand what those words mean. But trust me, after I'm done with you, you're going to. Intimately. So a little piece of advice. If you don't believe in religion? Start. Because I'm coming for you. Understand? And I'm not going to stop. Give your soul to whatever it is that scum like you pray to. Because as of right now? Your ass belongs to me. Tick-tock."
With that, he crushed the phone in his hand, and with the other hand, he grabbed the table and sent it effortlessly flying like a frisbee at the camera, crushing the electronic device and the table in one powerful heave.
Growling, Angel kicked the remains of the table far away from him in frustration. Despite his own frightening threat and his bravado, he knew that the odds were against him now to find this psychopath with his window of time now shrinking even smaller. The lives of an innocent child and his friends were hanging in the balance, and time was literally running out for him to get back to Buffy with this looming mega-apocalypse on the horizon.
To make matters worse, he knew that Buffy was missing.
That something may have happened to the woman he loved.
Every cell in his body, every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to go back right now, tear up Sunnydale by the roots if he had to until he found her safe and sound. To hold her in his arms, inhale her warm vanilla scent into his nostrils, beg for forgiveness for being such a fool. For letting her go. Leaving her alone to deal with the growing madness. But he could not.
And if I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And I'd get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building
See if I only could, oh
Instead, he now faced the possibility of letting her down…again. And along with it, letting that little girl in danger down. Letting all of his friends down. Letting the world itself down.
The 'mighty Champion'. What a joke, he thought in misery.
All in all, Angel decided with a frustrated, airless sigh, this is shaping up to be one really crappy trip.
Sunnydale, California, USA - Summers Residence
30 minutes later
Faith was rounding the corner upstairs as she was trying to make her way to her room. She figured she needed to get her weapons ready.
"Hey, Faith," called a voice from behind her.
Faith turned in surprise to find Kate and Lindsey behind her.
Instinctively, Faith stiffened. Despite the three of them now being on the same side, the Boston-born Slayer didn't have the best history with these people. After all, Lindsey had once hired her to kill Angel, and then turned on her by hiring a demon assassin to eliminate her after things didn't go according to plan. And Kate was the officer she had turned herself into for murder.
Faith folded her arms across her chest. "Yeah, what?" she asked, rather brusquely.
Recognizing her hostility, Kate summoned all her patience. "We just…we've gotta go somewhere for a little while. Might be a day or two."
That caught Faith's attention, the dark-haired beauty raising one eyebrow suspiciously. "An apocalypse is kind of a strange time for a day trip, don't you think?"
Kate spared a look at Lindsey, as if wondering how much she could say. Angel had been very specific in telling them not to tell the others about this case yet. Lindsey, however, gave her a small nod, encouraging her to say something.
Taking a breath, Kate turned back to Faith. "It's…about Angel."
Now Faith was interested, her eyes wide in concern. "Angel? You mean you've heard from him? Is he okay?"
"Yeah, sure. He, uh, just needs our…expertise on something," Lindsey cut in quickly.
Faith raised her eyebrow, not quite buying it. "Expertise?"
"Legal thing. Long story, wouldn't want to bore you," the ex-lawyer shrugged.
"We might be gone a day, two tops. We should be back soon," Kate added. "Just, um, tell the others we're on our way out. We kinda have to go now. Like…right now."
Faith took it in for a moment, and then nodded. "Cool. I'll let Giles know, no worries. And…tell Angel that he needs to hurry back," Faith added, sincerely. "We sure could use him 'round here."
Kate merely smiled faintly and nodded back. "Of course."
Then the ex-cop and ex-lawyer walked back down the stairs towards…wherever it was they were off to, leaving Faith alone again with her thoughts.
She turned to make her way back towards her room, when she caught sight of a familiar platinum blonde figure leaning against her doorway.
Spike.
Leaning there. Looking all handsome and smoldering with an uncharacteristically soft look in those baby blue eyes of his that always seemed to make her knees weak.
"Oy," Spike greeted with a lazy smile. "Was wondering when you were gonna take a break from the madness for a bit."
Faith cursed her heart for jumping in her chest at the sight of him. There was still a part of her, a very loud, hard-to-ignore part of her that wanted to wrap her arms and her legs around him whenever they saw each other.
But there was this other part, an even louder part of her lately, that was screaming at every cell in her body to keep her distance from him. And right now, she had given control to the latter.
She shook her head, and turned to go when she suddenly felt Spike's hand on her bicep. "Wait." He paused for a moment. "...please wait, Faith."
She still felt the sparks where his hand made contact with her arm. Only this time, it scared, confused and excited her. But two of those three things were feelings that Faith was desperately trying to avoid at all costs.
She gave Spike a frown as her eyes darted between his grip and her arm. "Dude. Look. But don't touch."
Spike got the message. He slowly lowered his hand from her arm. Still, he was undeterred. "That wasn't quite what you used to say a couple days back," he gave her a somewhat teasing smile.
But instead, Faith, who normally would have been totally game for a round of sexy repartee with him, lowered her eyes, a hint of sadness in them. "Things were…different then," she replied, folding her arms defensively against her ample chest.
Spike nodded, sadly. "I know. Something is different." He probed her with his eyes, but she stared back, unwilling to give him anything. She might as well have been that prison she escaped from, Spike reckoned. "If you want to—"
"No," Faith replied quickly, cutting him off before he could get any further. She began to get annoyed, ire lighting up in her beautiful doe brown eyes. "I don't want to talk about it. I didn't want to talk about it the first time you asked me. I didn't want to talk about it the second time, or the third time, or yesterday, or this morning, and I'm not going to want to talk about it anytime soon, maybe ever, so do a girl a favor? Quit while you're behind."
The acidity of her words hurt, Spike did admit. But it wasn't enough to stop him. He'd been hurt worse. He could take it. "You don't get to live as long as I have by bein' a quitter, luv," he gave her a wry look.
She hadn't the faintest idea of what to say or do next, Faith silently admitted. She wasn't even sure what she really wanted with Spike anymore, not after…
She closed off her mind from thinking back to what happened when she was held captive by The First. Something in her had changed when she came back from that hell. And she didn't want to think too long about it. Because whatever she locked away behind those doors in her mind under lock and key still scared the shit out of her.
Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, it's you and me
It's you and me, won't be unhappy
Faith sighed, putting her hands on her hips, the ice in her eyes thawing just a little. Not enough to let him in, but enough to hear him out. "What do you want?"
He looked at her earnestly, those baby blue orbs peering into her, and Faith fought to keep the butterflies in her stomach from flapping out of control.
"Faith," he started, gently. His eyes were so damn blue and naked, hiding nothing in their gaze, and it scared her. "I just…I want…" He suddenly found he didn't really have the words, so he just got straight to the point. "...I just miss you, is all, luv."
Faith looked up to the ceiling for a moment, closing her eyes in regret.
"You haven't been wanting to talk to me since ya got back. You won't look at me, you avoid bein' around me…it's like you just shut me out," Spike said, sadness in his eyes. "Look, I know that you went through some pretty horrible stuff in there. Hell…I went through some of it with you."
Faith gave him a somewhat apologetic look. She did feel guilty that Spike had to share that horror with her when he never asked to. "Yeah," she replied, softly. "I remember."
"Look," Spike said, earnestly. "If you don't want to talk about what happened to you after I lost contact, fine. I can wait. But, Faith I just…we were getting somewhere, yeah? Somewhere pretty good, if I can recall."
Violating the 'no-touch' rule that Faith had instituted, Spike slowly reached out and put his hands on her perfectly sculpted hips, just above the waist of her tight black jeans. Faith fought not to focus on how cool his hands felt against the warmth of her exposed flesh, how smooth they felt, how sparks seemed to almost leap off her skin at his touch.
He pulled her close, and Spike felt the heat between them suddenly leap up through the wall of ice that Faith had built to separate them. "I miss that…I miss that a lot. Something good was happening between us, pet. Something really good. You can't tell me I was wrong. Can you?"
His eyes held an unspoken plea. To let him back in. To tear down this wall of ice between them, to let that growing, thrumming bond, attraction, spark between them flourish and crackle again. See where it could take them…
How Faith wanted to. How she badly wanted to let down her walls. Let her guard down again and pick up right where they left off. See if he could be what she thought he could be…what part of her wanted him to be…
Then like a burst of static, the horrid memories of her simulated weeks of captivity burst through her mind's eye, and it's like she'd been doused by cold water again by Caleb for funsies.
She pushed his hands away from her hips. Met his eyes, not looking away, but not really letting him in all the way, either.
"Spike," she began, a hint of regret and sorrow in her raspy voice. She pursed her lips together, trying to keep from falling apart. Trying to keep it together. "Look, I…a lot's happened. And I…" she took a moment, took in a deep breath. "...there's a lot I have to figure out now. I…don't even know who I…"
She stopped herself, realizing her heart was speaking way too much for her comfort.
Spike looked at her, eyes probing, pleading with her to share. "...who you what, pet?" he asked gently. "...Who you are?"
Spike could feel that he was close. She wanted to let him in. He knew it, he just knew it! Whatever those ghouls did to her couldn't take all of her. Not her. Not his Faith. Just let me in a little closer, baby, he pleaded silently with his eyes. Let me in, Faith. Let me help you…
Oh come on, baby
Oh come on, darling
Let me steal this moment from you now
Yet Faith quickly shook her head, bit hard on the inside of her lip to keep her focused. Turned her haunted brown eyes at him again.
"...Spike…I…" her voice was barely a whisper, not so much louder than when Buffy looked him straight in the eye that night and told him that she picked Angel over him. "...I can't be what you need me to be right now."
Oh come on, angel
Come on, come on, darling
Let's exchange the experience, oh
Her full, pouty lips began to tremble, the old feeling of self-loathing and shame washing over her, brought back by memories old and new. "I'm sorry, I really am. But the way I am now…I don't think I'd be good for you. Or anyone else. I'm sorry."
He felt the crack in his heart start forming again. Felt the familiar sting of rejection slapping him in the face, kicking him right in the balls.
Spike took it all in…and he shook it off.
Because it was like he said before, he could take a little pain. And this was far bigger than his own pain.
This was about hers.
About Faith's.
Whatever it was that happened to her which she wasn't talking about, it was slowly killing her inside. Spike knew that. He knew Slayers better than anyone. He had figured them out long ago. About their secret wish.
The Death Wish.
The secret longing for every Slayer that eventually wanted to be free of their pain, their burden, the crushing weight of their responsibilities of saving the world on their shoulders. A freedom that only the sweet release of death could grant them.
And he was beginning to see it in Faith.
Where there was once life, spunk, a fire in her wild doe brown eyes there was now a cold, empty sadness. A pain, deep and intimate. Loneliness, Spike realized. And if she couldn't shake it now, then Spike had a terrible feeling that she wouldn't survive what was coming.
And that, he decided then and there, was not something he would accept.
And if I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And I'd get him to swap our places
I'd be running up that road
Be running up that hill
With no problems
He chuckled briefly, which surprised her. Then he shook his head and gave her a rueful smile. "Sorry, sweetheart. But you're not getting rid of me that easy."
Faith frowned, not sure if Spike was deaf for a moment or if he really was an idiot like Angel had constantly accused him of being. "Didn't you hear what I said?" she asked, now irritated. "I just—"
"Yeah, I heard what you said, I ain't bloody deaf," he replied. Yet his eyes kept that earnest stare on her, locked eyes with her and refused to let her look away. "This doesn't have to be about what I need anymore. This is about what you need. Right now, I don't know what that is. But I do know this. I meant what I said to you back when you were locked in that place."
Something in his eyes kept pulling her in. It was like a deep blue sea, the kind that Faith would see on those vacation commercials on TV. Only now that sea was calling for her, beckoning her, pulling her into their vortex.
His voice was quiet, yet fervent. "As long as I'm around…you don't have to be alone."
Faith fought not to gasp at his words, at the strength and conviction of how he meant them.
And for the life of her, she couldn't understand it. She had kept pushing him away. Hitting him. Ignoring him. Avoiding him. Giving him the cold shoulder.
So why wasn't he running for the hills?
Why hadn't he turned tail and run like every other guy Faith had dated, every other loser she had lain in bed with?
Why isn't he giving up on me?
Faith was almost afraid to find out the answer. And yet part of her really wanted to…
Suddenly, her cell phone began to ring. Grateful for the distraction, she picked it up.
"Yeah?" she answered, willing at this point to even entertain one of those annoying telemarketing morons. Her eyes lit up when she heard the other voice on the end of the line. "Fred?...How'd the search go? Did you find Buffy?...You did. Well, that's good news…" She frowned. "...Well, is she okay?...uh-huh…uh-huh…yeah, cool. Alright, I'll go let G-man and the others know." She rolled her eyes. "Giles, of course. Yeah, I'll let 'em know. Got it. Just get back here soon."
With that, she hung up the phone.
Spike looked at her, eager to hear what that was about. "Well? What happened? Did they find Buffy?"
Faith nodded, a look of relief on her face. "Yeah. They said B's fine. They said she had a little run-in with trouble, but she's okay. They're just taking a drive to get supplies, calm her nerves and they'll be back soon."
Spike felt relief flood through him as well, glad that Buffy's safety was no longer in question. "Finally. Some bit of good news for once."
Faith saw her opportunity, and she took it. "I gotta go. Giles is gonna want to hear this."
Spike looked flustered. "Yeah, but Faith, what about…?"
But she was already walking away, bounding hurriedly down the steps.
Yet Spike remained undaunted. He was never one to let a few setbacks stop him from getting what his heart desired. He certainly wasn't going to let it stop him now.
He remembered what Darla told him before about Faith: She's put her trust in you. And unless I'm mistaken, she's not exactly the trusting kind. For whatever reason that's beyond me…she sees a lot more to you than what meets the eye.
Spike himself didn't know what she could possibly see in him. He was no hero, he knew that. But if that's what he had to be to help Faith, then that's what Spike decided he would be. For her.
Said, if I only could
I'd be running up that hill
With no problems
(If I only could, I'd be running up that hill)
(If I only could, I'd be running up that hill)
Just hang in there, Faith, he silently vowed to her. I meant what I told you. I'm here. And I ain't goin' anywhere. You can bloody well count on that…I ain't goin' anywhere…
To Be Continued…
Next: It's Dance Night in Sunnydale! With the troops on edge, Faith and the others decide to loosen them up with dancing, drinking and more daring escapades at The Bronze. Sparks will fly on the dance floor, and more than just a few hearts might get broken before the night is through. But what will an already on-edge, wounded Buffy think once she finds out? And will it put her on a collision course with Faith?
Meanwhile, Angel brings in help as he seeks to take down a deadly serial killer. How far will he be willing to go to bring the killer down and return to help Buffy in Sunnydale with the Awakening still days away?
A/N: The lyrics in this chapter come from Kate Bush's classic hit "Running Up That Hill". I can credit "Stranger Things" for the inspiration, though I had planned on using the song long before Season 4 happened. Lol I felt it was very appropriate to tell the stories of our heroes through this chapter. Thanks to everyone for sticking to this story. Your feedback is always appreciated! Please read, follow and review!
Peace!
-Jean-theGuardian
