Bring Me to Life

A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event

Part 68

Empty Places, Part 9


Sunnydale, California - Avenue H

11:38 p.m.

Days Left Before the End of Days: 10


"You'll only be disappointed, you know," Holtz / The First said tauntingly.

Connor paid him, or 'it', no mind as he kept his brisk pace towards The Bronze.

He had tried, tried so hard to stay away from Dawn. To resist the urge to go back to the only place that had any semblance of a home that he had left. For her own good. Because he didn't trust anyone there anymore. Because he was too dangerous. Too violent. Too much a monster to be anywhere near her.

Yet…he couldn't stay away from her.

He just couldn't.

He needed her, needed her in ways that he didn't fully understand, yet he needed her all the same.

So he doubled back from the edges of town back to Revello Drive. Snuck quietly back in through the window of Dawn's room, the troubled teenage warrior wanting, needing so desperately to see her, talk to her.

His heart had sunk when he found her room empty. Her warm, feminine scent wafted all around him, both comforting and mocking him, the one person in the world that seemed to understand him, to bother to care about him lately, not there when he needed her most.

Part of him wanted to stick around, see if he could find a way to patch things up with his mother, see his friends Amanda, Molly and Vi, or maybe even get word about his fath…Angel, and if he was still alive or not.

Yet Connor couldn't.

The words of his mother Darla admitting that she had tried to kill him when she was still pregnant with him still rattled around in his mind, in his heart, eating away at both like acidic poison. Just another confirmation to the confused and hurting teenage warrior that nobody wanted him. That he didn't belong here, in this town, in this place, in this life.

That he was truly and utterly alone.

Trying eagerly to brush those thoughts aside, Connor did what he had done all his life; block out the pain and keep moving forward. So he kept moving forward, following Dawn's scent to the Bronze.

He needed to see her, talk to her. He just…needed her. Dawn, where are you? I…I really need you right now. Please…

"After what you did to that bumbling officer, what do you think she'll say to you? Do you really think that she'll understand? That she'll see you differently than anyone else who thinks you're a monster? A freak?" Holtz/The First said in a calm, yet taunting voice. "Then again, she isn't exactly normal herself. She doesn't belong here anymore than you do, being a girl who only exists because she needed The Slayer to protect her. A girl that shouldn't exist falling in love with a boy who doesn't belong here…how elegiac."

"Shut up," Connor angrily snapped, his heart aching, his thoughts a jumbled blur.

He had been living on the streets for days now, running on stolen canned goods, adrenaline, anger and pain. Slaying whatever demons that he had come across attacking people, saving whoever he could, blaming himself for those he couldn't. And the longer it went on, the more and more his grasp on his sanity felt like it was slipping. He felt like he was drowning. Drowning all alone out at sea and nobody was around to throw him a lifeline.

He felt desperate now. Desperate to believe in something, anything. He had been lied to his entire life, used his entire life, hunted his entire life…Dawn was the one good thing in his crappy, awful hell of a life that seemed to make any sense. That seemed true. That actually…loved him.

Like he loved her. God, how he loved her. Her perfect face, those big beautiful blue eyes, her enchanting laugh, the way she tasted like candy when their lips touched…she was like a rock offering him shelter and warmth from the storm of pain, lies and manipulations that he had weathered his whole life.

And he needed that shelter now, perhaps more than ever.

He was turning the corner on Hawkins Avenue when he saw a house that seemed to glow with lights. A lot of cars were around the block. It didn't seem like there was danger, yet Connor felt…drawn to it somehow. Slowly, he crept up to the window and looked inside.

He saw some kind of family gathering. He saw a man, obviously the father, smiling and sitting at the head of the table, relatives all around him as he got ready to cut a turkey. He saw the mom helping to serve the food with a big smile on her face. He saw relatives around the table smiling and happy to be there.

And he saw a boy, around his age. Smiling, blond hair, clad in a sweater vest with the name of some college that Connor didn't recognize, Stanford or something. Clearly he was the son, from the way his mom gave him a kiss on the cheek. He sat alongside a pretty brown-haired girl, clearly the girlfriend from the way she snuggled up close to him, her eyes all full of love as she gazed at him. The boy looked at her with a look of a boy who was clearly in love, laughing as he toasted with his relatives…

…and Connor's heart ached.

This kid has no idea how lucky he is, Connor bitterly thought.

To have this kind of life, to have grown up safe and warm and loved, the complete opposite of how Connor was raised and the harsh life he had to deal with because of Angel and Holtz's bitter hatred of one another.

In another life, this kid's life should have been Connor's, the teenage warrior mused in aching regret. If he closed his eyes for a moment, Connor could see himself sitting in The Hyperion at Christmas time, Dawn on his arm and snuggled close to him at the dinner table, Angel sitting at the head of the table with eyes of approval as he smiled at his son, Buffy next to him holding Angel's hand and smiling at Connor with her full blessing for his dating her baby sister.

He could see his mother Darla giving him a kiss on the cheek in doting affection, Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn, Fred and Lorne all sitting around the table laughing and warm and loving, with even Faith and Spike there, Spike's arm slung around Faith shoulder while the pair gave their half-smiles of approval at him, Faith giving him a wink as Dawn gave him a tender kiss on the cheek.

And Connor would be smiling, feeling safe and loved and happy.

The family he had always wanted, the girl of his dreams loving him, the life he could only dream about.

Tears pricked a wistful Connor's eyes…

"Yes, a touching scene, isn't it?" the thing wearing his mentally unstable, revenge-driven adoptive father's face said. "Family can be so beautiful, can't it?" He/it paused. "Oh, wait, that's right…you wouldn't know."

Connor turned at the figment of the man who had ruined his life and scowled, full of anger yet also…tainted with defeat. This thing was right. Connor didn't know. That dream he had of the family he wanted was a beautiful dream…but only a dream, nothing more. Instead, all Connor had was reality. And in this reality, the truth was much harsher. The truth was crueler, more desolate. He had no family. He never did.

"They all take it for granted. In a few years, that boy will be moving off to another city after college, and he'll barely give his family a call. He'll probably dump the girl and move on to someone else. This loving little family scene before you?" Holtz/The First smirked. "Just another lie. The world's full of them, my boy. Hell, it's built on them."

"Don't call me…your boy," Connor said, yet his voice faltered. More tired than angry at this point. He was feeling so worn down, so tired.

Holtz/ The First merely chuckled. "Fine, then. I mean, you're right. You're not Holtz's boy. Not really. We both know whose boy you are truly. You're Angel's son. What was it Holtz called you? Oh, that's right… The bastard child of two demons. It's funny, how both your 'fathers' claimed to love you. Angel certainly did. Yet it wasn't enough to hold on, was it? In the end, if had loved you enough, he would have fought harder for you."

He/it leaned closer to Connor. "To keep you safe. Instead of letting you get delivered into these loving arms. If he had fought just hard enough, or followed Holtz in there with you, taken you back, maybe you would have grown up differently. And maybe you would be sitting where that boy is now, instead of having to wonder how to survive in The Ash Desert or The Bleeding Forest after Holtz abandoned you to hone your tracking skills when you were just a little boy, left alone to the mercy of the demons there."

Connor fought not to show any emotion, biting the inside of his lip so hard that he could feel a small taste of blood in his mouth. Yet every word, every syllable was like a knife, bringing back a painful memory of his childhood, slowly peeling back the layers of his heart, stripping away the last pieces of his sanity, cutting it away bit by bit.

"And Holtz,..well, I suppose he probably did love you, in his own abusive and psychotic way. But do you really think he loved you the same way he loved his real children, the ones that your own father killed with his bare hands and fangs? If he ever really did love you, it would never be more than he hated Angel for killing his real family. If he ever really loved you, he wouldn't have groomed you as harshly as he did, tying you to trees and leaving you alone in places where demons lurked around every corner, hungry for your flesh. You were just a weapon to him. A means for revenge. Nothing more."

He/it twisted the knife further. "Then there's Darla…she tried to kill you when you were still inside her. Just so she couldn't feel you squirming around inside her, driving her mad, causing her unbearable pain—"

"Alright, I get it," Connor harshly snapped. "I had crappy parents, thanks for the memo."

"Yet you still hold on to some kind of hope," The First / Holtz mused. "It's just…odd. I thought you would have learned by now. Hope in this world is a fool's game. Nobody understands you, Connor. None of them care about you."

Dawn's beautiful face flashed before his eyes. "She does," Connor said quietly, almost desperately.

The First / Holtz gave the boy a harsh smirk. "Does she, now? Would you like to know what she's up to at this very moment? Why she isn't out and about with most of the house, when she and they should be looking for you? Combing the streets to find you knowing that you're lost when the world is days away from ending? Go on. Use those amazing senses of yours, my boy. Follow your nose…and see where the disappointment will take you."

Despite the doubt creeping into his heart, Connor quickly, angrily shook his head, let his nose fill up with Dawn's scent and followed the trail to The Bronze.


Sunnydale, California - The Bronze

11:51 p.m.


Faith hated to admit it, but Spike could hang with her longer than she had expected.

The two had been dancing for quite some time. Two songs had become three. Then became four. And five.

"Seven."

His voice startled Faith from her silent, tortured musings. "Huh?"

He gave her a half-smile. "Seven songs, pet. I can see you countin' in your head."

Faith had honestly barely noticed. Between the ardent feel of his cool body and her warm one meshing into each other, locked in some kind of smooth ,yet angry, yet somehow tender and meaningful tango on the floor, swaying and rocking in a hypnotic, sinful rhythm that had many gawking at them in awe and envy around the floor, time became such an abstract concept for Faith that she had simply lost track of it. She hated how she blushed as she locked eyes with Spike. "That many, already?"

"Yeah, who'da guessed it?" he prodded gently. "Guess ol' Spike's got a few moves left in him, after all."

Faith said nothing to that, yet silently agreed with him, looking uncharacteristically shy for a moment as she ducked her eyes away from Spike's smoldering stare as they continued their dancing.

"Shouldn't you, uh, be heading off now with Andrew? Giles gave you that mission in Gilroy. Aren't you supposed to go off dashing into the night, more 'save-the-world' jazz?" Faith tried.

Spike merely shrugged, his hands on her waist. "Gilroy's far enough where I'll have to stop at a rest stop, anyway. And Urkel's too busy finding more of his fellow podlings from the mothership and playing some board game." He smirked, softening his gaze. "More than enough time for you and I to play this little game."

It was taking all of Faith's self-control to just hold it together right now, her emotions all over the place. Wanting Spike, yet fearing him. Craving his touch around her waist, yet wanting to run away from it. Hating how he made her feel, yet loving it, and hating that she loved it. And for so, so many reasons…

Desperate for a distraction of any kind, she let her eyes briefly roam around the club. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wesley and Darla dancing, holding each other close. It had surprised her that Wesley, that same guy who was so stiff and stodgy and by-the-book when she met him, had fallen for a former vampire, of all people. But then again, if getting some Darla action meant that Wesley would finally loosen up a little, she was all for it. As much as she liked how he had gotten that stick up his ass removed over time and dressed and acted more real, she was also a bit wary about how much he had embraced his dark side.

She remembered well how Wesley had ruthlessly interrogated…tortured, let's call it what it was, she reminded herself…that one junkie girl at North Hollywood Billiards weeks ago in their search for Angelus, how he had justified it as necessary because Faith wouldn't cross that line anymore, effective though it was. That made her a little apprehensive of being around him; being around that kind of darkness couldn't be good for her when she was trying to fly the straight and narrow, Faith reckoned.

And yet…it was beginning to feel like he was one of the few in this motley gang of heroes, hell, of the people in her life, who could truly understand her, see her for what she was and not run away in terror.

She had heard from the grapevine that Wesley had been considering being her Watcher again. The thought would have once been out of the question for Faith.

She held such contempt for him once, and then such guilt as she regretted how she once tortured the man and nearly murdered him before Angel intervened. And yet…now that idea hadn't seemed so crazy to her. After all, despite all that Faith had tried to do to walk the path of the righteous, every now and then she could feel the call of the dark beckoning for her, tempting her with its siren song. She couldn't help but wonder if Wesley heard that song, as well, and maybe if he had found a way to resist its notes and carry on fighting the good fight. If that was something he could teach her to do, as well. If he asked her right now to work with him again as Slayer and Watcher, Faith mused, a hard 'No' wouldn't be her first response. That didn't mean she was saying 'Yes', but she wouldn't just say 'No'...

She was suddenly shaken from her musings by a rather smooth twirl which Spike caught her off guard by, the vampire spinning her like a top for a moment before he spun her back into his arms in a flourish. Faith's eyes widened as she and her dance partner locked eyes. Spike was a smartass, she knew that, but he also had this kind of raw intensity in his eyes that always had a way of making her feel like he could see right into her.

And right now, that scared her.

Slowly, she pressed one hand against his chest and gently pushed away, giving the two some space. "Well, then, if that's all for the dancing, thanks, but I think the clock is about to strike midnight and I've got a carriage about to turn into a pumpkin somewhere…"

She turned to go, but Spike was having none of that, reaching out and grabbing her hand. "Faith, wait…"

Flinching at the contact for a second, Faith batted his hand away, staring at him with accusatory eyes. "See that? That's the problem. I did wait. Waited for hours. For days. In that stinking hellhole. Alone. Waiting for the cavalry to arrive. Guess the joke was on me, right?"

Spike's face fell at her caustic words. "Faith…you know that I tried to…" He faltered for a moment, trying earnestly to convince her that what she had accused him of wasn't true. "I tried to help you, luv."

She scowled at him. "Don't call me that."

Spike had to admit…that hurt. But it was fine, he decided. He'd been hurt before. He could take a punch, you can't win a fight without being willing to take the licks. He kept his blue eyes on her, didn't break contact. "...fine. Faith, I tried to help you. I really did." He faltered again, giving her another pleading, earnest glance. "I'm…I'm trying to help you now."

She has to see that, Spike thought, aching to reach her, get through to her. But his hopes are dashed by her bitter laugh.

"God, is that what you think this is about?" Faith asked, almost in disbelief. "Me being mad that Buffy chained you up in the basement? Wow, are you stupid. Andrew told me about what happened. I'm not mad at you for that, Spike. I'm pissed at Buffy, that's for damn sure. But not at you." She paused, her own intense stare boring into the vampire. "Not for that, anyway."

Spike's brow creased in confusion. "Then for what?"

Yet Faith shook her head. She wasn't willing to clue him in. "The fact that you don't even know? That's what makes it more fucked up. Because you should know."

Spike could feel his frustration rising. "I'm not a bloody mind reader, lu…" Off her stern look, he amended his words. "...look, I don't know what you're mad at me about. All I know is that you're angry, and you're distant, and all I want is for you to just talk to me."

Faith remained nonplussed, folding her arms over the tight little black tank top covering her generous chest defensively. "We're talking now."

Spike was rapidly losing his patience. "But you're not saying a goddamn thing!"

Yet Faith was not cowed, standing her ground, not letting him past the wall she had built between her and him. "There's nothing left to say, Spike."

"Bullshit," Spike snapped, scowling. "You just don't have the guts to say what you're really feeling."

Faith got even cagier, not liking how close to her home that Spike was hitting at. "What do you want me to say, huh?" she snapped back, standoffish.

Unbidden, dark memories of her last few days began to flash before her eyes and she did her best to kick over the mental projector flashing this awful movie for her own benefit and smash it into pieces, burn the damn thing. It was a movie she would rather not relive. "You want me to talk about my torture? Huh? What they did to me in there? How many ways Caleb found to break my bones and let them re-knit so he could break them again mid-healing? Or how about how the Beast used me as his personal punching bag and broke so many ribs that I felt like I couldn't breathe? Or maybe you'd like to talk about how your batless belfry bitch of an ex-girlfriend used her whammy on me and tried to turn my mind inside out! But that's the thing. You do. I don't. I got tortured and left for dead, and I got away. It happened. I'm alive. I'm fine. Five-by-five, even. So I don't want to think about it, I don't want to talk about it, all I want to do is forget the whole damn thing. All of it."

She meant it. It was taking everything she had not to just kick him away, say 'Screw all of this' and just find a nearby Harley Davidson to jack, rev up the engine and blaze the hell out of this shithole of a town, leave it and all her problems behind. The only thing keeping her from doing that was her loyalty to Angel, her not wanting to leave him and the ones he loved high and dry.

Spike's scowl softened, his stormy eyes finding hers with another painfully earnest glance. "And what about me? Huh? What about us?"

Faith swallowed hard, looking away for a moment. God, it hurt, pushing him away like this. She knew that he didn't deserve it. And she hated how much it hurt. But right now, it was something Faith needed to do.

So she steeled herself, took in a deep breath and met his gaze again. "I already told you. There is no 'us', Spike." She said it plainly, yet with a hint of regret. "There can't be an 'us'."

"Why?" Spike pressed, hurt.

Faith felt like she would have given a million dollars to get out of this conversation, if she had it. She frowned, both impatient and frustrated with her inability to communicate everything she was feeling inside. Everything she was trying to keep locked down no matter how much it demanded to be let out, to be set free.

"Spike, you don't get it. I'm not good for you." She waved her hands with exasperation, then thumping her chest where her heart was. "I'm not. I get it now." She scoffed bitterly. "Funny, you'd think you wouldn't have time to do any real thinking when you're being tortured half to death, but that's all I did. It was the only other thing I had to distract me from a bunch of ghouls trying to rip my body and my mind apart. Had a lot of time to think down there. And you know what I realized? It's me. I'm the problem. I'm bad news. I'm like a black freakin' cat. All I do is bring people bad luck."

Her eyes grew sad as she looked back at the broken dreams that littered her past life. "I let someone into my life, they either let me down, or I let them down or they end up dead. Like clockwork. My first Watcher, Buffy, Angel, Wesley…sooner or later, the same thing's gonna happen with you. Might not be today, might not be tomorrow, but sooner or later, it's gonna happen. And it'll be bad. And I'm trying to spare you the car wreck. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

She waited for him to run, waited for him to give up, throw up his hands in exasperation and walk away. She wouldn't have blamed him. Hell, she wasn't even sure she could.

Instead, he reached out his hands and gently placed them on either side of her tight jean-clad waist, and he didn't seem keen on letting go. Wasn't running. And for the life of her, Faith just couldn't understand it. Why was he still here? What was wrong with him? Or was it her that was the messed-up one?

He gives her a rather sad kind of half-smile. "Well, I'm already dead, Doe Eyes. So you can cross that one off the Excuses List."

Okay, one point for the vampire, Faith silently admitted, but she was not about to relent that easily. "Except the 'letting me down' part. That you did do."

Spike shook his head, smiling though Faith could tell he was getting frustrated. Good, Faith thought silently. Maybe he'll finally get the message. Leave this and me the hell alone so that I don't have to think about it.

"For God's sake, just tell me what it is you think I did." He pressed, bringing her a little closer to him.

Getting more agitated, Faith pushed his hands away. "It doesn't matter! None of it matters. Not anymore."

Spike disagreed, determined. "It does matter."

Faith was getting real damn tired of Spike not letting go of this bone, especially when it was her bone and not his. "Why?" she demanded, as if daring him to say what he was really thinking.

He replied heatedly in kind. "Because you matter! To me." His gaze was both soft and smoldering at the same time, staring into her soul itself. "Lately…you've been the only bloody thing that matters to me."

Her breath froze in her throat at his confession.

"I told you, Faith. I told you back when you were holed up in that hellhole while I was chained up in a basement tryin' to move Heaven and Earth to get to you. I meant it then, and I meant it now." He said it so honestly, so full of soft conviction, a tone that Faith had never heard given towards her before. "As long as I'm around…you don't have to be alone."

Faith's mocha-shaded eyes, so expressive, so soulful, went wide, in awe and for a moment, Faith's mind raced to think back to when another guy, hell, another person, said something like that to her, and meant it. And she realized all too quickly that she couldn't…because no one ever had.

Until now.

And for many, many reasons…that scared the hell out of her...


Unbeknownst to either of the two kinda-almost-lovers, those tender words from Spike were not only reaching Faith's ears.

From the balcony, Drusilla watched them.

Her teeth gnashed and ground angrily, her soulless, haunting blue eyes narrowed in a dangerous mix of jealousy and anger. The stars had warned her of the coming of this wicked Slayer, had warned her long ago. Just like the stars had whispered to her, this filthy girl that danced half in the darkness and the sunlight was covering her poor, confused Spike until he could barely think straight. His mind, once strong like rock and all filled with such glorious, violent purpose and unending love for her and her alone, was now like clay, molding and twisting until she could barely even recognize her beautiful boy, her handsome Black Knight, anymore.

And it was all because of her, Drusilla realized in hatred as her frightening gaze fixed on Faith.

Another Slayer. This one somehow even worse than the blonde monster who stole her daddy, her Angelus, away from her, ripped her family apart, got her Spike all confused and mixed up. She was beginning to get sick of these Slayers, these evil, wicked girls who brought death, seduction and destruction to her kind, her family. Tore apart everything she loved. Like that damned Summers girl.

Like this…Faith.

Drusilla had seen inside this tarted-up girl's head. All full of such badness and regret and casual carnal escapades with any number of these lost lambs, constantly looking for love in the wrong places. Such weakness, the mad vampiress thought to herself haughtily.

Yet she smiled to herself as she held the altered Prokaryote Stone in her palm, eyeing Faith with wicked intentions. I've peaked in your toy chest, dearie. I know your weakness. And now it's time to show bad little girls what happens when they play with my things…


The strobing lights and smells of beer, perfume and lust assaulted Connor's preternaturally sensitive nose as he slowly entered The Bronze.

He coughed a little as he tried to push the smells away from his nose. He caught a pretty girl here and there, throwing him a flirty smile, offering him a 'Heeey, cutie' oozing with adulation. He ignored them brusquely. Only one girl was on his mind right now. Yet it was hard to pick up Dawn's scent with all of this noise and these other smells blitzing his senses and his mind already feeling off kilter.

Sighing, Connor briefly closed his eyes, remembering a trick Angel had once taught him last year in the days when his father had trained him before Connor had tried to imprison him under the Pacific Ocean. He blocked out the sights, the smells, all the other noises. Let his senses extend, focus, zero in on what he was looking for.

At last, Dawn's unmistakable scent pinged in his nostrils. She smelled of bubble gum and candy, like daffodils and budding womanhood, blossoming power. And something…something else…like…beer and…and…

Lust?

The thought confused and hurt him, yet the teenage warrior brushed it aside, followed his nose. What he found, however, was far worse…

…There was his girlfriend Dawn. In the middle of the dance floor. Clad in a tight red shirt, jeans that hugged those beautiful long legs of hers, eyes closed in rapture, living it up, swaying her lovely body back and forth to the music.

And behind her, some guy Connor had never seen before. He was about their age. And his hands were all over Dawn, who didn't seem to mind his attention. And there were other guys around her, ogling her, eagerly trying to dance up on her, like a nest of horny Slucks in Quor'torh during mating season.

Wide-eyed, stunned, Connor stood there, a wave of emotions hitting all at once.

Shock, disbelieving of what he was seeing.

Confusion, his heart fighting a losing battle with his eyes.

Lust, the 18-year-old male in him entranced by Dawn's svelte, dancer-like body, new muscles along her back resulting from her recent training swaying in rhythm, her shapely long legs taut as she moved gracefully, her beautiful eyes closed as she smiled in some kind of bliss while the other guy's hands roamed along her waist, down one leg and back up again.

Anger, pained by Dawn's betrayal, by her willingness to forget about him and find comfort in the arms of another guy. Guys, plural.

Jealous rage, the young warrior wanting to do nothing more than to stalk over there, punch that guy so hard he'd need to eat through a straw for a month and literally rip that kid's filthy hands off of his arms for daring to touch his Dawn that way.

Heartbreak, that the girl he had fallen in love with, a girl who claimed just hours ago that she loved him back, would hurt him like this. Would betray him this way, so cruelly. That she seemed like she didn't care that he was gone. That she didn't care about him. Like everyone else in his life seemed to not care about him.

And finally…defeat.

The sense of finality that there was no reason for Dawn to miss him any more than anyone else did. Nobody missed him, he thought in self-loathing.

"Oh, yes," Holtz/ The First said in cruel, jeering fashion. "I can see just how much she misses you."

Connor said nothing, staring numbly at Dawn as her lythe, sylphlike frame swayed and rocked on the dance floor, carefree as can be. Happy.

Happy without him, he realized, his heart breaking. Dejected, he began to turn to leave…

Dawn smiled to herself, the alcohol dousing her senses into a haze of partying and lust as she felt Kevin Berman's hands on her body, the lonely and drunk teenage beauty more than happy to pretend he was…

Connor?

She opened her eyes, and suddenly, like a dream, there he was.

Standing not too far from her, with that smoldering broody stare, looking as handsome and mysterious as ever. He was back.

Connor…

He came back. For me…

Her jaw dropped, her eyes widening, and whatever self-induced spell she had put on herself to pretend that her old crush was her beloved boyfriend instantly vanished.

In a flash, she pushed herself away from a confused Kevin, shimmied around the dancing bodies around her and made a beeline right for Connor, who seemed like he was ready to leave.

"Connor!"

The young warrior barely had time to turn around at his name before Dawn came leaping into his arms, wrapping her long legs and arms around him, the combination of her natural scent and her perfume inflaming his sharp senses.

"Omigod, you're here!" Dawn giggled drunkenly, leaning in and kissing him. "Baby, I missed you!"

Connor didn't know what to say for a moment, still angry with Dawn for letting a bunch of guys dance with her, yet unbelievably aroused at how beautiful she was, how she had just wrapped herself around him like a candy wrapper, leaving him all kinds of confused.

"I, uh…" Connor started, stammering. "Yeah…I can see how much you 'missed' me."

He motioned darkly with his eyes at the annoyed Kevin and the other guys on the dance floor.

Following his eyes, Dawn looked back from them to him and laughed airily, paying no mind to the scene on the dance floor. "Oh, them? Psst, who cares about them? They're just boys." Her smile grew more flirtatious as she pressed her forehead against Connor's, her scent warm and sweet against his nostrils. "They've got nothing on you."

A small part of Connor's wounded pride mended just a little at her words…but something felt off. Something wasn't right about Dawn. Something was…wait…

"Dawn, are you…wait, have you been drinking?" he asked, frowning.

The young beauty giggled in tipsy joy. "No…well, maybe a little…" Off Connor's questioning gaze, she laughed harder. "Okay, I'm totally wasted! Shh! Don't tell Buffy." She winked at him knowingly.

Connor had never been drunk before himself. But he knew what beer smelled like. The homeless people he used to be around in those makeshift camps he slept in after Angel had kicked him out of the hotel months ago used to reek of it. Of booze and drugs. He swore to himself he'd never touch a beer after that.

Yet Dawn, sweet, good Dawn had the smell of beer all over her.

"Dawn, how did…how did you even get beer? You're not even close to 21," Connor pressed her, concerned.

Her smile fading, Dawn unwrapped herself from him, frowning. "What are you, my dad or my boyfriend?" she said defensively. "Oh, wait, I guess there's no difference since the both of you split on me when I needed you most, huh?"

A flash of hurt and guilt passed across Connor's handsome features at her pointed words.

"Dawn, I…I just…" Connor started, struggling to find the words. "I didn't want to leave, but after Matthew, and after I found out that thing about my mom, it was too much, there was just so much I had to…"

Connor faltered, not sure if she could understand. Understand how much hurt he was carrying inside him. Part of him was a little afraid of letting her see it. See how weak he was…

Even through the haze of anger and drunkenness affecting her senses, a part of Dawn somehow realized how hurt Connor was. Could see the confusion, the vulnerability in his blue eyes. And it made her ache inside for him.

Shaking her head, trying to shake off the effects of the alcohol, Dawn looked at him remorsefully. "No, wait…Connor, I…I'm, I'm sorry. Look, I…I don't want to fight anymore, okay? What's important is that…is that…" The young heroine-in-training shook her head again, still tipsy from the beer. She tried to marshal all her focus, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "...Is that you're here. I missed you, babe, I missed you so much."

Her words brought a brief smile and most welcome relief to Connor.

Her smile suddenly grew lusty, a lavender haze clouding her mind as her hand slowly traveled down lower, down Connor's sinewy chest and his hard stomach until it reached the front of his jeans, making him gasp in surprise.

"In fact…" Dawn said with a kittenish smile as her voice became a husky whisper, leaning closer while whispering in her boyfriend's ear. "Why don't we go out back and I can show you how much I missed you?"

Her tongue darting out and licking his ear made him shudder as he briefly closed his eyes, sent Connor's hormones kicking into overdrive, the horny 18-year-old male in him, the part of him that was angry and hurt and desperately and in dire need of comforting, and even the dangerous dark part of him that emerged from the dark of Q'uortoth, wanting nothing more than to pull Dawn into the first dark corner he could find, pull down her pants, rip off her blouse and kiss and lick his way up and down her lovely body. To taste every inch of her, to just lose himself in her, get lost in the heat of each other's bodies until they both forgot their own names. Except…

…except the part of him that was still him, that loved and cared about this girl, knew that this was wrong.

That something was wrong with Dawn. And that as much as he wanted to give in to the temptation she was offering him, as much as he needed it…he just couldn't. This wouldn't be right. He couldn't take advantage of her, not like this. Not under this spell of alcohol and sadness. While he very much desired Dawn and all of the wonders of her body that she was so eagerly tempting him with, a part of him wanted it to be real when it happened. He wanted it to be right, to be true, and pure and good. She was the one thing in his life that seemed to be any kind of pure, any kind of good, and he would rather go back to Q'ourtoth and die there than to taint Dawn's innocence like this.

"Dawn," he tried to say, even as her mouth tried to silence him with her kiss, as her hands roamed all over him, driving him nearly mad as the desire built up inside of him like a soda bottle shaken up and left ready to burst under the cap from the pressure. "Dawn…Dawn, wait, you're drunk, you're not thinking straight—"

"Who needs to think?" Dawn giggled, hungrily pressing her lips along his jawline.

Summoning whatever was left of his rapidly fading control, Connor grabbed Dawn's slender shoulders and thrust her away from him, holding her at arm's length. Off her confused, hurt expression, Connor swallowed hard, tried to explain. "Dawn, no…you're not…you're not yourself. You're drunk, it wouldn't be right—"

"Wait, hold on," Dawn said, shaking her head, her hurt look now melting away and leaving her eyes scrunched in offense. In anger. "Let me get this s-straight…so, you left me, you didn't even tell me where you were, you disappeared for days and had me worrying about you, thinking you might be dead or hurt or in danger or whatever, and now, you're rejecting me?"

Connor shook his head, trying to make her understand. "What? Dawn, no, I'm—"

"Connor, do you have any idea how many guys here have been hitting on me tonight?" Dawn angrily said, her eyes narrowed. "How many of them I've turned down because all I could think about was how worried I was about you?"

A guilty look flashed in Connor's eyes, his face falling. "I…I know I scared you when I left, but I—"

But Dawn wasn't having any of it, her senses overwhelmed by alcohol, sadness and so much anger. Anger at Connor, at her sister, at this coming apocalypse, at being abandoned, at her whole freaking life. "They want me, Connor, me. And what, you think you can just drop me whenever you get angry and leave and come back and pick up where we left off like it was nothing? Like how I felt doesn't matter? What am I, a toy to you?"

His eyes briefly darting to the dance floor, where a number of Dawn's would-be suitors stared at the scene in morbid fascination, and jealousy and hurt struck him like a lightning bolt.

"Speaking of toys, you certainly seemed to have your hands full with your boy toys when I got here," he said in an accusing sneer, feeling insecure and more than a little hurt. "When you were missing me all this time I was gone, was that before or after that last guy had his hands halfway down your crotch and up your blouse?"

Dawn's face reddened, her eyes wide with outrage. "Screw you, Connor! You don't get to judge me after you walked out on me, ran out for days without telling me anything but one phone call that left me crying my eyes out over you. And you just, what, expected me to stay in my room all night and keep bawling like a baby? So I had a few drinks, wanted a little company, well, excuse me for living! I saw how that whole 'circus of pain' thing played out between my sister and your dad, and I am not going to let the same thing happen to me, I am not Buffy and you sure as hell are no Angel!"

Even in her drunken state, Dawn knew she was pressing a huge button on Connor by comparing him to his father, but she was beyond caring at this point. She might be head over heels in love with him, but that didn't give him the right to put her through this kind of hell, to shut her out, break her heart and leave her behind to deal with picking up the pieces.

Connor felt his features darken at his girlfriend's harsh words. "Don't you dare compare me to him," he said warningly.

Uncharacteristic of her, Dawn flashed him a sneer, not backing down. "No, you're right," she said, tauntingly. "You're nothing like Angel. At least he knows better than to run away when the people he care about need his help when the world is about to end. Maybe that's something you picked up from the guy who ripped you from the cradle and Stockholm Syndrome'd your ass while you were too stupid to realize the truth!"

Anger, hurt and betrayal flashed in his eyes at the cruel words coming from the girl who claimed to love him. Made the hidden darkness in his blood simmer and boil, desperately wanting to unleash. His next words were hard, stern, filled with warning. "Dawn. Stop. Or—"

"Orwhat?" the pretty brunette teen tauntingly shot back, leaning in closer to his face. As if daring him to make the next move.

"Is there a problem?"

Both a drunken Key and a simmering Destroyer turned around to look at the owner of that voice.

Kevin Berman.

Standing there with that navy blue shirt, black pants and that annoyingly perfect hair that pissed Connor off to no end.

Annoyed and his temper feeling like a time bomb, Connor scowled at the kid. "Take a hike. This isn't your business."

Puffing his chest out, Kevin looked at Connor, unimpressed and frowning. "I wasn't talking to you, buddy. Dawn, is this guy bothering you?"

Her eyes ticking from her old crush to her boyfriend that she was pissed at, Dawn stared at Connor with the frostiest glance she could muster in her current drunken state. "It's cool, Kevin. He was just leaving," she said pointedly.

Connor could swear that he could literally feel the cracks in his already crumbling heart as he heard her words. But he would be damned if he would break down in front of her, in front of all these people.

"What happened to you 'missing' me?" he said in a half-sneer, slipping in a false sense of cockiness in his words to mask the pain in his heart.

Even in her angry and drunk state, Dawn felt her heart flip at just how damn sexy Connor looked even when he was acting like a total douche. But she would be damned if she would admit it now.

"I'm drunk, Connor. I guess I say a lot of things I don't mean when I'm drunk. But don't worry," she spat, flashing him a nasty smile that she would have been ashamed of if she were in her right mind, "I'm sure Kevin will keep me company just fine."

She bumped into his shoulder intentionally as she tried to move past him, only for Connor's hand to shoot out and grab her arm. "If you think I'm letting you go back out there with this jerkoff when you're drunk—" Connor sternly started.

"Hey, take your hands offher, man!" Kevin shouted as he roughly grabbed Connor's shoulder and tried to spin him around…

Big mistake.

POW!

With one hard right cross, Connor's hand smashed into Kevin's cheek, sending him sprawling across the floor, dazed and out of it. Connor eyed his fallen body with a sense of twisted, yet macho satisfaction.

"Connor!" Dawn shouted.

Four nearby friends of Kevin's saw that, and angrily cursed at Connor as they sprinted towards him and tried to bum rush him for hurting their buddy.

They had no idea what they were in for.

Connor easily ducked under the fist of the largest one, a tall blond kid, before his foot shot out and caught him in the ribs, doubling him over before Connor's left hand turned off his lights with a clubbing fist. A second one tried to go for his legs, but Connor just flipped over him and stomped hard on his back before he kicked him right in the face and sent him tumbling backwards.

Dawn stared wide-eyed with horror at the scene in front of her. "Connor, stop it!" she shouted pleadingly, but to no avail.

Another big youth managed to sneak around Connor and wrap his arms around him, pinning the teenage warrior's arms to his sides as he was lifted up in a smothering bear hug while the fourth kid squared up on him and tagged Connor across the mouth with one hard punch.

"No, leave him alone! Stop it, all of you!" Dawn fearfully cried out to the boys as they jumped her boyfriend.

Not listening, the other kid smirked as he drove another punch into Connor's stomach. Feeling the taste of blood in his mouth from the first punch, Connor looked up at his attacker…

…and smiled. Viciously.

Both his feet shot out and caught the kid in the chest, sending him flying backwards. The cry of pain the punk let out and the 'crunch!' sound told Connor that he had broken the kid's ribs, which would make him useless for the rest of this fight. Using his momentum, Connor shot his legs up and rolled forward, throwing his larger captor off balance as they rolled forward together onto the floor. Feeling his grip loosen, Connor effortlessly pried the larger one's arms off of him before he drove the back of his head into the bridge of the other guy's nose, rewarded with the satisfying crunch of bone behind him. He rolled to his side and quickly, violently kicked the big one in the face, knocking him out.

Unseen to all, Holtz/The First laughed in glee. "Yes, that's it, boy! Let it out. Let it all go. Hurt them. All of them. They deserve it."

"SHUT UP!" an enraged and confused Connor shouted to his bodiless tormentor, drawing stares of confusion from everyone.

Dawn, confused, looked around, until her eyes…and only her eyes…caught what Connor was talking to.

A shriveled-looking old guy, fat, graying hair and a hint of madness tainting his unnerving blue eyes. Even in her drunken state, Dawn could somehow sense that there was something wrong with this man. What was some old guy doing in the Bronze in the first place? This was way too young of a place for someone his age. And why did it look like nobody else around him could see him but Connor and herself?

And then she remembered something. Something about how Connor once described a man similar to this one…his false father. The man who kidnapped him from his real father Angel into a hell dimension.

Is that…Holtz? She wondered in stunned silence. But…Holtz is dead, isn't he?

As if he could somehow hear her, the vision of the man turned to Dawn from across the room, stared at her, and gave her a dark, unsettling wink.

And then Dawn knew. She just knew.

The First.

Connor's perfect vision was practically red with bloodlust as he eyed Kevin, remembering how his hands were all over Dawn. Like a tiger eyeing its dinner, Connor sprung on top of the kid, hauled him up by the scruff of his shirt.

"My turn," he snarled, a look of rage on his face.

And then Connor hauled off, hitting Kevin right in the face. The first punch smashed the kid's nose, drawing blood. The second one knocked a tooth loose. The third and fourth one drew more blood. Connor didn't care. He didn't care about this kid he was punching the hell out of. He didn't care about the idiotic bystanders staring at him in horror and screaming for him to stop.

He just wanted to hit something.

Hit anything.

So he hit, and hit, and hit and kept hitting, losing himself in the violence like he had his whole life…

"CONNOR, NO!"

Connor barely had time to turn around before a jade bolt of green energy struck him hard in the chest and sent him flying. He looked up with hurt in his eyes at the source of that energy that attacked him…

Dawn.

Standing not five feet from him, her eyes an angry jade hue, her hand outstretched as the green energy around her palm dissipated.

"That was a warning shot," she said sternly. "The next one, I will drop you, I swear to God! You're killing them! They don't deserve that! What the hell is wrong with you?"

It was as if a bucket of ice cold water had splashed on him in that moment, the realization of what he had done washing over him as he stared at her. He then looked around at the bodies of the boys he had savagely beaten with his bare hands, laying all around him. At the faces of the people in the Bronze staring at him like he was some kind of animal.

Some kind of monster, he realized in sickening horror.

What did I do? He thought numbly, staring at his blood-caked hands.

But nothing hurt worse than the look in Dawn's eyes. How she stared at him with so many emotions in her now-blue eyes. Horror. Fear. Pity.

Not one of those emotions even looked like love, he numbly realized.

Ignoring the wide-eyed stares around her as her eyes returned to their normal blue color and the energy dissipated around her, Dawn turned her attention to the bleeding and fallen Kevin, kneeling over him and asking him if he was okay. "He needs help! Somebody call an ambulance!"

As the others tried to make calls, Connor stared numbly at Dawn. Felt his hands shake, tremble as he realized what he had done.

Tentatively, Connor took unsure steps towards Dawn. Needing to make this right somehow. "Dawn, I didn't mean—"

"You need to go," Dawn said sharply, turning her eyes back to him, angry and confused and hurt. "Cops are coming. You'll get in trouble if you're still here. You should go, Connor. Get out of here."

Connor felt a lump in his throat form, felt his heart breaking little by little. "But I—"

"Just go!" Dawn said sharply. She stared at him, pain and anger in her beautiful blue eyes. "You've caused enough damage. Leave."

A beat, before she looked at him accusingly. "You seem to be good at that."

With that, she turned back to tending to the wounded youth on the floor.

Not bothering to look back at the heartbroken, wounded look on Connor's face. How he seemingly slumped in defeat as he numbly, slowly shuffled through the crowd while making his way out of the club. Feeling his eyes burning with unshed tears.

The last bits of hope in his heart breathing their last, dying gasps.

All the while, Holtz/The First whispered alongside him with every step. "I told you, my boy. No matter how much you want that love, want them to accept you, they never will. In their eyes…in her eyes…you'll never be anything more than what you really are. What you've always been since the day you were born."

Connor felt one lone tear slip down his face. Heard the cold whisper leave his own mouth.

"A monster."


"A monster…"

While she casually her cheek leaned against Wesley's shoulder, taking in his warm, masculine scent, Darla's preternaturally sensitive ears suddenly perked up with the quiet, harsh whisper of a voice she'd know anywhere.

"Connor?"

The blonde ex-vampire's head peaked up to see the retreating form and the familiar face of her son disappearing into the crowd and out the door. It was only a peek, a glimpse, but Darla knew. Any good mother would know their child anywhere.

Lost in his small, but blissful reprieve from his own tortured thoughts, Wesley almost hadn't noticed until he felt Darla's head rise from off his shoulder, finding himself missing the contact of her skin against him.

"Darla, what is it?" he asked, concerned.

He followed her gaze to what caught her attention: Connor. It was only his back, but his unmistakable side profile finally came into view.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, finding herself trembling as she broke off from Wesley and began to follow the disappearing form of her lost son, Wesley hot on her trail.

"Connor! Connor, wait!" she called out to him, fighting desperately to get through the throngs of humanity in a very packed Bronze.

As if he heard her, he suddenly quickened his pace, fading further and further into the sea of humanity around them. Darla pushed her way around the crowd, Wesley in tow, the two finally making their way outside to find…

…nothing.

Not a trace.

As if he had vanished into thin air.

A distressed look burned in Darla's eyes as she wandered frantically around the club, searching for her son. "Connor! Connor, please! Don't do this!" she shouted, pleadingly, on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so sorry! Please, come back! We can talk about this! Connor!"

"Darla…he's gone," Wesley said gently, a saddened look in his eyes as he gently spun her around. "With his speed and that head start, he could be anywhere by now. And I'm…"

He broke off, hating to be the one to bear bad news to Darla. Hating the look of motherly grief in her haunting, gorgeous sky-blue eyes. A part of him blaming himself in some way for what she was going through, for what Connor was going through, all because he listened to some fake damned prophecy that stole a helpless baby boy's innocence and replaced it with torment.

"...I'm afraid there's no way we can find him," he finished solemnly.

Yet a determined look suddenly dawned on Darla, who shook her head.

"There are ways," she replied quietly, brushing past Wesley and taking a deep breath. Letting her newly-returned supernatural sense of smell talk to her. She suddenly moved towards F Street and towards a nearby cemetery.

"Darla, please, slow down," Wesley pleaded as he followed close behind, keeping his ever-vigilant gaze on their surroundings as they got further and further away from The Bronze into the desolate streets of a mostly-abandoned town. It had been years since he was last in this town, yet he remembered well the dangers that lurked in the dark at night in Sunnydale. "You can't possibly think that you can find Connor just by wandering about calling his name."

"That's not what I'm doing, Wesley," Darla replied impatiently, drawing in more breath through her nostrils. Honing in on Connor's scent. Letting the air tell her his story. She could smell so much of him already. A faint hint of beer. Anger. A hint of lust. The salty tang of tears. And blood. Both his…and someone else's. Oh, God. Connor. Baby, where are you? What kind of trouble are you in?

Wesley stared at her, puzzled. If he didn't know better, it was almost like she was…tracking Connor. But that was impossible. How could Darla track Connor, unless…unless…

No, no that's impossible, Wesley thought to himself, dismissing that possibility. It doesn't make sense…does it?

"Darla, what's going on?" Wesley demanded, stepping in front of her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Darla hesitated. She had kept her seemingly returned powers a secret from everyone, especially Wesley. She wasn't sure he would understand. Hell, she barely understood it herself. All she understood right now was that her son was missing and she had the tools to find him, and she'd be damned…again…if she'd just sit on the sidelines and wait while Connor was out there all alone.

"I…I can't tell you," Darla said, a tone of apology in her soft voice.

The way Wesley glared at her made her realize that wasn't nearly good enough for the former Watcher.

"Wesley…all I can tell you is that I need you to trust me on this," Darla said, her eyes begging silently for him to understand.

"Trust is a two-way street, Darla," Wesley replied, quietly yet firmly, his eyes probing and questioning. He didn't care for secrets. He never had. In his experience, things that he didn't know had a nasty way of hurting him later on. "If something's going on…you need to tell me now."

She bit her lip, hesitating. He picked up on that.

"Darla," he softened his tone just a bit. "I just want to help you. Let me help."

He waited, patiently, for her to answer. She stared back at him, her eyes pensive, part of her a little afraid…and part of her wanting to tell him everything.

The brief silence between them stretched on into eternity…

"Behind you!" Darla suddenly shouted, shoving him out of the way…

…just as a knife came slicing through the air where his torso would have been severed had he stayed just a nanosecond longer.

A knife that belonged to a Bringer.

Darla herself had only barely avoided the deadly blade thanks to her lightning-quick reflexes.

Four more Bringers suddenly came from the shadows to join its brother, also armed with knives. Also ready to kill.

"Oh, hell," Wesley grunted, extending his arm and letting his wrist-mounted collapsible sword quickly appear in his hands.

The Bringer who attacked him tried lunging for him again, but the ex-Watcher was ready for it, sidestepping his swipe before swinging his sword up to block the knife, then shooting his leg out to kick the demon in the gut. The demonic servant of The First tried doggedly to press its attack anyway, swiping clumsily through the pain, but Wesley expertly parried with two hard swipes. Wesley fought much like he thought and acted nowadays: quick, efficiently, and with no hesitation, no wasted movement and absolutely no mercy.

He dodged the Bringer's attempt at a gut stab, then viciously brought his thin sword blade down hard on its wrist, severing its hand from its body. Ignoring the pained grunt of the mute demonoid creature, Wesley spun on his heels, gathering momentum before he thrust his sword backwards and into the gut of the Bringer, rewarded with the sound of blade piercing ribs, bone and vital organs. Not taking any chances, Wesley used one motion to pull out his folding sword, swing up high and slice through the Bringer's neck, a spray of arterial crimson jutting everywhere as the minion collapsed in a dead pile onto the floor.

Another Bringer tried its luck against him, swiping and slicing at him with its knives. Wesley worked quickly to try and dispatch his adversary, realizing that there were three other Bringers and that Darla was all alone against them.

"Darla, run!" he shouted, turning briefly back to Darla as he fought off his attacker. "Go back to The Bronze, get Faith and Spike, you'll be s—"

What he saw next, however, he was not prepared for.

Two Bringers had lunged at Darla, ready with their sharp, deadly, twirling blades for the kill as they dove at her…

…only for Darla to move in a blinding blur of speed and power, smashing one in the face with her elbow and kicking the other in the ribs, sending it flying back. Effortlessly. Brutally.

The third one came at Darla, desperately trying to plunge its knife into her heart, but Darla was having none of it, dodging quickly, deftly, and then grabbing its knife-wielding wrist with one hand and then crushing it mercilessly with that same hand as if it were made of no more than glass. Balling up her fist, Darla scowled as she drove it right into its sternum, sending it skidding several feet away with a blast of superhuman strength.

"...safe?" Wesley finished, stunned. He almost didn't see his attacking Bringer jut its knife towards his neck, barely nicking the scar that Justine Cooper had left him with months ago when she nearly killed him as she abducted baby Connor. Wesley hissed in pain as the blade drew blood, though it just barely missed his artery. That distraction was all the Bringer needed as it dove at Wesley's legs, tackling him to the floor as it tried with both hands to drive the knife into Wesley's scarred neck. Wesley groaned as he tried to wrestle the blade away from his jugular, his eyes hardening as he found himself in a losing battle while the knife edged ever closer to his throat, his eyeless, voiceless would-be-killer smiling above him evilly.

For a single, dark moment, that self-loathing part of Wesley briefly contemplated whether he should just let the blade finish its work, find its destination, let it end his bitterness, his loneliness.

End his silent suffering.

Bring the justice upon him that he felt he deserved for what he did to his friends, to an innocent baby boy. If maybe in death, they might even forgive his sins, speak kindly of him when he was gone…

"WESLEY!" he heard Darla's voice cry out desperately.

It was as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him. What the hell was he thinking?, he realized. Maybe he did deserve to die, but Darla did not. And if he gave in now, she would surely die. And that was something he was not going to allow.

Not on his watch.

Gritting his teeth, Wesley glared at the Bringer, a new resolve to fight filling him as he began to push back with all he had…

THWACK!

Only for the demon to suddenly screech as it arched upwards, on account of the knife now suddenly protruding from its skull. The Bringer let out a last pained, hushed gasp as it suddenly lurched forward and onto Wesley, the ex-Watcher shoving the corpse away from him. Wesley looked up for a moment, shocked as he stared at his savior.

Darla.

Standing there, arm outstretched from having thrown the knife, eyes wide with concern and fear, panting deep breaths of air. All around her, the cooling bodies of the three dead Bringers who had been attacking her. All of them which she had dispatched with ease, all of them laid to waste with her bare hands. One of them had its neck broken, blood pooling around another who had its throat brutally sliced wide open and the last one with its own knife stuck in its chest.

And there Darla was, standing there, all beautiful and fierce and powerful.

Leaving Wesley with a million and one questions.

Realizing the cat was out of the bag, a wary Darla stared at him almost sheepishly. "Well…I think we need to talk."

Staring at her dumbfounded, Wesley swallowed. "Indeed we do."


Cordelia was humming to herself in happy, giddy feels as she came out of the ladies restroom.

Though she had sworn never to return to this hellhole of a town, she had to admit that this trip down Memory Lane had been just what she had been needing as of late. The music, the dancing, Xander looking at her the way he used to back when the sparks were flying between them in high school, all of it had been putting a little spring back into her step.

For the first time since awakening from Jasmine's control, Cordelia felt like things might actually work out after all. That maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay. Better than okay. Happy, even.

Spotting Xander at the bar, she smiled to herself. Had somebody told her a year ago that she'd be here tonight, back in the town that she had wanted to leave her whole life sharing a kiss and a dance with her ex-boyfriend from high school, Cordelia would have laughed herself into a hospital bed. The idea of it would have been absurd to her, falling again for a guy who cheated on her. And yet, fate seemed to have a funny sense of humor, she mused. And she didn't mind it in the least. Because she hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

"Hey, handsome," she cooed sweetly, as she made her way back to the bar, wrapping one arm around his neck and leaning in for a kiss on his cheek. "Ready to find us that dark corner and…do stuff?"

Xander turned to her, smiling crookedly. Yet something in his eyes, his whole body language, was…off.

"M'ilady!" Xander said loudly with a smirk, laughing as he downed a shot of whiskey. "Wow, do you look like a smokeshow, Cordy."

Cordelia's happy smile suddenly crumbled as she saw what was in his hand. Booze.

In the entirety of their relationship, Xander had confided in her that he basically sworn off alcohol. His relationship with his father had been strained, at best, and nonexistent at worst, and a large part of that was due to the drinking binges that the unemployed, alcoholic Anthony Harris had gone on while Xander had grown up in the Harris household. The ones that caused his father to lash out at both Xander and his mother and ruined every birthday, holiday and special occasion. It caused Xander to be deathly afraid of ending up like his no-good father and he had since decided to stay away from alcohol altogether.

Yet he's here…drinking, Cordelia realized in stunned silence.

"Xander…are you…are you drunk?" Cordelia quietly, tentatively asked, part of her not really wanting to believe it, despite the stench of alcohol on his breath, the obvious evidence of the drying whiskey around the empty shot glass in his hand.

The wobbly smirk that Xander gave her did nothing to ease her worries. "Well, if I'm not, then God, I hope I'm getting there!" he laughed, coughing a bit as the alcohol did its work.

She turned to Lorne with a questioning look. Behind the bar, Lorne sighed, defeated. "Sorry, Cordykins, but Xander was pretty insistent he get his drink on."

He leaned in, whispering to Cordy. "I tried watering down his drinks, but he ordered like 10 shots when you were gone. Even with a spritz of water, that can only do so much. Who knew your guy could drink like a fish?"

As Xander downed another shot, Cordelia felt her blood run cold. "Let's just say it runs in the family," she quietly uttered to Lorne, wide-eyed and full of dread.

"Barkeep!" Xander shouted, banging loudly and obnoxiously on the table as he looked for Davis. "Another round!"

A worried Cordelia was having none of that, quickly reaching out and pushing Xander's hand down. "No, no, no more rounds for you, buddy! Xander, c'mon. You need to sober up."

"What for?" Xander chuckled, his breath reeking of booze and misery. "So-so-so I can pop more of those fun meds for my eye? Oh, sorry, my lack of eye."

Cordelia's face fell, a stark sadness in her beautiful hazel eyes. Oh, God. Oh, Xander…

Off the sad look in her eyes, Xander cursed under his breath. "Cor, please…don't."

Confusion washed over her, not understanding at all. "Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that," he clarified, quietly, bitterly. Wishing she would drop it.

"Like what?" Cordelia pressed, confused and scared for him. Wanting to help him, but not sure how she could.

Xander chucked bitterly. "You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?" As she opened her mouth to ask him another question, that tool Mitch's cruel words, the same words that Skip has used, the same that The First freaking Evil had taunted him with, finally spat out of his mouth. "Like you feel sorry for me, okay?"

Cordelia blinked, stunned. "Sorry for you?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, sorry for me!" Xander repeated, bitterness and alcohol overpowering any sense he had. His lips trembled, his lone eye clouding with emotion. "You-you-you think I can't see it, maybe because my vision's not so great nowadays, but I can. From you, from Buffy, from Willow and Oz…you all look at me like I died or something! Like I'm worthless! Like I'm some puppy with a missing leg or some-some-some pet at the animal shelter that nobody wanted. God, do you know how small that makes me feel? How useless? Like I haven't had to deal with that for years! Buffy became the all-time greatest Slayer, Giles kept getting brainier as Mister Watcher, Willow became an Alpha-level witch, Oz mastered his wolf side, then there's Angel and Spike who keep showing off their vampire powers every chance they get, you became a suped-up Psychic Girl with fighting skills, Anya keeps dabbling in and out of her Vengeance Demon phase, hell, even Dawn had her Key mojo working for her! I watched all of you level up and get stronger, smarter, more powerful while I've stayed as just the guy who fixes the windows and brings the snacks. Do you have any idea what that's like? To stay the same, stay freaking Joe Here's-What-I'm-Not-Contributing while my friends have to fight for their lives, while I have to watch some of them even die and not be able to do a damn thing to stop it?"

Cordelia said nothing, but stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned and hurt as she watched the pain, the resentment, the anger pour out of her one-eyed old-and-semi-new flame.

"You act like I'm crippled or something, but I'm not, okay?" Xander bit out as he slammed the shot glass down on the table, his voice almost cracking due to the emotion, the pain emptying out of him from a hole in his heart almost as big as the one in his eye that Caleb had left him. "You-you-you think I don't know how different I am now? Iknow, Cordelia! I. Know. I know it every time I look in the mirror. Every time I try to read the damn label on the pill box the doctors gave me. Every time I try to watch TV. Whenever I try to look to my freakin' left side!"

With that, he flung the shot glass to his left, sending it smashing against a nearby wall, drawing startled cries from the people around them.

Taking pity on him, Lorne tried to calm him down. "Xander, c'mon, Slim, just settle down…"

"No!" Xander snapped, angrily, making a surprised Cordelia jump. "No, that's my point!" He turned back to Cordelia, his fears and resentments and anger pouring out of him, raw and unfiltered. Hot and emotional. Angry and infuriated. With her. With himself. With his life. "I live with it every minute, Cordelia. Every second. I can't escape it! My life is never going to be the same because I tried to be the hero and some sick jerkoff with a preacher's collar and a bad haircut thought it'd be funny to take my eye out. And for one night, for just one fucking night, I wanted to try and pretend and forget about it! But I can't even get that, can I? So, no. I don't need you coddling me and worrying about me, I don't need you cutting me off when I just want something to numb the pain, I don't need you to remind me to take my damn meds, I don't need you to make me feel like nobody is noticing this goddamn gauze on my face where my eye used to be, and I don't need you to stick around with me just because you feel bad, or guilty, or whatever! I'm not some damn charity case! If you want to go and dance with that monkey-faced trust fund baby moron Mitch or some pituitary case with a giant wallet up in the rafters with both his eyes intact, go ahead, don't stop on my account! Hey, maybe then you can get married and have a bunch of healthy two-eyed kids, get that sweet red corvette and your 'Queen C' license plate back and then you can finally stop slumming it with me and moonlighting with your buddy Angel in L.A. Then you can go back to being rich and pretty and stop pretending like you ever gave a damn!"

SLAP!

Before she knew it, Cordelia's hand acted of its own will, shooting out and lashing across Xander's face, brushing him back an inch. Instantly, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she realized what she had done, regret filling her eyes for a moment.

Xander closed his lone eye. Pain. He felt nothing but pain. And it was more than just the sting of Cordelia's surprisingly strong slap.

"How dare you." As she realized what he had just said, Cordelia's worry faded from her face and she scowled at him, her eyes big and hurt. "How fuckingDARE you, Harris! Is that what you really think? Is that what you think of me? That I'm doing all of this because I feel sorry for you?"

Xander looked at her, his gaze full of confusion and more than a little self-loathing. "Why else would you be?"

Infuriated, Cordelia looked at him like he had grown two heads. "Why? WHY? How about because I care about you? How about because I don't want to see you get hurt, you stupid idiot? How about because I lo—"

Cordelia caught herself before she could finish that sentence. For a moment, Xander's lone eye looked at her with just a trace, a smidge of hope.

Yet she shook her head, deciding against it. "You know what? No." Cordelia looked down, then back up, as if cursing herself for daring to hope. "I'm stupid. God, I am so stupid. Why did I think that it would be different this time around? Why did I let myself get caught up in this again?"

"In what?"

"THIS, Xander! Us!" Cordelia gestured to the air between them. "It's always the same story. We get close, we start falling for each other, and then your damn issues pull us apart. If it's not drooling over Buffy, then it was chasing some sudden crush on Willow, or now apparently your self-esteem or lack of it!"

Xander angrily shook his head, not wanting to hear that. "I don't need this," he grumbled bitterly, reaching for another shot glass, only for Cordelia to viciously slap it out of his hand, sending the contents spilling all over the bar.

"No! You're gonna listen to me, damn it, because it's about time somebody told you!" Cordelia growled at him. "Maybe Buffy and Willow kept from saying this because they didn't want to hurt your feelings, but it's long past time that you hear the truth! You know what your problem is, Xander?"

"Other than being half-blind? Oh, please, do enlighten me, Cor!" Xander sarcastically retorted, and it took every ounce of control Cordelia had not to slap him again.

"You're so obsessed with looking around at everything you don't have that you're too damn blind to look at what you do have! And that was when you had both eyes!" Cordelia spat, leaning in his face, hands on her hips, hazel eyes intense and emotional. "You were like that in high school, and apparently, you still haven't grown out of it. You were so busy drooling over Buffy that you didn't notice that Willow had a big ol' crush on you even when everybody else could see it. Hell, you didn't even bother looking at her as a girl until she hooked up with Oz and then all of a sudden you pulled out the green eyes! Then you were so busy dreaming about Buffy or getting tongue-tied around Faith and chasing some fluke crush on Willow that you didn't notice you had me in your life, when I could have had fifteen, twenty, hell, fifty other guys if I wanted to! Hell, the only time you got crazy jealous about me was when Wesley and I were flirting with each other after I dumped you!"

Not liking this trip down Memory Lane or the uncomfortable truths Cordelia was laying bare, cutting old wounds and ripping them open again, an angry and pained Xander closed his lone eye and shook his head, turning back to the bar. "Cordy, that's enough."

"No, that's your problem, Xander," Cordelia pressed, angry, accusingly. "Nothing is ever enough for you, is it? You can't allow yourself to be happy because you don't think you can measure up! You landed me years ago, you had me, but you had to wreck it all by suddenly paying attention to Willow when you basically ignored her gender for most of your life! Then you got engaged, and you blew all of that because you were afraid of turning into your creepy dad!"

"I said that's enough!" Xander snapped, his tone dripping in warning.

But Cordelia was too fired up and to angry to stop now, laying into him with both barrels. "Now, despite all that happened, against all logic, here we are, I actually open up my heart to you again, and you're still so hung up on feeling pathetic and sorry for yourself that you're willing to drink your sorrows away like a…like a…!"

"Like a what, Cordelia? HUH?" Xander finally shouted, angrily slamming his hand down on the table, not caring how many eyes were on them now, and Cordelia fought hard not to flinch at his anger. "Like a loser? Is that what you were gonna say? Oh, sorry, I mean say again, given that you just loved to call me that back in the day! The Zeppo, right? A big ol', no-good, count-for-nothing Zeppo! Well, maybe that's what I am! I can't keep a relationship if my life depended on it, I couldn't get into college because I wasn't smart enough to, I-I-I can't help my friends when they need it most, hell, I can't even keep my damn body parts in my own body lately!" His lone eye grew red, emotional, his lips trembling with long-held rage. "Sorry I can't make with the jokes and the funny, but it's kinda hard to be the friendly neighborhood clown when my life has been ripped apart! So maybe I am just like my dad, okay? Maybe all I've ever been is a big stinking loser, so WHY RUN FROM IT ANYMORE?"

Cordelia said nothing, but she stared at him for the longest time. Her emotions were clouding her eyes, which burned from holding back the tears. The way she stared at him, so full of disappointment and pity and hurt…it almost made a suddenly ashamed Xander wish that Caleb had just snapped his neck back at that vineyard and been done with it. Because anything would have been better than this awful moment here and now.

The silence between them was long.

Painful.

"I can't…" Cordelia finally said, pausing between the words, hurt and disappointment washing all over her beautiful face. "I can't do this. Not again."

She looked back at Xander, her hazel eyes sad. "I don't think you're a loser, Xander. I've changed. But maybe you haven't. Not all the way. There's still a part of you that still clings to all the things you don't have. And until you get over that…"

She let out a disheartened sigh, biting her lip hard to keep the emotion behind her eyes at bay. "...I don't think you can be happy with me or anyone else. So when you do decide to get over it? Call me. Until then…I think I've had enough of Memory Lane for one night."

With that, she brushed past Xander and cut through the crowd, biting down even harder on her lip as she felt a bitter lump begin to form in her throat, felt the back of her eyes sting with heartache and disappointment.

'Don't go. Please, Cordelia. Stay. Stay with me.'

The words wanted to leave Xander's mouth, but found themselves lodged in the shape of a golf ball inside of his throat, clouding his vision as he slowly turned back to the bar, shattered and alone.

Part of him wanted to chase after her. Beg for her forgiveness. Chastise his own tongue and take her into his arms and lavish reassuring kisses on her, tell her that he was wrong, that she was one of the best things to ever happen to him, that she still is.

Yet he didn't.

For there was a part of him that couldn't help but wonder if she was right.

Maybe something in him was broken. And had been broken for a long time. And he wanted to fix it, but he had no idea. Maybe what Caleb did to him not only took half his sight, but exposed him for all the world to see. Exposed that dark, ugly, bitter part of him that he had tried to lock away all these years. The place where all his insecurities, all his inferiority complex, all his…weakness…lay, like snails and bugs crawling all over the underside of a turned-over rock.

And as he grabbed the half-filled shot glass full of his father's drink, he swore he could have heard his father's voice inside his head once more, taunting him, mocking him.

You don't deserve her, Xander. You don't deserve anyone. You can't make anyone happy. You never could. Because you're a loser. A failure. Even more so now. You're a loser. And you always will be.

Bitterly, he stared at the glass. "A loser," he whispered in a half-strangled, self-loathing hush.

And then he downed another drink, hating himself.


Had Willow and Oz seen that messy scene between Xander and Cordelia, they would have tried to intervene, diffuse the situation.

One problem, however: they hadn't seen the scene.

Because they were taking a walk on the other side of the outside of the club.

The two of them walked side-by side, just a sliver of space between them as she relished a gentle breeze on the warm late Spring night. They had danced for a bit before, and Willow was…surprised…at just how easily they seemed to fit back in place. She could remember the warmth of his touch, the excitement, the giddy schoolgirl feeling lost yet familiar to her as they slow danced, as they looked into one another's eyes. It was like trying on a favorite pair of jeans that she hadn't worn in a while, or reading an old favorite book that she had finished long ago. Familiar, comforting, nostalgic, and yet somehow new again.

And she had no idea what to feel about that. So many years had passed between them. So many changes. Both with her and him. And lately, after what happened in that forest with Amy and her sicko pals, she had begun to remember that unwelcome feeling of being shut out by Oz when he couldn't handle the wolf in him. She hated it, always had. It never failed to hurt. Part of her was beginning to wonder if she was insane for thinking about getting closer to him again, if she was setting herself up for more hurt, or…

…or if the universe really was giving them a very rare second chance.

"So…" she began hesitantly.

"So," he replied in kind, short yet somehow sweet, as typical of Oz.

"You've been kinda…distant lately," Willow said, finally addressing the elephant in the room. "After…after the Warren thing in the forest."

Oz looked down, his face full of regret. "I know. And, and I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "I just…after what happened, I…" He broke off, not knowing what to say.

Willow leaned in. "You…what?" she asked, patiently.

Swallowing, he met her gentle green eyes again. "I just…it's been a long time since I had lost control like that," he confessed. "The last few years, I've been working so hard to keep it together. I thought the wolf and I had found some kind of, I dunno…balance, y'know?"

Willow nodded, urging him silently to continue. He nodded back, finding more words.

"I told you once, every time I wolf out, I touch something…deep. Dark. Frightening," he said, an almost haunted look in his blue eyes. "I thought I finally had a handle on it. That I could be around people without hurting anyone again. And then when Warren messed with my head like that with that do-hickey, I just couldn't control anything and that made me feel…"

"Gizmo," Willow quietly corrected.

Oz frowned. "Huh?"

"The proper tech-y term is 'gizmo', 'do-hickey' is more of a term for when we've seen the gizmo but know what it's called, and since we've never seen that weird ray gun of Warren's before, technically it's a gizmo instead of a do-hickey, and why the heck am I babbling about this?" Willow wondered aloud, catching herself. "Maybe I've been hanging out with Fred too long."

Oz chuckled, feeling lighter. "You've grown so strong, yet you're still Willow. I love that you haven't changed all the way."

Willow smiled at him…then frowned. "Yeah, well, guess it's the same for both of us." She shook her head, disappointed. "Still shutting me out when things go rough because you think I can't handle it."

Oz looked at her, hurt. "Will, I just…I just don't want to hurt you."

"And yet you do!" Willow exclaimed, exasperated. "Oz, do you know what it feels like when you shut me out like that? When you push me away? What, did you and Angel take a class together or something that I didn't know about, 'How to Make Ex-es and Alienate People'?"

Oz shook his head. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it that simple," she demanded, the red-headed beauty frowning. "What, you think you're the only one who has something dark inside them they can't control? You really think I don't get that? That I wouldn't understand? Oz, I flayed Warren alive last year. I-I-I actually peeled the flesh off his body with a wave of my hand. Heck, I nearly destroyed the world. Believe me, that darkness you've been afraid of touching? I did a lot more than just touch it. I let it spoon me and I stuck my tongue down its throat."

Oz frowned, taking in that image. "That makes me feel both a little intimidated and yet strangely jealous of that darkness."

Willow sighed, exasperated. "Tell me you did not just hit on me while I'm venting at you."

Oz raised his hands, apologetically. "Sorry. My bad. You can continue yelling."

"Venting!" Willow corrected, loudly, indignantly.

"Right," Oz nodded, biting down a smile, knowing that Willow would not find it endearing right now.

"The point is, I nearly went over the edge last year," Willow continued. "I couldn't find a way out. You think I didn't want to just run away? Well, I did. I have this dark, angry, powerful thing in me, and I can feel it all the time. I wanted to be as far away from anyone and everyone as possible. I was so scared of hurting anyone again. But I didn't shut anyone out. I got help. I reached out. To Giles. To Buffy. To Xander. I reached out to the people I cared about and they helped me find a way back from the edge. And I'm stronger because of it." Her gaze softened. "And I wanted to be that for you. Oz…I still want to be that."

Oz sighed. He knew that. It was part of what he loved about Willow, her big heart.

"I know," he nodded, solemnly. His gaze met hers, closing the distance between them. "And…you're right. I shouldn't have pushed you away. I'm sorry."

Willow looked at him, surprised. "Wait…really?"

Oz, shrugging, gave her a rueful half-smile. "Really."

Willow frowned. "You're not going to give me some half-assed, lame justification about how you're 'doing it for my own good' or how you're 'dangerous to everyone around you and it's better for you to be alone'?"

Oz smirked at that. "What do I look like, Angel?"

Willow wanted to laugh at that. "Well, you do lack his pesky sunlight allergy."

"And his slightly larger-than-normal forehead," Oz smiled teasingly. "Don't tell him I said that."

At that, Willow finally did laugh, the two of them enjoying the brief levity.

Willow gave him a tender glance. "I really did miss you, Oz."

"'Did?' As in…past tense?" Oz asked, hesitantly. He reached out and took her soft hand in his. "Or is it present tense?"

Willow struggled to find the words, his touch making her feel all warm and tingly. "Oz…there's…there's Kennedy, and…"

"Do you love her, Will?" he asked, his stare all serious and smoldering. She had forgotten that he could smolder, how intense the stoic werewolf could be. How handsome…

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"Do you?" he asked again.

Willow hesitated. "She's…she's my girlfriend…"

"That's not an answer," he said simply, not letting her off the hook that easily.

Honestly, Willow didn't know. And frankly, she had been thinking lately that perhaps Kennedy and her weren't such a great fit after all. These last few weeks and days, Kennedy had been so pushy, so cocky, almost borderline cruel. As if she was desperately trying to prove something and she didn't care who she had to step on to get it. Even if it was Willow's dearest friends.

And even with all of the problems that Oz had been having lately, something about the way they connected since he arrived back into her life felt so…natural. Effortless. Like...like breathing.

"I…" the powerful Wicca didn't know what to say.

"Okay, then," Oz shrugged, yet stepping closer, reaching up and laying his hand softly on Willow's cherubic features. "Let me ask you this. And I want you to be honest with me."

She was suddenly finding it very hard to concentrate on anything else but the warm feeling of his hand against her skin. Of the way the moonlight caught in those sad blue eyes of his that she had so often dreamed about when she was a starry-eyed teen.

"Erm…'kay," she uttered softly.

Oz's eyes locked with hers, the tiny werewolf letting his heart come out, displaying it open for her to see.

"This talking thing…I'm not good at it, y'know? Never have been. But I know that you know how I feel about you, Will. I told you once that my whole life, I've never loved anything else. Not like I did you. Will…"

He hesitated, a little scared of the rejection, but not enough to stop him from laying it all on the line for her. He would never be too scared for that. "...that hasn't changed. Didn't matter how far I traveled, how deep I sank in the dark, or how high I soared all these years. It will never change, Willow."

He traced the hollow of her soft cheek, and his blue eyes shone for her.

For her alone.

"I love you," he said softly. Tenderly. Honestly. "No matter how much I change, or how far I go, or who else you're with, or how much I shut myself out like an idiot whenever I get worried about protecting you, I promise you…that will never change."

For a moment, Willow forgot how to breathe. Her knees felt all jello-ey, the air around her warming more than normal for even California. She felt tingly. Literal tingles.

"But there's only one thing that matters right now," Oz said, leaning ever closer to her, tracing the curve of her cheek. His eyes never left hers. "Do you still love me?"

Willow could have sworn she heard her own heart hammering in her ears. Everything felt all hazy. Like they were standing in some kind of timeless dream, like that Donna Lewis song from way back when talked about.

Like the world around them had disappeared, leaving only the two of them.

Unconsciously, Willow licked her pink lips. Leaned ever closer to the one boy…the one man…who had never really left her heart. "Oz…" she whispered.

"Yeah?" he whispered in kind.

"Oz, I…" The spell between them pulled them closer, like metal and magnets.

Closer and closer.

His eyes nearly closed.

Her eyelids fluttered. "I…"

THUD!

Without warning, a robed figure suddenly tackled Oz to the ground.

"Oz!" Willow shouted, only to find herself narrowly ducking a knife aimed at her throat.

Willow recovered, only to find two familiar robed figures confronting her.

Bringers.

The armed and dangerous kind with the sharp, sharp knives.

Oh, damn, Willow thought in shock.


Back in the Bronze, Faith and Spike stared at each other in meaningful, long silence, a brief détente in their heart-to-unbeating heart talk.

After a long beat, Faith finally spoke. "I…I just don't know what you want from me," she admitted in an atypically hesitant tone. It was true. She had no idea what she should say, what Spike wanted from her. All she knew was that bad things tended to happen whenever she let someone get too close to her. Angel she had let get closer to her than anyone in a long time, but he didn't count in the way that Spike had been getting closer to her, and how much closer he wanted to get to her still. And the way he wanted to get closer to her…she had gotten hurt by. Over and over and over again.

Spike sensed that. Faith hadn't shared that much about her past with him. Just that she had a hard life and hard luck with love. He knew what that was like, too. Cecily Addams, Drusilla, Buffy, all of them had kicked his heart right in the balls. He was a bit wary about giving his heart away himself. Yet he couldn't help it. Maybe it was the remnants of the poor simpering poet he used to be, maybe it was the damned soul in him, but he just couldn't shut the door on whatever this was that he was feeling for Faith. He didn't want to.

His eyes grew just a hint tender, letting her see just a bit of his heart. "I don't want anything more than what you're willing to give me."

Faith didn't know whether to cringe or melt like butter at the stark honesty in his eyes. She did know that she hated how he was making her feel. How the knife of his insight tore its way around her carefully constructed walls she built around her heart, revealing her to him, flaws and all. And it was so confusing, all these things that Faith didn't know how to feel, didn't want to feel. Vulnerability. Need. The need to trust. The need to let him in. The need to be…loved…

Her voice croaked out vulnerably. "And what if…what if I don't have anything left to give you?"

Yet Spike reached out again, slipped his cold hands into hers. Locking eyes with her. And for a moment, they…connected. Like she could see the soul in his eyes…like he could see her broken heart in hers.

"You'll never know that unless you try." He gently squeezed one of her soft hands, reaching out and connecting with her as much as he could. "Faith…I've been there. Where you are. I know what it's like to just want to be left the hell alone, to want to keep all that pain bottled up inside you, sit on it and let it fizzle and crackle until it's gone. But 'ere's the thing. No matter how much I tried, it always found a way to get out. I'd take it out on something. On someone. Anyone. And I know that's not what you want, pet."

Faith hated this. The talking thing. Sharing. She was honestly never good at it. Even Angel had commented to her about this once, which really made her think about looking in the mirror if The King of Self-Loathing himself said she needed to open up more.

"I'm…" Yet she found herself opening up, just a little bit more. She bit her lip, hesitating to say more. Her survival instincts honed over years and years of a harsh life told her to clam up, not to show weakness. That weakness would get her hurt. Get her killed. Yet the part of her that was still just that scared kid from South Boston that came from a crap home with crap parents that just wanted to believe in something, in someone, let her deepest thoughts quietly blurt out. "I'm just scared."

A sad smile crossed Spike's lips. He'd been there, too. More than once in his long, crazy life. Demons, he could fight hordes of them all the livelong day and night. Danger, he could run towards it and dive in headfirst just for kicks. Imminent death, he could stare it in the face and smile, laugh even, and not blink once.

But love? Trusting someone? Letting someone see all the ugly bits of him that even he was ashamed of? Even after all these years, that still scared the shit out of him.

"I know. I am, too." His eyes grew earnest, their bodies drawing ever so close that he could inhale all of Faith's sweet, wild scent, that he could see the exact shade of brown that her gorgeous eyes were. "But I've never let that stop me before. And I'd bet the odds that you haven't, either."

Faith said nothing, just stared up at him with awe, a little fear…and a hint of longing.

Longing to trust him. Longing to…

"Faith…tell me what happened to you. Let me help." His voice was a soft plea, barely above a whisper, yet Faith heard him loud as a church bell at noon. "Let me in, luv." Trust me…

And just for a moment, she could feel her hand reaching for the doorknob in her chest where her heart lay under lock and key. Something in her coaxing her, urging her to let him in. That it was okay. That it was okay to let it all pour out. To trust him.

To not do this alone.

"Spike…" She stared at him intently, a hint of fear in her eyes at letting go, yet at the same time there was a hint of desperation for her to finally let go of the burden she had been carrying in her. To share it with him. To let him in.

He said nothing, yet his eyes gently coaxed her. And he waited.

Her hand began to squeeze his back, staring up at him like she was about to trust him with a deep, dark secret that was for his ears alone. "Spike, I…"

Suddenly, her brain began to buzz and flash.

Harsh flashes.

Painful flashes.

The slash of knives on flesh. Her flesh. Nails, hot, hot nails, digging into her sides, everywhere. Monsters surrounding her. Picking away at her like jackals. Relishing in her pain.

Her agony.

Her suffering…

The sudden jolt of memories hit Faith's senses like the hammer Caleb used to break her toes one by one. Sent her suddenly reeling, clutching her head, letting out a painful moan as she staggered off-balance suddenly.

Spike, confused, concerned reached out to her, grabbing her shoulders as he tried to steady her. "Faith! Faith, what's wrong? Are you alright?" He could hear the sudden jolting beating of her heart pounding in his own ears. Could smell how her adrenaline was suddenly spiking. It was as if she was having some kind of nightmare. Or a flashback of some sort. He'd seen this kind of thing before among humans in his time. And it was not unlike how she was acting in those first few days when he was by her bedside while she was tossing and turning, slipping in and out of one nightmare after another.

Faith began breathing hard as the world started flashing all around her, drowning her in memories she was trying so hard to forget…

Caleb's laughter, his awful, awful laughter in her ears as he broke her wrist again for the 10th time. The evil smile of Nash as he dug that spear into her side, drawing so much blood she thought she was going to die. The clubbing blows of The Beast as it hit her again and again, breaking bones, leaving bruises, making her cough out blood. Drusilla taking her sweet time in her own brand of torture, burning her skin with hot spikes, her mocking laugh, how she pried into her head, picked her mind apart like cotton candy, unraveled her darkest fears, used them against her like a sharp knife…

"Faith, what's wrong? Talk to me, luv, look at me!" Spike urged her frantically, his hands now on her face as Faith winced and writhed, her own hands flying to both sides of her head, clutching it in agony as she staggered around, eyes wide and frightened as she looked around wildly at the club around her. "Faith? Faith!"

"No!" she cried out, the world spinning around her.

Desperately, Faith pushed away from him, trying to move off the dance floor, ignoring the stares of some of the confused clubbers. She tried to find the exit, tried to get some air…only to freeze at the sight of what she saw at the door.

Allan Finch.

The deputy mayor who she had accidentally killed. His chest was still embedded, bloodied from her stake jutting out where his heart should have been. His face was half-rotted, the other half pale as marble chalk. He stared at her, in silent judgment. Accusingly.

And she stared at him, her eyes wide, trembling. Like Death itself had finally come to judge her.

"No…no,no,no…not again," a disbelieving Faith muttered, sinking further and further into the quicksand of her own fear. Of her own guilt. "Not again…no…no!...no,no,no…"

His brow scrunched in concern and confusion, Spike quickly closed the gap between them, reaching out for her. Grabbing her shoulders. Trying to pull her back from whatever edge she was slipping off of.

"Faith," he said urgently, trying to meet her eyes. "Listen to me. Talk to me, tell me what's wrong. Faith, let me help you!"

And then, another image flashed in her mind. Of someone she knew.

Someone she cared for.

Standing over her. Smiling sinisterly.

Holding a rusty metal rod in hand.

"I thought you'da learned by now…" a familiar voice said, coming from cruelly smiling lips.

Lips that belonged to someone she thought she could trust.

In full vampire face, Spike sneered. "You really should be careful who you trust, luv."

And then he plunged the rod down towards her stomach…

"NO!"

With one solid shove, Faith sent Spike flying backwards, toppling over against a nearby bar stool.

"Oww! Bloody hell!" Spike swore, stunned and confused and hurt for more than just one reason.

Inhaling shallow breaths, a wild-eyed Faith looked around briefly, the flashes now gone. The horror before her had vanished…mostly. When she was sure that the world was normal again, she took a deep breath, like Angel taught her. Calming herself.

"Faith, what the hell's gotten into ya, luv?" Spike demanded, completely thrown by her actions.

Finally, Faith muttered, "Don't…just…just, just get away from me."

Hurt, Spike tried again to approach her. "Faith, for God's sake, will you just let me help—"

"I don't. WANT. YOUR HELP, Spike!" she finally exploded at him, panting angrily. She just wanted to get out of this, out of here. She eyed him angrily, biting down hard on her lip to keep the emotion from spilling out of her eyes. "God, what is so hard for you to understand, huh? Take the hint! This..." she gestured between her and the vampire, "isn't going to happen! You're a vampire. I'm a Slayer. If Angel and Buffy couldn't figure it out, how the hell are you and I supposed to when we're way more messed up than they are? So stop asking about how I'm doing, stop trying to get me to talk about what happened at the vineyard, stop trying to get me to open up and let you in and stop annoying me, GOT IT?"

Her outburst was starting to attract more than a fair share of curious onlookers, some of who stared in morbid fascination, others who began to whisper in scandalized amusement among themselves. And for a moment, an embarrassed Spike was beginning to flash back to that damned society ball scene in London a lifetime ago when that pigheaded snot aristocrat had humiliated him by reading aloud his poetry about Cecily Addams, the object of his desire that was actually the now-dead Vengeance Demon Halfrek.

Had Spike any circulation working, his face would have reddened in shame.

He ignored that. Tried to work through that. Tried to reach her again.

"Whatever you're going through, Faith…whatever it is that you're fighting up there…" he tapped his temple for emphasis, his eyes steady in their determination, but just warm enough to convey his worry for her. "...you can't fight it by yourself. You don't have to do this alone."

While her heart ached to agree with him, it was too broken from too many lies, too many failures over one hard lifetime. Faith's large mocha-shaded eyes suddenly grew vacant, empty as she looked at him in desolation.

"You don't get it…I'm always alone," she said in a hushed, mournful tone that almost nobody heard amid the loud music. "Always."

No one, except Spike.

And then she turned around and walked away before her emotions could overwhelm her.

Leaving Spike standing there by himself. Hurt, frustrated, and confused.

And all the while, from the balcony, Drusilla smiled darkly, the magic stone glowing dangerously in her pale palm, its work done.

Maybe she's right, Spike thought quietly to himself, closing his eyes. Maybe this is all a waste of time. Maybe I should just call it quits, keep it moving. Find me some pretty little dumb blonde thing I can bag and shag and move on, drown my sorrows in a pint and call it even, just forget about Faith. Can't make her open up if she don't wanna. Can't help her if she won't let me…

His pride wounded, his back smarting and his heart aching, Spike entertained that thought for a good, long moment…

He then let out a breathless sigh and quietly moved after Faith.

Never was much for quitting, he rolled his eyes in consternation as he kept his watchful eyes on her, not letting the beautiful Slayer out of his sight.


"This is so cool!" Amanda gushed, her speech slightly slurred, as Faith sat down next to her. In her hand was a glass of red liquid that looked suspiciously alcoholic to Faith's expert eye. "Buffy would never let us do this. You are so cool."

The lanky high school sophomore reached out and touched Faith's leg before turning to her friends. "This woman is so cool!"

She giggled as she aimed to down another drink.

Barely pulling her thoughts away from her intense conversation with Spike, Faith, not wanting to get the girls that loose, eyed Amanda suspiciously. "Hey, hey, how old are you?"

Amanda gulped, surprised. "Um, seventeen?"

Nope, thanks for playing, kid. Not wasting a second, Faith quickly snatched Amanda's drink from her and downed it herself. "Yeah, we're gonna get you a real nice 7-Up, okay?"

Faith took a drink away from a pouting Amanda and stood up as she returned back to the dance floor, drink in hand, fully intent on having a wicked good time…

...when she felt a pair of eyes watching her. Blue ones. A pair that she had grown increasingly attached to, in a very complicated way.

Sure enough, she looked over her shoulder and saw Spike, leaning against the wall on the other side of the club. His eyes never leaving her. Staring at her with an emotionless expression.

Shaking off the shivers his stare sent down her spine, Faith promptly ignored him and turned her attention back to the nameless stud in front of her who she aimed to use and discard on the floor…

….until the cops showed up, looking grim.

"I was wondering what was taking you boys so long," Faith said as she kept dancing.

One of the officers said to her, "We're gonna have to ask you to come with us, miss. Outstanding warrants."

She smiled brightly, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, or let's try this one on instead. How about you boys buy me a drink and we see where the evening takes us?"

But the cop got behind her and roughly grabbed her wrists, and he began to read Faith a familiar set of words she had grown accustomed to in the last few years…her Miranda rights. "You are under arrest for the murder of Deputy Mayor Allan Finch and Lester Worth, assault with a deadly weapon, grand larceny and robbery. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney. . . ."

Faith zoned out for a moment at the mention of the name of Lester Worth. Remembering how she killed that poor, innocent man. And remembering what happened to her back when she was held captive in that vineyard for weeks.

For a second, she almost lost her balance, she was so dizzy from her shame, horror and regret…

"Hey!" Dawn cried out, alarmed as she saw the cops cuffing Faith's hands behind her back, the still-buzzed Key pushing her way through the crowd towards Faith. "Hey, let her go!"

"Shut. Up," one of the cops gruffly warned Dawn as he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"What's going on?" Molly asked, alarmed. One of the cops cocked his weapon menacingly as he stared down the British Potential.

Concerned for the girl's safety, as well as the others, Faith reluctantly decided to cool down the situation…a little. "It's cool, Moll. I got it. It's nothing," she said.

"She didn't do anything, stop!" Dawn protested angrily.

Oh, Dawnie. We both know that's not true, Faith thought sadly to herself.

"D. Relax. I've got this, it's nothing," Faith said, giving a small smile and a reassuring wink at a worried Dawn, who still looked upset as she saw Faith get manhandled by these spooky policemen.

As the cop behind her pushed a cuffed Faith towards the door while squeezing her pinned arms, Faith jerked in his grip, gritting her teeth. "Get off me!"

"Shut up!" one of the cops gruffly barked at her as they began to lead her away in handcuffs out of the club.

"Get off me!" As Faith kept protesting, she saw something spooky.

All the cops had put black tape over their badges, which she knew is what cops did when they were about to do things they didn't want traced back to them. She had seen it firsthand in South Boston growing up. But she never thought she'd see this in Sunnydale.

A grim feeling came over her, warning her that she was in great danger if she let these guys take her to wherever it was they were taking her.

Unknown to her, a pair of stark blue eyes hung around to watch the scene. And the owner of those eyes was thinking the exact same thing…

Amanda, Vi, Chao-Ahn and Caridad must have seen what was going down, because they came over.

"What's going on?" Vi demanded.

An upset and suspicious Dawn motioned to the cops leading Faith away and said, "They're trying to-"

"You girls don't want to get involved in this," the lead cop informed them.

Normally more shy, a suddenly bold Molly raised her chin. "Yeah? Well, maybe we do."

Acting as one, the cops pulled their guns. End of discussion.

Dawn and The Potentials stood back, stunned.

And then the leader tossed a large, non-regulation machine gun to one of his fellow anonymous badges. That guy turned and faced the crowd in the Bronze, as the leader and his lackeys dragged Faith away.

Meanwhile, the cops hauled Faith outside, roughing her up as she insisted, "I'm telling you! I'm not going back to jail!"

At that, with one burst of strength, she pulled the steel cuffs apart as if they were made of candy. Watching the stunned gazes of the cops, Faith saw her opening. She broke the grip of one cop by kicking him in the kneecaps, bringing him down. Then she elbowed the one behind her in the chest, knocking him backwards. As she got free and turned toward the door, one of the cops slammed the door shut, trapping her outside with them.

"Who said anything about jail?"

A chill ran up Faith's spine at the lead cop's cold words. She turned back around...only to find all the cops had lifted their guns, aiming their deadly barrells right at her heart.

Dirty cops, Faith thought in dismay. I was wrong. Sunnydale canget worse, after all.

Wasting no time, the former rogue Slayer launched herself at them, attacking with a flurry of vicious moves, knocking their weapons from their hands as fast as she could with a stunning series of kicks and punches.

She knocked the final gun away—but the moment she thought she was safe, the leader slammed his billy club across her face and she dropped to the ground.

Then one of them whipped out a taser and jammed it into her side, making Faith cry out in pain as she convulsed painfully from the shock of 50,000 volts of electricity shooting through her body.

In a frenzy, the cops began to beat her mercilessly. And for the second time in days, there was nothing Faith could do about it…


Oz thrashed about as he kept the Bringer's knife at bay.

He struggled and strained, tempted to use the wolf, to wolf out and end this threat right here.

But he didn't dare. With Willow so close by, there was no way he was willing to risk losing control again after what happened in the forest days ago. He wasn't sure he could trust himself.

Yet as the knife neared his jugular, Oz knew he had to think fast, or else it really wouldn't matter if he lost control or not, as he'd be too dead to worry about it.

"Oz!" Willow shouted, sprinting over and punching the Bringer in the head as hard as she could.

The blow knocked the demonic servant of evil off of Oz, yet the awkward force that Willow had used had hurt her hand, the redhead shaking her injured fist tenderly. "Oww-oww–oww-owwie-oww, man these guys have thick skulls!"

The brief space and moment to recover was much needed, and Oz took advantage of that, reaching into his boot, drawing a small knife and then jamming it into the recovering Bringer's throat, rewarded by a spray of blood and its gurgling moan as it slumped dead to the ground.

Shaking the knife once to clear the blood away, Oz put his body firmly in front of Willow as he faced down the three remaining Bringers.

"Willow, run! Get help!" Oz urged her, staring down the assaulting demons determinedly.

Willow hesitated. "No, Oz, I–I–I can't just leave you like this!"

"GO!" he shouted desperately, turning back to her for a moment.

That was his one mistake, and the Bringers pounced on him for it. One of them kicked his knife away and the other dove for his legs, taking the 5-foot-4-inch werewolf down to the ground. They struggled trying to pin him down.

"No, get away from him!" Willow cried out, running to help him, only for one of the Bringers to throw her to the side, knocking the de-powered witch against a trash bin. Her head struck the bin with such force that Willow would have blacked out if not for the small bit of protection her shoulder had created by absorbing some of the impact.

"Willow!" Oz shouted in desperation, more worried about her than himself even as he found his arms getting pinned down. One of the Bringers retrieved a deadly knife as it circled above him.

Quickly weighing his options, Oz began to realize he had to do something now. Either he wolfed out now, risked losing control and potentially put an even more vulnerable Willow in harm's way…or die right here in this empty street knowing his killers would certainly murder Willow right afterwards.

As Willow came to on the ground, she watched in horror as the Bringers began to prepare to stab Oz to death.

Oz, who was her first love.

Oz, who was the first one to see through her shyness, her awkward exterior and see the real her. And love her for it.

Oz, who had driven all the way through miles and years to help her and the ones she loved when she needed it the most.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head.

Deep within her, something sizzled…

Oz…who was going to die right in front of her if she didn't do something. Just like Tara did.

"Oz…" she stammered, reaching for him, catching a glimpse of his scared, desperate eyes as they locked with each other amid the chaos.

Deep within her, something crackled…

She could hear Amy's snide, cruel voice taunting her in her ears: You could have saved Tara if you had acted sooner, but instead, your insistence on playing by these rules... cost Tara her life. Hell, you might as well have pulled the damn trigger yourself…all the power in the world, and you're still just a sidekick. About to watch another person who loved you die because you were too afraid to use your power…

As her eyes suddenly grew black, Willow almost didn't recognize the booming echo of a voice that rang out through the night…as her own.

"NOOO!"

BOOOOOOM!

A brilliant flash of orange light erupted from her, and it launched the Bringers dozens of feet in the air.

One of them landed on its neck, its death instant. Another landed on a car, either dead or unconscious. The other, who was thrown against a street lamp on the other side of the street, staggered to its feet and then ran. Ran for cover. Ran for its life.

Oz, stunned, shook off the effects, staring at Willow in wide-eyed awe.

Willow, weakly looking back at him, tried to smile, but a wave of dizziness overpowered her, the pretty redhead slumping onto the ground tiredly.

"Willow!" Oz shouted, alertly getting to his feet and hurrying over to her. He leaned down, gently cradling her slumping form in his arms. He tenderly brushed a strand of fiery red hair from her face, urgently looking her over. "Willow, are you okay?"

Exhausted, Willow panted like she had just run a marathon. She muttered in confusion, "...what…what…what was…did I just…?"

Oz looked around at the damage that the unexpected magickal boom his once-lover had unleashed had caused on the desolate street.

"Yeah…I think you just," he confirmed quietly.

Both werewolf and an apparently not-so-de-powered Witch were thinking the same thing: what did this all mean?


Inside the Bronze, the Potentials were gathering, trying to get to Faith. Moving in on the cop with the machine gun, but not quite daring to do anything to alarm him.

"Trust me," Machine Gun Guy said. "Best thing you can do is wait here."

Dawn said to the girls, "Don't listen to him. He won't hurt us." In a loud, defiant voice, announced, "I'll just go borrow the phone."

As she turned to walk the other way outside, the cop raised his weapon and fired it into one of the hanging lamp globes.

It exploded all over the dance floor.

Dawn froze.

The Potentials took cover.

The music somehow kept pumping, switching to "Dirrty" by Christina Aguilera, Dawn absently recognized amid the chaos of the situation.

"Best thing you can do is wait here," the cop said in a drone-like voice.

The girls surrounded him as Molly defiantly told the guy, "You're going to have to shoot us all to stop us."

"Doesn't really bother me," he told her coldly, cocking his weapon again. "Back. Up."

But the girls were crowding in, getting in his face.

"No," a suddenly determined Amanda said, finding her power.

He was startled. "What?"

Ladies! (move)

Gentlemen! (move)

Somebody ring the alarm

A fire on the roof

Ring the alarm! (and I'm throwin' elbows)

Ring the alarm! (and I'm throwin' elbows)

"My friend said 'no'. You're not in charge here," Dawn coldly, firmly informed him.

Exchanging a brief look with Dawn, Amanda waited...and saw The Key nod.

Nodding back, Amanda, full of confidence, turned back to the cop to let him know exactly who was in charge here.

"We are."

He turned toward the defiant young Potential, fully prepared to shoot as his trigger finger began to squeeze…

But the bullet never came.

Moving lightning-fast, like Spike and Connor had trained her to do, Dawn moved in a whoosh of speed, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing it away from her friend towards the roof, the gun discharging harmlessly into the plaster above them, sending more of it falling down on the ground.

Staring stupefied at this slip of a girl who came between him and his kill, the cop was wide-eyed as he beheld the cold blue eyes of Dawn Summers.

Pissed-off, drunk and fed-up Dawn Summers.

Who had just decided that she was done with letting anyone else threaten her friends ever again.

Feeling the ancient, mystical power of The Key and The Slayer running through her veins, Dawn Summers coldly smirked at this pathetic man, feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life. And embracing her power. "Bad move, 'officer.'"

And then she dropped the training wheels, quit hiding behind her veil of ordinary Dawn Summers…and showed everyone who she really was.

Where my dawgs at?

(Uh, let me loose)

KRACK!

With a burst of quick and brutal speed, Dawn swiftly rammed the butt of the gun into his jaw. He reeled back, recovering before swinging wildly at her. Ducking the clumsy blow, Dawn countered, unleashing her newfound supernatural strength with a powerful Savate kick that connected flush with the cop's head.

The cop went flying.

Oh, I'm overdue

Give me some room

I'm coming through

Another dirty 'cop' reached out and grabbed Dawn's wrist roughly. But Dawn was ready for him, twisting his wrist to throw off his balance, like Faith had taught her to do, then elbowing him swiftly in the stomach before she leaned into him and threw the man hard over back and onto the ground in a punishing Judo throw.

Molly and Amanda stared wide-eyed at each other, then at Dawn, stunned as they beheld their friend, the Slayer's little sister, standing in the center of that floor disarming these scary, corrupt cops with brute force and skill, hair tossing wildly behind her, skin glistening like some kind of warrior princess. Eyes briefly flickering a deep jade green.

More powerful than her opponents. More powerful than anyone in that building. Fighting for her friends. Fighting for what was right. Showing them all who she could become.

Who she really was at heart.

A savior.

A protector.

A hero.

And it filled her friends and the other girls with inspiration.

Ignited their hearts. Made them realize who they were. They were not weak. They were not helpless girls.

They were women.

They were warriors.

The heiresses to the Slayer bloodline.

They were lionesses.

And tonight, they decided, these dirty cops were going to hear them roar.

As another cop tried to rush Dawn, Amanda quickly got behind him. Pool cue in hand, she whacked him over the head with it.

He went flying.

Yet another one tried attacking Dawn, but a frowning Molly stepped in, eagerly bashing him in the face with a nearby beer bottle. He went down for the count.

Paid my dues

In the mood

Me and my girls gonna shake the room

Then all the girls went into Berserker mode, seizing the power, taking the hill, bum-rushing the offending "officers" like they were a picnic surrounded by hungry ants.

DJ's spinning (show your hands)

Let's get dirrty (that's my jam)

I need that (uh) to get me off

Sweat until my clothes come off

They were the descendents of The Slayer, the line of the Chosen One. They had the power. They always did.

And they were not going to take crap from anyone. Not tonight.

Maybe never again...


The cops beat Faith with their clubs.

She was on the ground, taking it.

And then, suddenly, a familiar voice rang out.

"Funny thing about me and cops," that snarky British voice called out, directing their attention to the figure that had suddenly leapt down from the roof like a spider eyeing flies.

Spike.

"I don't like 'em," he leered at the cops. And then his face shifted into its enraged true form.

A vampire.

Alarmed, one cop reached for his fallen sidearm, but Spike, spotting him instantly, suddenly appeared right in front of him, grabbing his wrist and twisting it hard, hearing the snap of bone and the twisting of tendons as his reward. The cop screamed in agony before Spike kicked him in the chest, sending him flying against the wall.

Taking advantage of Spike's distraction, Faith shot out her leg, swiping one of her assailants off his feet. She jumped up, ramming her knee hard into the face of another one.

As if on instinct, Faith found her back pressed against Spike's. Both of them watching the other's back.

Both of them protecting one another.

Despite the odds and the danger facing them both, a smirking Spike couldn't help himself. "Still think you want to be alone, or ya mind if I have this dance, too, luv?"

Faith rolled her eyes, hating that she was having to depend on him now, hating even more that a treacherous part of her heart was grateful that he was here. "Shut up, Spike."

The remaining cops rushed both of them.

As time seemed to slow down, Spike and Faith turned to each other, and in a silent language that only they could understand, Faith nodded once as Spike reached out his hand…

…which Faith grabbed…

…and then in a fluid, graceful motion, Spike twisted her body in the air, Faith's leg shooting out as she kicked three of them full in the face, knocking them backwards.

More of them kept coming, yet both Slayer and vampire moved as one, their kicks, their elbows, their uppercuts synchronizing into one solid set, as if it was instinctual. Ingrained.

Like a well-practiced, deadly dance.

It's explosive, speakers are thumping

Still jumping, six in the morning

Table dancing, glasses are crashing

No question, time for some action

Spike spotted one trying to sneak in from Faith's blindspot, and promptly grabbed the offending officer, head-butted him, and hurled him to the other side of the alley.

Another rushed Faith; spotting him easily, she spun and slammed him against the alley wall. Then she faced the leader again, aware that the first pig had gotten to his feet and was behind her.

Without even looking at him, she made a fist and smashed him in the face.

He was down, round two, and she circled the leader, getting ready to rumble. She didn't even bother to watch her back, knowing that Spike was there, dispatching the others. Somehow confident that he wouldn't let any of them near her. And more than a little disturbed as to why she felt that kind of trust in him, but she wasn't about to dwell on that when she had a crooked cop whose ass needed kicking.

"They want you dead," the cop snarled at her.

Faith boldly smirked. "Oh, 'they' do, do 'they', Barney Fife? Well, better than you have tried. Let's dance."

Faith and the head cop then began trading blows pounced, scrappy and brutal, letting it all go in a vicious fight.

Dirty cops and dirtier fighting; Faith was into it, she decided—head slams to the cement, gut punches, no holds barred.

Temperature's up (can you feel it?)

About to erupt

Gonna get my girls

Get your boys

Gonna make some noise

And in between breaking one cop's arm as he disarmed another gun-wielding one with a kick to the ribs, Spike watched her, marveling at her strength, worrying about her safety despite knowing that she could handle herself.

For a brief moment, Spike wondered if this is what Angel had felt like years ago when he first arrived in this pisshole town as he watched Buffy's back fighting. Disgusted with the thought of being anything like his sanctimonious tool of a Grandsire, Spike shook the thought from his head and kept working on dispatching the cops.

He slammed one of them, the young Black cop who Willow had hypnotized earlier in the day, against the wall by the scruff of his neck.

"What's with the secret tape over the badge, Dibble?" he demanded, gruffly. "Even for Sunnydale, the bizzies don't usually resort to this shady crap. Who sent you for Faith?"

"We had…orders," the cop rasped out, choking as Spike's forearm pressed against his throat.

"From who?" Spike snarled, his face shifting again, his vampire face ridges curled even angrier than normal. His unspoken threat was heard loud and clear by the young cop—failure to answer the question would result in unspeakable pain.

"Lady cop. FBI Agent. Tall, reddish-brown hair, pretty…said her name was Liz Allen…that's all I know!" the young cop wheezed.

Tall, reddish-brown hair…bloody hell, it's that Madison bint, Spike realized quickly, putting together the cops description in his mind quickly enough to picture Amy in his mind. So The First wanted Faith dead, he mused. Probably wanted to finish the job that Faith didn't let it do when she escaped. But there would be plenty of time to figure out why later. Right now, his priority became clear: make sure Faith and him get out of this jam alive.

Another cop dove for Spike's legs, making him lose his balance as he tumbled to the ground. The young cop and his buddy began to bash him over the body and face with their clubs, Spike blocking out the pain as he tried to get to his feet. Tried to keep Faith safe.


The battle raged on in the center of the club as Dawn, Amanda, Molly, Vi, Rona, Caridad, Chao-Ahn and Kennedy rushed outside to where Faith and Spike were barely fending off the swarm of dirty cops.

"Spike!" Dawn shouted. She looked at her friends. "Guys, give him help! Amanda, with me, let's get to Faith!"

Gonna get rowdy!

Gonna get a little unruly!

Get it fired up in a hurry!

Wanna get dirrty!

It's about time that I

came to start the party!

Molly, Vi and Caridad rushed forward and hauled two other cops off Spike. Once free, Spike zeroed in on the young cop, giving him a vicious uppercut that launched him right against a dumpster, knocking him out. Dawn and Amanda sprinted over to Faith, Dawn decking one cop in the face with a hard right-cross while Amanda whacked another one in the head with a nearby billy club she had picked up. That freed up Faith to keep fighting the leader and viciously kick away another cop trying to back him up.

It was a total melee. And of course Faith and Spike were winning.

And the jerks in blue couldn't handle that; three of them grabbed Faith from behind and peeled her off their buddy.

Sweat dripping over my body!

Dancing, gettin' just a little naughty!

Wanna get dirrty!

It's about time for my arrival!

In a flash, Spike was there, smashing one over the head with a nearby billy club he grabbed, then whipping around and cracking the second one with the club across the jaw, letting out a stream of saliva, blood and teeth as the enspelled cop fell to the floor.

Somewhat annoyed, Faith eyed Spike sternly as she kicked the third one in the ribs.

"I had them!" she growled at Spike, insistent as she grabbed her cop and launched him head-first into the wall, cold-cocking him.

"You're welcome," Spike retorted sarcastically.

"That wasn't a thank-you," she shot back, defensive, revved-up from the fighting around her. "Didn't I make myself clear back there? I don't need your help."

"Turns out you just might, luv," Spike replied, kicking one of the cops in the face who was trying to get up. He turned back to Faith. "I just shook down some juicy bits from one of the boys in blue. These cops were sent to kill you."

"Not exactly news to me, Columbo, with the guns and the taped badges," Faith replied, unimpressed.

"Then how's this for a newsflash, Ducks?" Spike shot back. "Amy Madison sent them. The First wants you dead."

At that, Faith's mouth dropped, shocked. She had not been expecting that.

Suddenly, the lead cop barreled right past her, knocking her into Spike as they were sent crashing down on top of each other.

The two locked eyes again as Faith found herself on top of Spike. And for a moment, despite herself, she felt flushed as his concerned blue eyes met her wild brown ones.

"Faith! A little help?" Dawn shouted as the girls kept fighting.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faith, bloodied but far from beaten, watched as the leader rushed to help the guys being attacked by her girls, Dawn, Amanda, Vi and Molly.

The Boston-born Slayer smiled, quickly got to her feet, and closed the gap between them in an instant, kicking the leader as hard in the head as she could.

Dawn went to work, kicking one cop in the face, then sweeping the leg of one coming up from behind her, knocking him to the floor.

Molly kneed her boy in the stomach, grabbed his club from his hand, and whacked him over the head. Vi wrenched a taser from the cop attacking her and turned the weapon on him, sending him convulsing to the floor.

Amanda shoved her cop backward into a small stack of crates. She towered over him, landing a foot on his chest, and, grinning like an Amazon, dropped another crate on his face.

"That was kinda cool," Amanda exulted, the shy band geek feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life.

Chao-Ahn and Caridad worked in tandem as they dispatched another cop, Caridad backhanding him while Chao-Ahn swept his legs out from under him in a smooth martial arts maneuver she had trained to do the last few weeks. Rona and Kennedy ganged up on another one, kicking and punching him until he stayed down, Kennedy kicking him right in the groin for good measure to make sure he didn't get up.

Spike bashed another one in the head with his own club, reigning in just enough of his strength so that he wouldn't kill the bastard, even though the demon in him demanded blood.

Then he turned and watched as Faith slammed the leader back, whipped around, and punched the very last man standing in the head.

The wild brunette beauty was on the leader, in his face, grinning at him like a cat cornering a mouse. He looked around in fear for his backup, only to find them all laying unconscious or neutralized on the ground, unable to help him in any way.

Moving like the nocturnal predator she was, Faith kicked him in the gut, sending him flying against the wall, then pressed his club into his neck menacingly.

"You know, when you've been locked up in prison for three years, you end up forgetting how good something feels…'till you get out," Faith growled in a low, ferocious tone, her gorgeous mocha-brown eyes turning dark.

Full dark, no stars.

Deep pitch black dark, the way they once had back when she had less of a conscience and killed people for Mayor Wilkins.

Promising all manner of unbelievable pain for this man who had tried to hurt her and her friends.

As the once-cocky officer suddenly found his fear gene, the dark-haired Slayer smirked wickedly and coldly drawled, "Then it all comes rushing back."

"Faith…easy," Spike said, trying to talk her out of it. "He's not worth it. They were just hit with the whammy, is all. He might be a pig, but he ain't worth another knock on your rap sheet."

"Faith, don't," Dawn warned, afraid she was going to go too far. "We got 'em. Please, Faith…"

Faith heard them both…

Then the flashes came again. The voices. Urging her to hurt this man. To hit him. Again and again and again…

At the same time, Spike felt that familiar buzzing at the base of his neck. Dru?

He turned around, sharp eyes darting everywhere, but finding no trace of his made Sire…

…who was watching them from a rooftop across the street, the sinister stone glowing in her hand as she whispered into it. Whispered such sweet, evil words…

Hurt him.

Kill him.

He tried to kill you.

He deserves it.

He can't stop you. No one can stop you.

You want your revenge.

Takeit. Haveit.

Want. Take. Have.

KILL HIM!

Wincing, Faith felt the words buzzing like angry hornets in her head, urging her to hurt. To kill…

"Faith?" Spike asked, worried.

KILL HIM!

Yet she took a deep breath, summoned her control, and cleared her mind.

"Don't worry," Faith told them, calmly. "I'm not going to hurt him."

She dropped the club, eyed him daringly, almost tempting him to pick it up.

The lead cop stared at her warily.

Then he went for the weapon…

…which is when Faith grabbed the dirtbag's head, and slammed him hard into the wall.

As he slumped to the ground, unconscious, she said cheerfully, "Oops! I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

The fight was over. The cops lay strewn all over the ground of the alley.

Satisfied that the fight was over, Spike started walking over to Faith. "You all right, luv?"

Angrily, a frustrated Faith suddenly shoved him backwards. "I told you I don't need your help!"

Hurt, Spike stared at her. "I was just—"

"I don't care what you were 'just'!" Faith tersely snapped, her eyes angry, her patience crumbling to dust and her mind being pulled in a million different directions so that she didn't need to deal with her heart at the same time. "Don't you get it? I told you! The hurt puppy dog thing might work for Buffy, but I'm over it. You and I aren't going to happen, Spike! I'm not your girlfriend, and I'm never going to be, so can you just back the hell off?"

Dawn froze, silent as she watched the angry exchange.

The others fell silent, as well.

A long, awkward silence followed.

Spike stared, hurt, at Faith, who stared back at him, her brown eyes hard and uncompromising. The wall had come back up, and she was not going to let him in this time.

Angrily, Spike nodded. "Alright, then. My mistake," he sneered. "Did my bloody good deed for the night. So now I'm gonna go find a nerd and go track down a preacher."

"Yeah, you go do that," Faith replied, dismissively.

"I will," Spike shot back, acidly, as he began to walk away.

"Fine!" Faith angrily parried.

"Fine!" Spike snapped.

"FINE!" Faith furiously shouted back…but he was already gone.

Leaving Faith angry, tense…and full of remorseful regret.

She wanted to let him in. She really did.

But she couldn't.

Damn it all, she just couldn't.

Deep down, she wasn't sure she could ever let him in again…or anyone else…

"Faith?"

It was Buffy, arriving just after the nick of time, Gunn and Fred in tow, as more girls spilled out of the Bronze and Faith was adjusting her clothes.

"What the hell is going on here?" Buffy asked, her voice taking the tone of a school teacher. A very pissed-off school teacher.

"Just blowing off steam," Faith replied easily. As one of the downed cops began to vomit near the dumpster, Faith sheepishly shrugged. "Well, it started out that way."

At that, one cop suddenly staggered up to his feet, aiming his gun at Buffy. Acting on instinct, Buffy quickly kicked the gun out of his hand, then decked him with a powerful uppercut that took him out for the night.

Another cop tried to grab Fred from behind, only for Fred to swiftly elbow him in the stomach, doubling him over. Gunn acted instinctively, connecting with a hard right-cross punch that knocked the cop out cold.

Shaking his hand for a moment, Gunn thought aloud, "Great, a Black man punching a cop in a mostly-white town. Like I didn't have enough problems already."

Then he eyed the slew of cops strewn across the alley like garbage. "Damn, and here I thought the L.A.P.D. were bad news," Gunn muttered aloud.

"Are you guys okay?" Fred asked sincerely, looking at Faith, then Dawn and the others.

"Five by five, Fred," Faith said, assuringly. "We're okay."

Buffy eyed the sea of beaten-up cops, then turned accusing eyes back at Faith. "You've got a pretty strange definition of 'okay'."

Dawn, a smashed beer bottle still in hand and her eyes red, tried to stand up for Faith. "Buffy, it's not Faith's fault, we didn't…"

But her mistake was catching Buffy's attention. One look at Dawn, and Buffy quickly put together what her kid sister had been up to tonight. "Dawn, are you…are you drunk?" Buffy demanded, stunned and more than a little bit pissed.

Dawn froze, dropping the glass on the floor. "Um…uh, I…." she stammered, awkwardly, her face resembling the look of a kid who mom caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Faith turned to Dawn, surprised. She had no idea that the littlest Summers girl had been hitting the bottle tonight. That was not part of the plan.

Angry and feeling betrayed, Buffy turned her glare from her drunk sister to her sister Slayer who was supposed to be keeping her and the other girls safe. Feeling defensive, Faith glared back.

The two Slayers traded hard stares, like two rival gunslingers at an old Western bar fight.

Then Buffy said in a quiet, yet stern voice, "Girls, go home. I want to talk to Faith for a minute."

"But, Buffy," Dawn said, stepping forward to explain. "We didn't—"

"Dawn, I don't want to hear one word from you right now. You are in such unbelievable trouble," a fuming Buffy tersely ordered her, going full Legal Guardian mode. "I'll talk to you when I get home. Go on. Now."

Feeling dismissed and disregarded, Dawn scowled, but said nothing further. Even drunk, she knew better than to test her older sister when she got like this.

Sighing, Gunn motioned sympathetically to the girls. "Come on, y'all," he said. "Party's over for tonight. Fred and I will take you home."

As the girls began walking off with Gunn and Fred, once she was sure they were alone, Buffy walked over to Faith, her questioning eyes demanding answers.

"What the hell is this?" Buffy demanded, her big hazel-green eyes flashing.

Faith shrugged. "They needed a break. They were running themselves into the ground. Things just got out of hand."

"Taking a break is one thing. I get blowing off steam, Faith, but they were fighting. Fighting cops," Buffy said angrily. "And those girls are drunk. My kid sister is drunk. What the hell were you thinking?"

Faith was not about to justify herself to Buffy. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I leave you alone with them for one second, Faith. One second! And this is how you prove I can trust you? What if someone had gotten hurt?" Buffy was practically shouting.

"They didn't," Faith returned, getting more irritated. "And it turns out they can fight. They can take care of themselves. Even Dawn. You should be happy about that?"

"Happy? HAPPY? They were fighting cops!" an incredulous Buffy snapped.

"Dirty cops," Faith corrected. "Spike said these guys had some kind of whammy put on them. The First sent them to kill me. Thanks for asking, by the way."

Buffy was stunned, processing this. Yet it did nothing to stay her anger. "So now on top of taking them out and letting them get hammered, you put them in the line of fire of people who want you dead?" she asked accusingly.

Faith threw up her hands in exasperation. "Oh, come on!"

Her patience rapidly disappearing, Buffy tried to reign in her temper as best she could. Neither her nor Faith had the best history. One wrong word and there could be a whole other brawl tonight, one she would rather not have with all the chaos going on.

"Faith. I need to know those girls are going to be safe when I'm not there," Buffy angrily demanded.

"No one got hurt, B!" A weary Faith was so tired of her crap. "Look, you don't even know these girls. Maybe you need to have a little more confidence in them, let them get down and dirty, mess up sometimes. How the hell else are they going to learn?"

"It's one thing to learn from your mistakes," Buffy hotly insisted. "But you don't throw children into—"

"They're not children," Faith said, defensively, feeling the need to stick up for them. For Dawn, in particular. She had been growing up so fast in just these last few weeks, and Buffy didn't have a damned clue. But Faith knew...

Buffy ground her teeth, frustrated. Faith clearly wasn't listening, and Buffy so wasn't in the mood to explain, not after the crappy night she had. She angrily shook her head. "That's really not the point, Faith. It's my house, my rules. Got it? And I'm not going to bother explaining this right now, I've got a lot on my plate without this crap. First, I've got to make sure they get home safe. I'll deal with you later."

The annoyed blonde Slayer said the last part dismissively, turned on her heel and began stomping off, heading after the girls.

Deal with me? Faith thought in outrage. She didn't like those words.

Not at all.

Buffy wasn't her sister. She wasn't her mom. They weren't even really friends. She sure as hell wasn't her boss. And Faith damned sure wasn't anyone's lackey. Hell, she wasn't sure she could trust Buffy after that vineyard fiasco. And she had the balls to talk down to her like Faith was some minion, some naughty little kid about to get a spanking? Okay...deal with this, Blondie.

"Oh, so now you're interested in playing it safe? Okay, then what about the vineyard?" Faith shot at her.

Buffy froze.

Slowly, she turned around, shock and a simmering anger brewing in her greenish-hazel eyes. "What?"

Faith knew she'd gotten Buffy where she lived; and despite knowing what it would lead to, the brunette bombshell decided to visit with her fellow Slayer there awhile.

"How safe were they when you dragged us off to meet Caleb and his Manson family? Even though all of us told you how it was a friggin' trap, and you just blew us off? How safe was Rona? Or Vi? Or Molly or Kennedy? Or Matthew?"

Faith saw Buffy flinch at the mention of the dead little boy, and for a moment, the Boston-born Slayer almost felt bad about this.

But in a flash, Faith just as suddenly remembered the hours and seeming days when she was left behind in the vineyard, subject to so much pain and torture and mind-shattering sadistic agony at the hands of The First and its bloodthirsty lackeys, and whatever empathy Faith felt stirring for Buffy instantly vanished.

Faith's brown eyes narrowed, resentment and betrayal and long-brewing jealousy churning in them, focused on driving her point home as her voice filled with accusation. "How safe was I when you left me behind in that hellhole to die?"

Yet again, she saw Buffy's eyes fill with regret at the pointed charge against her.

Despite her anger, Buffy felt she needed to explain her actions on that. "Faith, I didn't…"

"Didn't what, Summers?" Faith coldly cut her off, dared her to try and justify herself. "Didn't rank me high enough on your priorities list? Funny how you suddenly wanted to play it safe when it was just me in the frying pan to burn that time. Was that safe enough for you?"

Buffy's nostrils flared, guilt and a storm of other volatile emotions bubbling up within her.

Faith saw that, knew that thin ice she was skating on was about to crack and crumble, but she was too angry, too tired to care and way too tired to hold in what she was feeling any longer. So she let it all out, all of the ugly, all of the bad. Laid it all out on the table.

"How safe was Dawn when Caleb was ready to gut her like a fish while you couldn't do a damn thing to stop him?" Faith paused, reserving her most painful barb for last. "How safe was Xander when he got half-blinded and almost died because he trusted you?"

That was it.

Enraged, Buffy stalked right over to Faith…

POW!

… and slugged her as hard as she could, and Faith went down to her knees.

The brunette slayer looked up...looked Buffy dead in the eye. Locked tense stares with her…

KA-POW!

…and then she popped Buffy right in the jaw with a nasty punch of her own.

Buffy staggered back as a sneering Faith agilely popped up to her feet. The petite blonde warrior recovered quickly, scowling, her hazel-green eyes burning with rage. After what happened with Caleb, Buffy was done letting anyone else touch her tonight. Not without having to eat through a straw afterwards.

Faith returned Buffy's fiery gaze with one of her own, her doe brown orbs lit in fury. After what she'd been through the last few days, hell, the last few weeks, Faith vowed she'd never let anyone lay a hand on her again without her permission before they ended up losing that hand.

The two Slayers angrily glared at one another, their stances shifting into fighting form as they practically mirrored each other.

Buffy and Faith.

Slayer and Slayer.

Light and slightly darker light.

California and Boston.

Two halves of the same coin, yet as different as can be.

The tension they each knew had been simmering for some time now had inevitably reached its boiling point.

The fight to the finish between the Chosen Two was inevitable...

Seconds away...

And then…

...Buffy merely shook her head, turned and walked away, leaving Faith there. She's not worth it, Buffy decided.

As she watched Buffy leave, all self-righteous and angry, a simmering and glowering Faith herself wondered silently if any of this was worth it...


To Be Continued…


Next: "Empty Places" reaches its conclusion. Tempers flare as Buffy's decisions are called into question. And Angel gets ready to face a deadly serial killer with more power than he can imagine. What consequences will this bring our heroes with The First's plan to unleash The Awakening only days away?


I know, this chapter was a little sad to read, but I promise, everything will make sense in the end, trust me :) This chapter took a little while to write because of everything I wanted to put in there plus my insane work schedule. Next chapter should hopefully be posted faster.

More on the way soon. Thanks to everyone following this story. Please read, follow and review! Later!


Best,

Jean-theGuardian