Fanfiction: One More Sad Song
“What’s her problem, anyhow?”
Angel, perched near the fireplace, glanced up from the book he was holding. He directed a small look of confusion towards the girl who had come through the back entrance to the mansion.
“Who?” he asked, the light from the flames dancing up and down his dark clothes.
Buffy Summers gave the vampire one of her many exasperated glares.
“Faith,” she replied, setting her purse down on the couch and taking a seat opposite Angel. “You’ve seen how she acts, how defensive she is. Why do you think she’s like that?”
“I don’t know her well enough to say, Buffy.” Setting the book down, page dutifully marked for later, Angel got up and moved to sit with his blonde-haired companion. “If she’s defensive when you ask her questions, she’s either too embarrassed or too hurt to answer them. If she needs time to deal with her past, then pushing her is only going to make things worse.”
“But I want to know!” Buffy said loudly, her brown eyes reflecting the flames from the fireplace. Sighing, she made herself lower her voice as she smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on her pants. “Maybe she needs help or something, you know?”
A short silence ensued as Angel considered the situation. “All we can do for now is watch her,” he finally said. “Do you know anything about her? Background, anything?”
“Uh…she said she dropped out of high school. And she seems to distrust everyone…even me.”
“Have you given her reason to?”
Surprised that Angel would accuse her openly, Buffy sat up straighter.
“I seriously doubt that her mistrust of me has anything to do with actions of mine,” Buffy retorted. “I’ve been super nice to her so far.”
“That may be true,” Angel conceded, “but we can’t assume to know that your niceness has been taken at face value by Faith. She may feel that your openness is a trick, a way to get at her insecurities.”
The Sunnydale’s Slayer lowered her eyes, not wanting to meet Angel’s annoyingly intuitive gaze. “To tell you the truth, Angel, she irritates me. She barges in here like this is her town, like she’s supposed to be the only Slayer. It would be better if she were gone.”
“Maybe it’s just me, but that doesn’t sound like such a ‘super nice’ opinion.”
One of the logs in the fireplace made a loud cracking sound, and the flames shot up a bit higher.
“You haven’t been around her, you don’t know how it feels,” Buffy replied, “so don’t accuse me of something that is her fault. Spend some time around her and tell me she’s not the most annoying Slayer in history.”
Angel stood up, preferring to continue his thoughts from a safe distance. “She probably feels scared, Buffy. Think about it: this whole town is new and hostile for her. And until you know what she’s been through, accusing her of ruining things is going to solve nothing.”
There was no immediate defense to this statement. Angel turned to stare into the fire as the mansion continued to plunge into the darkness that accompanied late twilight. He could imagine the stars just beginning to come out, shining amid the blackness of the night sky, the only company for the lonely moon. He felt bad for Faith’s position; he knew how hard it was to be the perpetual outsider, the one who could only look hopelessly in on what was ultimately unobtainable. Living for years and years on nothing but animal blood, scrambling through alleyways as humans openly stared with revulsion, Angel had learned a thing or two about how empty one could feel when everyone and everything only seemed to exist to give pain.
Buffy reentered the conversation, having had time to think of a suitable response. “It’s not just me, you know. Willow, Xander…they all feel the same.” She stood up, crossing her arms. “I just wish Faith were gone from Sunnydale.”
Angel said nothing, forcing Buffy to break the silence again.
“How can you not understand my opinion?” she asked, refusing to be defeated so easily. “Isn’t there anyone who just makes you want to scream?”
On the other side of town, near the park, total night had just fallen and the few people brave enough to be walking along were hurrying to get to their respective destinations. It wasn’t as though everyone in Sunnydale knew that the town sat on a Hellmouth, and that vampires and demons ran loose at night, but the citizens did realize that Sunnydale had an unusually high percentage of disappearances and strange, unexplainable deaths. Being outside at night in a sparsely populated area of the city—like the park—was just asking for trouble. Within minutes, the entire area was completely deserted. A warm spring wind pushed dried leaves over the grass and rustled the few that remained in the trees. Everything appeared tranquil, as if the nighttime would finally be peaceful for once.
Just then, the sound of screeching tires washed over the scene as a swerving black car rounded the corner. Recklessly charging ahead, it barreled down the street. Faced with a dead end near the park, the driver decided that a single curb was insignificant and subsequently drove over it, bouncing the car onto the park’s meticulously groomed grass. As it narrowly avoided trees and benches, the car suddenly lurched back into a street and ran directly into a well-lit sign that read, in bold letters, “WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE!”
Standing no chance against a three-thousand-pound vehicle, the sign promptly collapsed backwards with a boom onto the asphalt, and the car finally skidded to a stop. The driver-side door opened, spilling numerous empty bottles onto the ground. The ones made of glass shattered as the dust from the rampage settled peacefully.
A black-clad man fell out the open door, landing in the broken glass. He didn’t even notice, staring dazedly at his new surroundings.
“Home…sweet…home,” Spike drunkenly muttered before passing out in the street.
Some time later, a brown-haired girl in dark clothing came out of the park and almost tripped over Spike’s prone form. Moonlight dancing off her large hazel eyes, she regarded the wrecked sign, filthy car, and unconscious vampire with something akin to indifference. Originally, she had wanted to just sit inside her crumbling motel room and watch an old black-and-white movie on television, but a sense of restlessness had come over her, forcing her outside. To walk. To gather her thoughts. And to patrol.
Rolling her eyes, Faith approached the car, not fearing the vampire in the least. Stepping over him, she entered the open driver’s side door and began rummaging through the assorted items that littered the interior of the car. Half-full bottles of booze and cigarette butts constituted most of what she found, but there were also a few dented cassette tapes with names like “Sex Pistols” and “The Ramones” scribbled on with marker. Disappointed that there was no money to be had, and oddly intrigued by this vampire who would be so bold as to lie about conspicuously in a town with not one, but two Vampire Slayers, Faith got out of the vehicle and slammed the door loudly.
Jolted awake by the intolerable bang, Spike opened his eyes and immediately scooted away from the girl who was sitting complacently on the hood of his beloved black car. Not that he was afraid, of course—just surprised. His eyes narrowed, trying to focus on the odd little smile that was being thrown his way.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” he belligerently accused. Where was his alcohol, anyway?
“I’m no one,” Faith responded, her eerily confident smile never faltering. “Just a Slayer.”
Spike was on his feet instantly, a smirk crossing his face. “So Buffy’s dead then, is she?”
“Not really, vampire.”
“I do have a sodding name, you know.”
Faith affected a concerned look. “Wait, ask me if I care,” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“The name’s Spike. Remember it.” Irritated that this teenage girl could get under his skin so easily, Spike felt the urge to rush in and rip her throat out, but he calmed himself instead, figuring that he could get some information on Buffy from Little Miss Know-It-All.
“Spike as in…William the Bloody?” Faith asked. “For real?”
“Right, William the Bloody, blah blah,” Spike said, reaching into his dusty leather coat and pulling out some cigarettes. A lighter appeared in his other hand a moment later and soon he was smoking away and talking to a Slayer, of all people. “And you’re name isn’t ‘No One’, so let’s hear who you really are, love.”
“Faith,” the Slayer replied. Then she wiggled her hands in front of her and spoke in a voice that was purposely aggravating. “Remember it,” she said, barely able to contain her laughter.
“Clever.”
“So are we throwing down, or what?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing. You do know I’ve killed two Slayers, yeah?”
Faith snorted. “So?”
“Doesn’t it scare you?” Spike responded. Obviously this girl wasn’t the typical Slayer.
“Doesn’t it scare you that I’ve killed hundreds of vampires?” retorted Faith, hopping off the hood of the car and coming to stand mere feet away from Spike.
Smiling and exhaling a puff of smoke, Spike said, “Not really, love. I’m not the run-of-the-mill vamp.”
“And I’m not the run-of-the-mill Slayer,” Faith added, almost bouncing up and down in anticipation of a fight. “So come give us a kiss.”
“Look,” Spike said, tossing his cigarette into the street, “I came here to get even with another vamp, and possibly the other Slayer, so—”
“What vamp?”
“Aren’t we curious all of sudden?” Spike mocked. “Just point me towards Angel, all right?”
“What’s your problem with Angel?”
Spike made a motion with his hand, suggesting that he wanted to answer, but couldn’t find the right words. “Long, long, long story,” he said instead.
“Well,” Faith said, moving even closer and gazing right into Spike’s eyes, “I have time.”
Disconcerted by Faith’s sudden change of heart, Spike took a step back out of surprise. “Shouldn’t you take offense that I bloody want to kill Buffy and Angel? Two people who I assume are your friends?”
“‘Friend’ is a word for people who act nice to your face and then talk shit behind your back,” Faith spat. “So why should I care about my ‘friends’, when they’re probably talking about how much they hate me right now?”
Taken aback again by Faith’s constantly shifting mood, Spike retreated another step. “Let me get this straight: you…don’t like Goldilocks and her poof of a boy-toy?”
Faith took one step forward to make up for Spike’s retreat. “No. I hate them about as much as they hate me. Gets old after a while, you know?” She sighed and looked up into the night sky. “All I hear is, ‘Oh, Faith, do you want to come to the Bronze? Oh, Faith, do you want to go on patrol?’ I’m a fucking afterthought for Buffy, Angel, and the rest of them. There’s only one thing worse than being hated outright, and that’s when that same hatred is concealed under a god damn mask of friendship.”
“I know what you—”
“Shut up! You don’t know—” Faith interrupted, before being cut off.
“No, you shut up, Slayer,” Spike said, forcing Faith to involuntarily move back.
“I know better than you can bloody imagine, okay? I felt that same feeling for nearly a century when Dru and I were hanging around Angel. He could never tolerate me, because I was better. Stronger, faster…better. And he hated me for it. But he could never come out and say it, you know?” A fleeting smile of pain flickered over Spike’s face before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “But things are gonna be different this time around. Mr. Forehead has ruined things one too many times for me, and this time, I play for sodding keeps.”
Suddenly thoughtful, both Slayer and vampire said nothing for several minutes, letting the night creep and settle around them. Faith broke the silence first.
“I guess we have something in common, then,” she said quietly, going back to sit on the hood with her hands in her lap. “It wicked sucks, huh?”
Spike came and leaned against the car a few feet away from Faith. He couldn’t help but notice that she looked young, and lost, and alone. “Yeah, it’s rough. Things are gonna change, though. I can promise you that much.”
Faith was staring at the ground. “Do you…um…want help?” She knew it was wrong to ask, wrong to team up with a vampire that didn’t even have a soul. But she just needed to belong to someone, have someone watch her back and take care of her when things were hard. She needed a real friend, one that wouldn’t secretly despise her for her faults and insecurities. “‘Cause I could help. If you wanted me to, I mean.”
Spike regarded Faith, whose eyes were still aimed at the ground. Having lived for more than a century, he’d learned a thing or two about people and their problems. Watching Faith, he saw fragility bundled up in a shell of hardness, one meant to keep everyone at a distance, lest they get too close and break down her barriers. She seemed scared of something…everything.
“I guess we work together then, Faith,” Spike said softly. He laughed a little. “Cheers to us, right?”
Faith finally looked up, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
The rest of the night passed slowly by without much incident. Buffy and Angel had neglected to patrol at all; Faith and Spike had gone their separate ways with a promise to meet again the following morning. With two Slayers and two of the most dangerous vampires ever created going about freely through Sunnydale, regular vamp activity had all but stopped. Unbeknownst to most, however, Mayor Wilkins was exercising his authority by dampening down anything out of the ordinary, keeping most supernatural activity off people’s minds and especially off the front pages of the newspapers, which were fond of creating seemingly ludicrous stories to explain odd occurrences.
Back at the motel in Sunnydale’s less-than-reputable area, Faith pushed open the unlocked door to her room and walked inside. No one had broken in; there was simply no point to locking something when it contained nothing valuable. Flicking on the light switch that controlled the room’s sickly yellow lights, she took of her boots and tossed them haphazardly into a corner. The small clock near her bed was slowly flashing “3:02” in somber blue electric light. Not noticing—yet somehow always noticing—the disrepair of the place she now called home, Faith went and sat at the corner of her bed, content to sit and think for a while.
This new turn of events with Spike was slightly confusing to her. Everything she had ever been taught told her that befriending a vampire was wrong. She could never understand how Buffy could hook up with Angel, even if he did have a soul. And now here she was, associating with one of the most infamously dangerous and violent vamps of all time. It obviously wasn’t right, but she was beginning to care less and less about the always-thin line between right and wrong. Such arbitrary concepts bothered her; “good” couldn’t possibly exist without an “evil” to counteract it, so who could say which one was ultimately “right”? The whole situation just seemed a bit too structured and filled with rules for her taste. Life itself was never so easily definable; she had fallen in and out of grace for years, striving for perfection in her childhood, finding herself alone and abandoned in her early teens, and now she was rebelling against structure, on the run from no one but herself with only the haunting visions of her past to keep her company.
But now there was Spike. Someone who appeared to understand and relate to her struggles, even if he wasn’t technically alive and not exactly a typical companion for a Slayer. But then again, neither was Angel. Faith didn’t know what plans Spike had for Buffy and her boyfriend, but it was probably going to be violent. Unconsciously frowning at the thought, she walked into the tiny bathroom and began to get ready for bed. It wasn’t as if Faith had a problem with violence, or that she was unaccustomed to it; the problem was that she was too good at it. Sometimes in a fight, she could be at peace, but that peace came at the price of completely loosing control and going beyond what a Slayer like Buffy was capable of. Because unlike Buffy, Faith liked killing vamps and demons. It gave a purpose to her life; it kept her on track and focused. As she splashed near-freezing water on her face, she realized that she didn’t want Buffy or Angel dead. Not yet. She only wanted them to feel pain for neglecting her and for falling into that typical “pretend friend” niche that Faith despised.
But Spike would probably want them dead.
If it came to that, she would have a choice to make, but for now, it was comforting to simply have a side to fight on.
Faith stared at her reflection for a few seconds, not able to decide whether she liked what she saw, and then she flicked off the bathroom light, refusing to give herself anymore negative things to ponder.
She had enough already.
Going over to the bed once more, she undressed and threw her clothes in the general vicinity of her boots. Slipping on some tattered sweatpants and a t-shirt, the things she wore to bed when no one else was around, she turned off the main light without even thinking about it, plunging the room into darkness. The sounds of the street outside filtered in mutedly, as if they all existed in some kind of clear, concise world that Faith was not privy to.
Thankful that her day was finally over, Faith crawled under the covers and surrendered her busy thoughts to a troubled sleep.
Some miles away in the remnants of Sunnydale’s industrial sector, the rusted door to the largest factory creaked slowly open, the hinges crying out their protest. Spike stood in the doorframe, unafraid of the dark interior. No creature it hid would be able to best him in a fight, and so that left no room for fear, but he still couldn’t bring himself to walk down the stairs that he had descended countless times before. Because although he feared no creature, living or dead, there were uncontrollable memories lying dormant somewhere down in the blackness, memories that would haunt him if awoken. Gathering his courage, preparing himself for the inevitable flood of recollections that was his horrid right, he tossed his still-lit cigarette down into the darkness, creating a tiny beacon of orange light that had trouble staving off the shadows threatening to consume it.
Not that he needed light to see, necessarily; his vampiric eyes could see well enough in an almost total absence of illumination, but the cigarette’s slowly smoldering life was something of a comfort. He began to descend the stairs, listening to the echoes that his footsteps were throwing against the desolate walls of the factory. Reaching the bottom, he left the cigarette where it was and wandered over to the far corner of the room, searching for a few tiny objects, remembrances of a happier time when things actually made sense. He found them on a low table, seated neatly side by side as if ready for a macabre tea party.
Druscilla’s dolls.
Ironically smiling at their cruel fate, some were wearing small blindfolds, and some had had their eyes ripped straight from their plastic heads. Spike picked one up and examined it in the gloom, turning it over in his hands again and again until he couldn’t stand it any longer and put it back in its place. Dru had always had a fascination with dolls, and they only served to remind Spike of the fact that he was now utterly alone, without the one person who had accompanied him nearly everywhere for over a hundred years. More than alone, he felt lost, as if he had no sense of direction, no motivation to do anything besides take out his revenge on the one person most responsible for his pain.
Angel.
For a while, things in Sunnydale hadn’t been so awful. Sure, Buffy and her little Scooby gang had managed to thwart Spike’s plans again and again, but he had been with Dru, causing chaos and mayhem. He laughed a bit as he realized that the old saying was true: he had never really known how good things were until they were gone, snatched from him by the damn vampire with a soul.
Although Angel’s soul had never really been the problem. Things had gone from bad to worse as soon as he had lost the soul. Spike could just imagine the arrogance that almost literally radiated from Angel when he’d finally been set free. He had just barged into the factory, immediately bringing to the surface Spike’s old hatred for his grand-sire. As he began to win Dru’s favor through useless baubles and meaningless talk, Spike knew that their trio was beginning to implode, but he had been helpless to stop it. Confined to a wheelchair after nearly being burnt alive, he had no choice but to sit and watch as Angel systematically destroyed everything that Spike had worked so long and hard to build: his relationship with Druscilla, his plans for Buffy…his entire world had been torn apart.
Now, nearly a full year later, Spike sank to his knees on the factory floor, reaching up to grab as many dolls as he could, crushing their fragile bodies with his strength, throwing them against the wall, ripping their limbs apart, cursing Angel and his god damned Slayer.
They would pay for this, pay for ruining his life and his love. Death was too good for Angel, but it would have to suffice, and Buffy would be next in line. With Faith’s help, Spike knew that he could win. Slayer and vampire united against Slayer and vampire. Two pairs, both trained to kill, set loose on each other?
It would be a bloodbath.
As the cigarette quietly died, its insignificant light fading out of existence, Spike curled up on the floor and tried to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be a big day…
The next morning was, true to the town name, irritatingly sunny and warm, as winter slowly dissipated into a typically pleasant southern California spring. The heat streamed down from the sky, rebounding off the black streets and ushering in a new day, a day that was to be one of the most important in Faith’s young life.
Already awake, unable to get more than a few hours of sleep during the temperamental night, she sat on the edge of her bed, allowing herself a little while to simply contemplate the upcoming hours. Unable to stand the darkness of her room, she’d opened the window and the dusty shades, permitting the light and the slow breeze to wash over her. Absently trailing her fingers over her sweatpants as she considered what the day would hold for her, her eyes gazed longingly outside at the sunny street. Smiling people, happy with their busy lives, went about their business, waving and talking to each other. Even on this side of town, the sun held sway over its tiny human subjects, somehow forcing them outside to enjoy themselves.
The sun brought only melancholy to Faith’s world.
The daytime held no promise of fun or enjoyment for her. The purpose of a Slayer was to prowl the alleys and graveyards at night, slipping through the mist and tombstones, wandering alone through the danger and violence of a grotesque dream. Faith had never belonged to the day. As she sat, feeling the warm breeze run along her bare skin, she knew that her place and purpose in life was to be a nighttime killer, not to have fun, not to have friends, not to have anything that Buffy seemed lucky enough to have. Faith patrolled alone; Buffy patrolled with her friends or Angel. Faith had no family; Buffy had a loving mother. Faith lived in a tired motel room; Buffy had a wonderful house.
What Buffy had, Faith had never known. She’d never known her father, and her mother had died a long time ago. Her Watcher, the closest thing to a friend and mentor that she had ever known, was viciously murdered as Faith watched helplessly. In coming to Sunnydale, Faith had not expected her life to be perfect, but she had at least expected it to be better. Though there was more for her to do now that she lived on a Hellmouth, the most painful parts of life were constantly being paraded before her jaded eyes. No matter how many demons she killed, no matter how many vampires she staked, no matter how hard and long she trained to be a good Slayer, she could never have the things that she most desired: acceptance and love.
A hard façade helped to protect a shattered girl, one who had had to work for even the most pitiful aspects of her life. She had been handed nothing, and Buffy had been given everything by comparison. Faith saw a meager effort on Buffy’s part to share the things that she had been lucky enough to acquire, but behind the social mask, Faith knew that she was neither liked nor appreciated by Buffy or any of her friends. In her life, she had learned that deceit and hurtful looks were worse than any physical punishment, and though she had done her best to fit in with Buffy’s crowd by changing herself, she was still unaccepted, the perpetual outsider that was always looking in on what she was not able to capture.
The sun shined down on Buffy’s domain, but the night was Faith’s.
And so she waited quietly on her bed, thinking thoughts too large for her already crowded head. She couldn’t live with this social dance forever; she needed action, a way to escape from the world that she had come to despise. Enter Spike, vampire with a grudge. Could it possibly work? A liaison between a Slayer and her sworn enemy? Maybe. And if not, then Faith would have no problem killing Spike, just as she had killed so many of his kind before.
So deeply locked within her thoughts, Faith almost didn’t hear the insistent knocking on her door. Glancing around for some kind of weapon, settling on the stake she had patrolled with last night, she tucked it away into the back of her sweatpants and moved towards the door. She didn’t know who would bother to see her so early in the morning, but it probably meant bad news in one form or another. Unlocking the door, she flung it open, ready to leap into defense or offense depending on the situation.
Instead, she was pushed aside as a smoking figure covered in a blanket rushed into the room.
“About bloody time!” Spike chastised from beneath his blanket. “Close the shades!”
Unable to keep herself from showing a genuine smile at Spike’s distress, Faith closed the door and obligingly shut the shades, forcing the sunshine back outside where it belonged. Spike dropped the blanket with a loud sigh, kicking it against a wall. He also took off his black leather coat, throwing it in the corner where the blanket had come to rest. Faith admired the clothing that remained: a faded black t-shirt tucked into similarly faded black jeans. His bleached blonde hair stood in contrast with the overall gloomy image he presented.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” he asked, sounding more curious than mad.
“Your wicked strange clothes,” Faith said, pointing with her right hand and giving Spike a beautifully innocent smile.
Spike’s head dropped as he regarded himself. “What’s strange, Slayer?”
Faith couldn’t stop smiling no matter how hard she tried to exert her willpower.
“Nothing, nothing. I like them, don’t worry about it.”
“Look who’s talkin’, anyhow,” Spike replied, pointing as Faith had. He laughed a little at her disheveled appearance, so unlike the carefully coordinated outfit that she had been showing off last night. “Sweatpants and a t-shirt, huh?”
Suddenly self-conscious, her old insecurities returning, Faith stopped smiling and blushed instead, somewhat embarrassed to be caught in clothing that didn’t reinforce the hard image she had built for herself. She quickly thought of a comeback.
“Hey, at least my t-shirt isn’t tucked into my sweatpants,” she sarcastically said.
Spike’s confident smile immediately disappeared. He raised his hands.
“All right, all right. Truce?”
Faith considered adding another comment just for the sake of annoying her new friend, but she decided not to press her luck. “Truce it is. So, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Uh, the plan?” Spike said, his eyes widening. “We need a bloody strategy, remember?”
“Yeah, okay,” Faith returned. “I tell you what: the ‘bloody strategy’ can come after I take a shower. Just sit on the bed or on the floor or something until I’m done.”
As Faith went to her small dresser and began rummaging for clothes, she removed the stake from her sweatpants and placed it on top of the dresser. Finding some suitable black pants and a tight, red, short-sleeved shirt perfect for a hot day, she shut the drawer she’d been looking through and started walking into the bathroom.
“Sure you don’t need some help in there?” Spike asked just before she shut the door, a mischievous grin on his face.
Faith poked her head through the opening, pretending to seriously consider the request. “Maybe later, Spike.” She smiled again and closed the door. A few seconds later, Spike heard the shower come on.
He spent the next minutes considering Faith and his plans for Buffy and Angel. Despite his best efforts, he had had trouble coming up with a suitable means of attack that didn’t involve a frontal assault, the style he would generally use if not going up against this particular duo. Already semi-protective of Faith, even though he had known her less that a full day, he was not about to put her in any unnecessary danger. She did agree to help him, after all, and Spike couldn’t just use her and then throw her away after she’d served her purpose. No, she had to make it out of the conflict alive.
Buffy and Angel, on the other hand, were another matter.
As Faith continued to wash off in the shower, Spike finally began to have the inklings of a new plan, one that would isolate Angel and Buffy from their friends, while at the same time, luring them right into the trap. Brow wrinkled in concentration, he analyzed the plan from all possible angles, searching for flaws or specific dangers. After a full quarter of an hour, he decided that it was probably the safest way to get his revenge, with the least danger to himself or Faith. When she emerged, he would run the plan past her for approval, just to make sure that she was still willing to go along with it. Satisfied with himself, Spike laid down on the bed, absentmindedly staring at the ceiling, his thoughts of revenge mixed with his new and somewhat confusing thoughts for the young, brown-haired Slayer.
Faith, for her part, had had enough thinking for the morning and was devoting her full attention to washing her hair. A few minutes of shampooing, and she felt sure that she was clean enough for one of her favorite activities: a violent confrontation. Turning off the steaming water, she carefully stepped out of the shower and dried off. She hurried through the rest of her morning routine, quickly dressing, drying her hair, and putting on some dark makeup that offset her pretty, pale face. Deciding to leave her sleeping clothes where they were, Faith opened the bathroom door and flicked off the light, startling Spike from what looked like a daydream.
“Having fun?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and stretching her arms, gladdened by the soothing nature of the shower’s hot water. “I hope you weren’t thinking of me all naked…and soapy…and hot…were you?”
Spike tried to put on his best innocent face, failed miserably, and settled for an unconvincing denial. “Not bloody likely, Slayer.”
“Uh-huh,” Faith said, accusing Spike with her eyes.
“Okay, fine. A little, maybe. But not much!”
Rolling her eyes, Faith stuck out her tongue, teasing her accomplice. “Watch what you wish for, Spike. You just might get it.”
“Yeah? Really?” He sat up straighter, suddenly interested in the direction the conversation was heading.
“Who knows? I’ve never done a vamp before.” She laughed at her own admission. “Buffy gets to have all the fun with Angel. Maybe I should give it a try.”
“You wouldn’t be disappointed,” Spike replied, still sitting on the bed and looking up at Faith.
“Is that so? Well, first things first. Tell me about this wonderful ‘bloody strategy’ that you claim to have.” Faith came and sat down next to Spike. It was so strange to just sit and talk with a vampire; she’d never been within five feet of one without trying to kill it. But Spike was different somehow, as if he knew how people worked. He seemed to feel things that normal vampires didn’t, and Faith liked this quality. His perceptiveness about certain issues had already manifested itself, and it was attractive. “Go on, tell me. I’m waiting to be impressed,” she said with a smile.
After Spike had outlined the plan, Faith thought it over for only a few, scant seconds before nodding her approval.
“Good, then?” Spike asked, inching imperceptibly closer.
Faith turned to glance at him. “Sounds fine to me. It’s just the type of thing that Buffy and Angel will fall into, trusting as they are. What are we supposed to do until then, though? Sunset isn’t going to be for at least eight hours.”
“I have some ideas,” Spike said, grinning.
“I have a better idea,” Faith immediately returned. “How about you take me to breakfast? You have a car, right?”
“You want me to run all the way back to the sodding factory under that damn blanket?”
“If you want a chance at getting a piece of this,” she said, pointing to herself, “then you’ll take me to breakfast.”
Spike stood up. “Fine. Blanket, here I come.” With that, he grabbed the blanket and his jacket from the floor, put the former over his head after pulling on the latter, and strode for the door. “Be back soon.”
“See ya,” Faith said as the door closed. She was overjoyed. Breakfast! Money was always scarce for her, having rent to pay and all, and no real job, so food was a luxury that she couldn’t often afford. But breakfast! Being friends with Spike was already turning out well.
A short time later, after Spike had nearly crashed his car through Faith’s door—to which he gave an innocent look, as if he had no idea that driving fifty miles in a parking lot was a bad idea—the two were seated across from each other at one of Sunnydale’s many small diners. Spike had received much unwanted attention when he stumbled through the entrance nearly on fire and demanded a table “away from the bloody sunshine”, but the other patrons soon went back to their own business, leaving Faith and Spike to theirs. Faith was completely unconcerned about Buffy or any other Scoobies seeing her with Spike; it was a school day, after all, and they were probably all dutifully sitting in class and taking notes. Or sleeping, perhaps, which had been Faith’s favorite activity in high school before she dropped out.
“So what’s your story, then?” Spike asked Faith as the waitress placed a Bloody Mary in front of him. Always on the search for booze, he’d been overjoyed at the prospect of drinking so early in the morning. He took a sip of his drink.
“Well?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s your story’? You wanna hear Little Red Riding Hood?” Faith retorted, busy with her orange juice and a veritable mountain of pancakes. She wasn’t going to waste this opportunity to eat real food for free. Well, it wasn’t free for Spike, but what did he care? He was immortal; he could rob a liquor store later if he wanted. “I also enjoy The Three Little Pigs, that’s a good one.”
“C’mon…every Slayer has some strange history that made her who she is,” Spike said, not taking his eyes from Faith. “And you’re not what I’d call the typical Slayer, so your story must be bloody fantastic.”
Faith put down her fork. “Let’s get one thing straight, Spike: my life hasn’t been ‘fantastic’. I got to where I am today because things were fucked up beyond my control, not because I chose to be this way. All right?”
“Was just a question.”
“Well hey, if being beaten as a child is fantastic, then more power to you. It wasn’t so great from my point of view, so just lay off.”
Sensing that he’d pushed Faith into a realm of memories that she didn’t want to ponder, he immediately switched the topic to something that she obviously enjoyed.
“Good pancakes?” he asked, taking another drink of his Bloody Mary. He could get used to this early morning alcoholism.
As if remembering that the pancakes still existed, Faith picked up her fork and began eating almost before the word “pancake” had left Spike’s mouth. “The best,” she mumbled, trying to eat the pancakes and drink her orange juice at the same time. “Thanks for this. It means a lot.”
“Bollocks, it’s nothin’,” Spike replied, glad the Slayer had returned to her previous mood. He figured that whatever had happened to her in the past—and from her short description, it didn’t sound positive—had left her with scars that would probably never heal. Having the same scars, Spike respected the willpower that Faith must possess, the drive to keep going even though her life had been, and still was, extremely hard. He returned back to his previous thought. “What’s money to a vamp, anyhow?”
Faith shrugged and continued eating as if she’d been starved for the past month. Eventually, she finished everything that had been placed in front of her. Spike was amazed; the sheer amount of food she’d consumed would probably have been enough for two or three people, but she obviously wasn’t feeling sick at all, sitting there contentedly with a big smile on her face. How so much food could fit into such a small girl was completely beyond his comprehension.
Standing up, they walked to the register, where Spike paid for the meal that Faith had demolished. Then, hoisting his trusty blanket over his head, he and Faith walked out to the car. Spike was irritated with the high temperatures of Sunnydale; his fashion sense, which was more suited to the foggy banks of England, didn’t go over too well in southern California. Faith, on the other hand, seemed quite content to run around with her little red shirt.
Once inside the car, Spike waited before turning on the engine, seemingly implying that he was open to suggestions for the destination. Faith shrugged.
“It’s your car,” she said, unconcerned as to where Spike took her. It was a car, after all, a luxury not to be taken lightly. “You decide.”
“I’d love to go back to your place,” Spike hinted, “but you’ll need to see the factory and all. Gotta know your surroundings before you get into a scrap with Buffy. Preparation, you know.”
“Fine with me.” Faith thought about putting on her seatbelt, decided she didn’t care, and sat patiently instead, waiting for the ride. “I’ve never been to the factory…it’s wicked ugly, isn’t it?”
Spike started the car, which came to life with a roar. “It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. Not bad by vamp standards, anyways, and better than some of the shite I’ve had to live in.”
As the hours passed slowly by in Sunnydale, Spike gave Faith a tour of the factory, where their plan was going to come to fruition later that night. Always interested in gaining the upper hand in a fight, Faith paid careful attention to the way the floor plan was laid out, as well as how the catwalks up above were arranged. She learned how to move quickly through the abundance of metal obstacles, using her preternatural strength and agility to perform maneuvers that no regular human or vampire could hope to match. Her mind had been honed to think in terms of a fight; she didn’t see things as they were, but instead how they could be used as weapons or shields against attacks.
It was late afternoon by the time that she had finished going over every inch of the place. Spike, already accustomed to the layout, spent most of his time watching Faith move around, leaping onto catwalks and spring-boarding off of the walls, acclimating her senses to the new surroundings. The other portion of his time was spent blissfully considering the fact that his revenge was finally at hand. Angel would pay for bringing Spike so much pain throughout the years, and in the slowest and most violent way possible.
“I’m hungry,” Faith said from her perch up on a catwalk. “Take me to lunch.”
“Oh, for the love of fuck’s sake.” Spike directed his gaze upward. “Didn’t you just eat?”
“Hours ago. I’m hungry again.”
“Apparently so.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll take you to lunch. But after that, we start the bloody plan. No more food.”
Faith leaped fifteen feet straight down the ground, landing perfectly and with no noticeable discomfort. “Not until dinner, anyway.” She winked and ran up the stairs and out the door, forcing Spike to trudge behind, rooting through his coat pockets for the car keys.
“It’s like we’re bloody married,” he said, walking outside into the shade that the building was casting along the ground.
When night fell across Sunnydale, coating the town in a nearly palpable evening heat, the duo put their plan into action. Faith, eager to fight and get her aggressions out, obediently stayed at the factory while Spike got into his car and drove to Angel’s mansion. For the plan to work, he needed to confront both Buffy and Angel at the same time, and he was certain that they would be together at the mansion, probably before going out on patrol later. Some things never changed, honestly, and Buffy and Angel appeared to be one of those things.
It made Spike sick.
But it wouldn’t be for much longer, not if he and Faith had anything to say about it. Pulling up below the mansion, he screeched to a stop by slamming on the brakes. Glad to be rid of the blanket, which was quickly becoming the bane of his existence, even more so than Angel, he threw open the door and stepped into the night. The temperature was still too hot for his taste, but his stubbornness to keep up his image prevented him from tossing aside his heavy coat. Shutting the door, he lit up a cigarette, its fickle light playing small shadows up and down his face. His eyes narrowed as he considered the mansion, then he set off for the front door, the coat moving with a life of its own.
“Any word about Faith?” Angel was asking, seated once more by the fireplace. His body was never warmer than room temperature, and it felt nice to be near something warm, even if it wasn’t the warm thing he would’ve liked.
Buffy was pacing about, arms crossed over her chest. Dressed to go out on patrol, she was fidgety and didn’t feel like sitting around, waiting for something to happen.
“I haven’t heard from her for days,” she said, sounding unconcerned. “It’s not unusual. You’d think she was a ninja the way she sneaks around Sunnydale.”
“Oh,” was all Angel had to say in return. This whole situation obviously irritated Buffy, and though he personally had nothing against Faith, he would side with Buffy on the issue. “Are we patrolling tonight?”
“Well, I’m patrolling tonight.” Buffy came to a halt, momentarily ceasing her movement to glare at Angel. “I just don’t know if you should. You’re still in a weakened state.”
“Coming back from Hell does that to a guy,” Angel said unenthusiastically. “But I want to go. I’m strong enough to fight the average vamp.”
“Does that include me?” a new figure said, calmly walking straight through the front door. “It sodding well better not.”
Angel was on his feet immediately, hatred marking his features. Buffy stood her ground, unafraid. Having been invited into the mansion previously, this new person needed no invitation.
“Spike,” they said at the same time.
“Good observation,” Spike sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes and taking a drag of his cigarette. He flicked ash onto the floor with an exaggerated, dramatic gesture. “And what are you two poofs up to tonight?”
“What do you want, Spike? And say it fast, before I loose my patience and stake you.” Buffy had retrieved a stake from out of nowhere, and she was holding it tightly in her right hand.
Angel wasn’t one to wait, and he started making his way towards Spike. Buffy stopped him with an outstretched arm. Right now wasn’t the best time for Angel to be fighting one of the most vicious vampires in history.
“Look out, here comes the Giant Forehead!” Spike cried, feigning fear.
“Last time I ask, Spike: what do you want?” Buffy was already annoyed at the intrusion, plus the fact that Spike’s usual belligerent attitude grated on her nerves.
Spike gave a patronizing look. “Patience is a virtue, Slayer.” Buffy made a face, but Spike continued as if he didn’t notice. “I’ll get to the bloody point: I have something of yours.”
“You lie,” Angel snarled, wishing Buffy would let him fight.
“Do I?” Spike asked. “Funny thing happened to me last night. I bumped into a girl, real pretty, big eyes, you know the deal. I thought I’d have a snack, but guess what? She was a Slayer.”
“Faith,” Buffy immediately responded, her eyes narrowing. “What’ve you done with her?”
“Like I said, I have her stashed somewhere.” He blew some cigarette smoke into the air. “Somewhere real safe.”
“You probably just have her locked in the factory.”
Concealing his surprise, Spike quickly came up with a denial. “Well, hey, how thick do you think I am? Of course she’s not at the sodding factory.”
Angel and Buffy both gave him looks that said “you’re full of shit.”
“Okay, fine, she’s at the factory. Happy?” His plan hadn’t involved much more than that admission in the first place, so it made little difference. Spike flicked his cigarette towards the lovers, causing them to step aside. Time to go. “If you want her, come get her.” Using his supernatural speed, he was at the door before anyone could move. “And I want money,” he added as an afterthought. It couldn’t hurt if they actually did bring money, right? With that, he bolted out the door and was at his car in a matter of seconds.
Buffy and Angel stood unmoving as they listened to Spike’s car rush off into the night, presumably towards the factory on the outside of town.
“Let’s go,” Angel said, finally stepping around Buffy. He grabbed his coat and threw it on, intending to follow Spike.
“How do we even know he really has Faith?” Buffy said, standing still.
“Spike doesn’t make idle threats, Buffy.” Angel was waiting expectantly by the door, ready to kill Spike and be free of his intolerable presence forever. “We need to move fast.”
“Fine.”
Forgoing a jacket, Buffy tossed her stake to Angel and grabbed another from her purse. They broke into a run as soon as they got outside. At the pace they were moving, they would probably make the factory in a little over ten minutes.
Skidding to a halt in front of the factory, Spike turned off the car and stepped out. This was it, the night he’d dreamed about for over a century. He’d be rid of Angel, and if he was lucky, Faith would take care of Buffy. Full of adrenalin, ready for blood, he entered the factory and descended the stairs as the huge metal door clanked shut behind him.
“So what’s up?” Faith demanded, hopping down from the metal barrel she’d been sitting on.
“They’ll be here in about ten minutes, at least if they run as fast as I think they can. You ready?”
“Five by five.” She stretched her arms above her head, prepping her muscles for a fight. Her shirt and pants were dusty from long hours in the factory. “Let’s do this.”
“Look,” Spike said, moving within arm’s reach of Faith. “This is going to get bad. In the worst way. Whatever happens—”
“Oh, don’t get all mushy on me. It’s wicked embarrassing.” A tiny smile flitted across her lips. “I know how to deal with violence, how to give and receive it. Don’t worry about me.”
“I wasn’t worryin’, I was just…um…” He looked sheepish as he struggled to make up some excuse.
“It doesn’t matter,” Faith said, her face sincere in the gloom. “I know what you meant. Just come out of this still standing, and we’ll call it even, all right?”
“Deal.”
Without anymore words, both Slayer and vampire went their separate ways, as they had planned. Spike waited down below, where he would attract attention, while Faith climbed the stairs and took up a hiding spot right next to the door. The only lights in the entire place came from numerous candles that Faith had purchased when Spike was at Angel’s. Since both of them knew the factory backwards and forwards, they wouldn’t need much light to work their way around, but Buffy and Angel should be confused by the relative darkness. Faith’s eyes, while not as catlike as Spike’s, had long since become accustomed to the murkiness that pervaded nearly every inch of the factory. It would help her get an advantage over Buffy.
Muscles tensed, senses alert, she sat and waited.
The factory had barely become silent again before the metal door slammed open with inhuman force. In stepped Buffy and Angel, side by side, immediately focusing on where Spike was standing down below. Faith, slightly behind and to the right of Buffy, sat patiently and waited for the most opportune moment.
“How do you want to do this, Spike?” Buffy said, speaking quietly. However, her voice was amplified within the confines of the factory, and everyone heard her clearly.
“We should just stake him and be done with it,” Angel added, loud enough so that only Buffy and Faith could hear.
“Did you bring my money?” Spike said, barely visible within the twisting shadows that the candles were throwing in every direction. He was going to have fun with this situation while he still could. “I need a new radiator for my car.”
“What do think we are? Stupid?” This from Buffy, obviously barely in control of her temper.
Spike pretended to think about the question before answering. “Yes?” he asked in a completely innocent tone. Faith, still hiding, almost laughed out loud.
“Fine, this ends now,” Buffy said, moving with Angel towards the stairway.
Spike stood his ground, waiting for Faith to make her move, which came so fast that he wasn’t even sure he’d seen it, but he definitely saw the results. Stepping out behind Buffy, Faith had delivered a standing side kick, sending the blonde Slayer directly into Angel, who then fell straight down the stairs, clanking off the metal and sending echoes throughout the factory. Buffy managed to grab the railing to prevent herself from following Angel headlong down the stairwell, which was how things had been planned out from the start. Now Angel would be forced to face off with Spike alone, leaving Buffy for Faith. The two groups moved instantly into action, and the silence that permeated the factory was shattered.
As she saw Spike leap on top of Angel, Faith backpedaled slightly and waited for Buffy to make the first move. This was going to be interesting.
“Faith, what the hell is going on?” Buffy demanded, coming to her feet. She risked a glance at Angel and Spike, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about that situation right now. “Don’t even tell me—”
“Yeah, B, I’m with Spike now,” Faith interrupted, unwilling to let Buffy finish her sentence. “Deal with it.”
Advancing a small distance, Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How could you do this to me, after everything I’ve done for you?”
Faith gave a short laugh. “What exactly have you done for me, B?” Buffy started to speak, but Faith cut her off. “Don’t give me some crap about trying to be my friend. We both know that’s bullshit.”
“I tried to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” Faith yelled, almost losing control. “What, you don’t think I saw the looks your friends gave me? That I didn’t know about everything I was never included in? Is that what a friend does? Is it?”
As the conversation plunged onward, sounds from the fight below emanated upward. Crashing bodies against metal, cries of pain.
“You can’t accuse me of not trying,” Buffy stated, not moving an inch.
“No, you’re right,” Faith sneered, hating the other Slayer more than she ever had before. “You tried once or twice. But you were always so wrapped up in your own shit that you never gave a second thought about me. Angel was more important, your little Scooby gang was more important, everything was more important than me. I came last. An afterthought. After everything had been said and done, that’s when you came around for me. So yeah, I guess you tried.” Faith’s eyes, blackened by rage and candlelight, were moist. “But you know what? Fuck you, B. In a single day, Spike’s done more for me than you have in months. Because while you might have tried…you never cared.”
With that final statement of pain, Faith leaped forward, intending to rip Buffy to pieces. Put on the defensive, Buffy had no choice but to retreat while she blocked Faith’s punches. She was dimly aware of the fact that she was in danger of falling down the stairs, so she pushed Faith back for an instant and used that time to back flip onto the nearest catwalk, landing safely on her feet. Faith, heedless of the fifteen foot drop that awaited her if she mistimed her jump, vaulted over the rusted handrail and landed mere feet away from Buffy. The decrepit catwalk shook under the combined weight, in danger of coming loose of its hinges and sending both Slayers straight to the floor below, where the other fight was raging onward.
Spike had wasted no words when Angel had fallen down the stairs, letting his actions speak for themselves. Leaping onto Angel’s back, he delivered several solid punches to the lower back area before being thrown off. Tossing his coat aside, Angel reared up as his face changed from human to vampire. Changing to his true form in the same instant, Spike threw his coat at Angel’s face, distracting him for a millisecond, which was all Spike needed. Bolting forward in the darkness with vampiric speed, Spike jumped up and gave a vicious roundhouse kick to the side of Angel’s head. He felt the solidity of his foot connecting with bone, and Angel’s head snapped sideways, sending droplets of blood onto the floor. Snarling, Angel quickly recovered and grabbed Spike before he could land a follow-up blow. Forcing him backward and into a pile of steel pipes, Angel landed an uppercut that almost cracked Spike’s teeth and then dropped him roughly down to the concrete, getting in a kick to the ribs before Spike rolled out the way.
Spitting some blood, Spike picked up one of the pipes as he rolled further into the darkness. He jabbed the pipe straight out towards Angel’s face, intending to impale him through the head, but he missed by a few inches as Angel ducked down and snatched up a pipe of his own, immediately countering Spike’s attack with a wide swing. Bringing down his pipe in a defensive posture, Spike blocked Angel’s attack as a small shower of sparks ricocheted into the darkness, momentarily illuminating the scene. He caught a flash of Faith and Buffy grappling with each other up above, then his attention was forced back to Angel and the pipe that was swinging out of the darkness.
Stepping in close and lessening the impact of the hit, Spike absorbed the shock on his left arm and rammed his own weapon into Angel’s stomach, doubling him over. A knee to the face, connecting with an audible snap, sent Angel sprawling backward to the ground. Spike threw his pipe into the darkness and jumped onto Angel, grabbing his dark hair with one hand and savagely punching his face with the other. As the candles flicked all around, Spike distantly heard the sounds of boots stepping on metal up above, but he was too busy basking in the warm feeling of Angel’s blood on his hands to pay much attention.
On the shuddering catwalk directly above, Buffy had just finished flipping Faith over her shoulder and onto the unforgiving metal. She landed with a grimace, screwing her eyes shut even as she somersaulted away, trying to put some distance between herself and Buffy. The blonde Slayer pressed her advantage, kicking Faith squarely between the shoulders as she rolled away. Feigning serious injury, Faith lashed out with her right foot as Buffy approached, tripping the blonde and sending her back-first onto the clanking metal catwalk. Bleeding from numerous cuts where the metal had ripped into her skin, Faith focused on the pain and used its energy to get back to her feet as Buffy did the same.
A quick standoff ensued, each Slayer trying to clear her vision and decide on a plan of attack. Faith, wiping her bloodied arms on her shirt, noticed that Buffy was in similar shape, blood streaming down her arms from the metal’s vicious kiss. Suddenly charging forward, Faith took Buffy by surprise and used that split second to her advantage, kicking Buffy’s right knee. Even though it didn’t break, Buffy cried out in pain and went down to the catwalk once more, unable to support her own weight. Approaching like the darkness itself, Faith got down on her own knees and wrapped her hands around Buffy’s throat, intending to make her pay for anything and everything. As she squeezed harder and harder, she lost herself in the moment and didn’t see Buffy’s fist.
Stars exploded behind Faith’s eyes as she was punched directly in the temple. She rolled off of Buffy, who took only a moment to catch her breath before reversing the situation, roughly grabbing Faith’s hair and slamming her head into the catwalk. It made a sickening, dull thud, but Faith began struggling against Buffy’s grasp only seconds later. However, she was unable to gain enough leverage to raise herself, and she suffered another strike to the head as Buffy once more slammed her face-first into the metal grating. Dark blood trickled down Faith’s face as she used every ounce of strength left to twist Buffy away, finally succeeding and crawling away across the catwalk. Limping heavily, Buffy gave chase, intending to end the fight once and for all. She spared a concerned look downward, searching for Angel, but she couldn’t see him or Spike anywhere. All she heard were shouts, snarls, and clashing metal somewhere deeper within the factory.
Granted a momentary reprieve, Faith crawled farther into the darkness of the catwalk, hoping to clear her spinning head while Buffy was otherwise occupied. The metal, hard on her fingers and knees, was insignificant next to the pain throbbing in her skull. She realized that she probably had a concussion from the sheer trauma of having her face slammed into the catwalk, but she couldn’t give up now. She had seen the look in Buffy’s eyes, a look that spoke of a desire to end the fight at all costs, even Faith’s death. And Faith had no doubt that Buffy was capable of it, no matter how often the blonde had claimed that murder was too far beneath her lofty conscience. Tasting her own blood in her mouth, Faith felt the vibrations of Buffy’s approaching footsteps just in time to stand up and block a roundhouse kick. Grabbing Buffy’s foot, seeing her shock and confusion, Faith pulled her enemy forward and struck a massive clothesline to Buffy’s throat.
A half-gasp, half-cough escaped Buffy’s lips as her neck was struck, but she somehow managed to stay on her feet. Undeterred, Faith rammed her elbow into Buffy’s face, producing a small shower of blood and forcing Buffy up against the railing. Flickering darkness lay far below, a nightmare of twisted metal and unforgiving concrete. Barely able to block Faith’s following punch, Buffy had nowhere to go, and Faith knew it. As she hit Buffy squarely in the face with a backhanded strike, sending the blonde over the railing, a small part of Faith’s mind wondered how Spike was faring.
But then her sole focus was once more on Buffy, who was now dangling by a single-handed grip on the catwalk. Faith could hear the ragged breathing coming from Buffy’s injured throat; blood was dripping from her nose down into the gloom below. Wiping her own blood out of her eyes, feeling faint, Faith knelt down close to the person she hated most in the world.
“How does it feel, B?” she spat, contempt almost dripping from her words. “How does it feel to be vulnerable? To feel only pain and nothing else?”
Buffy, grimacing, was trying to maintain her grip on the catwalk. “You’re a piece of shit, Faith.” Her eyes widened slightly as the brown-haired Slayer immediately stood up.
“Maybe I am,” Faith said, without any hint of sarcasm. “Does it make you feel better to say so? Makes you feel justified, doesn’t it? It doesn’t matter what you call me, B. I’ve heard it all before, more times than you can possibly imagine.” She paused for a half-second, letting that information sink in. “Because what I am today, and what I always will be, is just one more sad song.”
With that, Faith raised her right foot and drove her heel into Buffy’s hand, producing a snapping sound as fingers were crushed between metal and Slayer strength. Buffy cried out in pain and dropped straight down to the concrete below as Faith smiled wickedly. Unable to land properly because of her injured knee, Buffy collided with the ground in a crumpled heap as pain shot through her entire body, and she didn’t move as her blood slowly began to pool around her.
Faith knew that she wasn’t dead. Not even close. But there was still plenty of time for that.
Meanwhile, through a few access ways, the two vampires were still mercilessly beating upon each other. Somehow, Spike had lost his early advantage and had been forced into an area with a large conveyer belt, even though he had tried his best to keep the fight in an area where he could check on Faith’s status. But, like most fights, things had quickly gotten out of control, and the battle had literally bounced from wall to wall until it had ended up here. A complete absence of light greeted the combatants when they stumbled into the conveyor room, but both were equipped with eyesight that allowed them to clearly make out their surroundings.
Spike, his t-shirt in bloody tatters, was on the defensive, minimizing Angel’s attacks while slowly moving backwards towards the conveyor. All semblance of strategy had left this fight long ago, and both vampires were bleeding heavily, Spike mostly from his chest—where Angel had managed to stab him with a rusted piece of metal—and Angel from his face. Enraged that Spike was still managing to hold his own despite being much younger, Angel leaped forward and barely missed a savage spinning kick that would’ve sent Spike to the floor, but instead, Spike ducked under the kick and used Angel’s own momentum to his advantage. Putting all his strength into the attack, Spike punched Angel directly in the spine as he came down from his botched kick. Recoiling in pain and rage, Angel managed to roll away, clutching his back.
“What’s the problem, mate?” Spike asked, amused, tearing off the remnants of his shirt and displaying his bloodied torso. “Is that all you’ve got?”
“This is the night you die,” Angel retorted, standing up once more. “Have fun while it lasts.”
“Oh, I intend to, you wanker.”
Just then, they both heard a scream come from the room where the fights had begun, and then a muffled thump as something hit the floor. Spike didn’t recognize the voice as Faith’s, and he smirked at Angel in the darkness, feeling that the fight was already over. But Angel, hearing Buffy’s cry, suddenly rushed Spike’s position, punching and kicking like he hadn’t been beaten nearly to a pulp already. Attempting to block all of the lightning-fast maneuvers was impossible, and Spike soon found himself in constant pain as Angel connected again and again. Finally, falling for one of Angel’s feints, Spike received a kick to the side of the head and went to his knees momentarily. He was up again almost instantly, but Angel had already used that time to run back towards Buffy.
Feeling no pain, only a desire to stop Angel before he was able to get to Faith, Spike took off after his adversary, sprinting hard with hate and desire. He was catching up quickly, but he realized that Angel had too great of a head start.
He wasn’t going to make it in time.
Bolting through a door and reemerging into the ambience of the factory’s candlelit entrance, Spike saw Angel, with a long steel pipe in his hands, running straight for Faith, who was standing over the crumpled form of Buffy. With her back turned and her attention on Buffy, she would never have enough time to block the blow.
“Faith!” Spike shouted, not slowing down, his face changing back to its human form.
As if suddenly noticing that things weren’t right, Faith turned halfway around and tried to bring her arms up, but Angel was too fast, swinging the heavy pipe with all of his supernatural strength. Spike heard something snap as the pipe hit Faith directly in the ribs, and she fell to the ground with a cry of pain, immediately curling up into a fetal position and laying still.
Enraged, Spike caught Angel before he could hit Faith again, tackling him to the ground. The pipe clanked off into the distance. Pulling Angel up by sheer force of will, Spike threw him as hard as he could and was satisfied to see Angel fly at least ten feet and land heavily by Buffy, who was still not moving.
Unconcerned about Angel being a further problem, Spike quickly went to Faith’s side, hoping that she hadn’t been injured too seriously. Angel, seeing that no one present was going to benefit from further violence, gingerly picked Buffy off the floor and carried her slowly up the stairs and into the night, leaving a trail of crimson blood. Kneeling down close to Faith, Spike could tell that she wasn’t in very good shape. Her eyes were shut tight and she was struggling to breathe.
“Faith?” Spike quietly asked, not wanting to touch her lest he accidentally injure her more. She was making a low moaning sound as she lay in her fetal position on the cold concrete. She was covered in blood from wounds she’d sustained on her face and arms, not to mention the huge gash that Angel’s final strike had created. “Faith?”
Attempting to open her eyes and speak, Faith coughed up a bit of blood as she struggled to stay conscious. Spike gently wiped it away from her mouth, unsure of what more he could do to help.
After a few minutes, Faith finally managed to open her eyes. The first thing they focused on was Spike, and she actually gave the tiniest of smiles before frowning in pain once more. Eventually she got a few words out around the fire that was streaking through her body.
“My…rib,” she said falteringly, unable to make herself speak normally. “Broken.”
“Shit. Hospital?”
Slipping back into intense pain, Faith barely managed to nod slightly, indicating that she needed some serious medical attention.
“All right, love,” Spike said, putting his arms under her. “This is gonna hurt a bit.” He picked Faith up as easily as he could, but she still let out a pained whimper. “Almost there,” Spike told her, climbing the stairs. But Faith had fallen unconscious, her body and mind overexerted and overloaded.
Spike carried Faith outside and placed her lovingly into the passenger seat. Headless of his own injuries, Spike then ran to the other side of the car, got in, and started it up. Sunrise wouldn’t be for a few hours yet, thankfully. He gunned the engine and drove away, holding Faith with his right hand as he steered with his left.
The factory door, glinting dully under the moonlight, swayed idly in the warm night breeze.
The next morning, Spike was asleep in a shady corner of the hospital room that Faith had been assigned to. Luckily, he had managed to grab a spare shirt last night before he’d taken her inside. The doctors would’ve wanted to examine him, and doctors tended to go a little daft when their patient was bleeding profusely but had no pulse, after all. With the morning sun peaking through the closed blinds of the room, he was curled up on a rather uncomfortable chair, but he had been so exhausted that he’d fallen asleep anyway. Staying up until a few minutes before sunrise to make sure that Faith was going to pull through the night without anymore trauma, Spike had finally allowed himself some time to rest and heal. His own wounds, especially the ones left from where Angel had stabbed him, were still sore, but medical attention was not something he needed, not being human. He could not die from such simple, blunt attacks, but Faith certainly could, if given enough of them.
But she had pulled through the night, fluttering in and out of consciousness the entire time. Her willpower was a testament to her character, and Spike knew he had been lucky in finding such a strong, loyal friend. As the minutes crept silently by, activity outside the closed door to the room that Faith had been assigned to was picking up. Doctors and nurses, striding to and fro, went about their own duties, completely unaware of the vampire and his Slayer. Eventually, sometime around eleven in the morning, Faith finally opened her eyes a bit.
Confronted with the overwhelming whiteness of the room, she immediately shut them again, but soon opened them once more, taking in her new surroundings as she feebly struggled to sit up. There was Spike, looking uncomfortable on a chair…white walls…where was she? After a few moments of confused silence and an accompanying frown, the memories washed over her, and she remembered the events that had led her here. She remembered fighting with Buffy, pushing her over a railing…the last thing she recalled was standing triumphantly over Buffy, and then the rest of the night was a blur of pain and blood.
Aggravated, she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, but a needlelike pain suddenly jolted up her side, causing her to involuntarily cry out. She immediately lay back down, holding her side. The commotion had apparently woken Spike, because he moved slightly and nearly fell out of his precarious position on the chair.
“Bloody hell!” he said, leaving the chair in disgust and standing up. His black pants, bloodied and dusty from the night before, were unchanged, but he sported a relatively clean shirt. Before he could get out another word, he noticed Faith, eyes shut, squirming in pain. Knowing there was nothing he could do, he retrieved his chair and brought it to Faith’s side, where he sat down and waited for her pain to subside, which it did after nearly a minute.
Reentering reality, Faith gazed about the room again. Spike had somehow moved closer, for there he was, his blue eyes staring straight into hers.
“Staring problem?” she playfully asked, trying and barely succeeding in flashing a tiny smile. She knew that whatever had happened last night, the reason she wasn’t in a coma—or dead—was most likely due to some action on Spike’s part, and she was eternally grateful for that. No one had ever cared for her that much before, and it was an experience she cherished.
Spike smiled back, but concern shone in his eyes. “No, jus’ taking stock of your wounds—how you feelin’?”
Momentarily silent as she once more surveyed the room with her large brown eyes, Faith realized that she didn’t like hospitals very much. The horrid whiteness of the walls, the smell, not to mention the fact that she appeared to be linked to several machines and intravenous contraptions, did not make her feel very welcome. She was also being smothered under at least three blankets for some reason.
“Like a hostage,” she said, moving her right arm up until it began to drag a moveable IV stand closer. She would’ve laughed, but she knew that she would regret it if the earlier pain in her side was any indication. And there was a strange ringing in her head, like a tiny, insistent alarm that wouldn’t go away.
“Fair enough,” Spike replied. Faith saw that his hair was completely disheveled, so unlike the carefully groomed state that she last remembered. “Just featured you’d still be sore.”
Faith tried a deep breath, was rewarded with another sliver of pain, and quickly let the breath back out. “I’m good,” she lied, with a completely straight face. She knew that she must’ve been a complete, bloody mess when she’d been brought here last night. “Better than when you dragged me in here, and apparently still breathin’, so can’t really complain.”
Spike scooted his chair a bit closer. Seeing the cuts on his face, Faith was going to ask a question as to how well he felt, but he beat her to it.
“You were tossing about all night,” he said quietly, concern written all over his face. Her constant unconsciousness had been frequently interrupted by moments when she had snapped awake, causing herself immense pain despite all the drugs she had been fed through the IV. Even though he knew that she hadn’t slept well at all, he felt inclined to ask anyway. “You sleep okay?”
Feeling tired, Faith shook her head a little, her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders.
“Not really,” she said. “Pain’s kinda an intrusion on the whole sleep concept. What’s with you and the twenty questions anyway?
“Worried about you, is all.”
“You don’t look so hot yourself, you know.”
Spike glanced down at himself for a moment. “I’ll pull through. It’ll take more than a few sodding stab wounds to keep me down.”
“Stabbed?” Faith responded, her eyes widening.
“Yeah, Mr. Forehead is a pretty mean fighter when you piss him off enough.” Spike laughed, remembering how the fight had gone down. “He stabbed me with a piece of metal, but hey, it was only fair considering that I beat his face for about a minute straight with my fists.”
“You’re okay, though?” Faith couldn’t keep herself from sounding skeptical.
“I’ll be fine. I’m just glad you’re gonna make it.”
A flicker of confusion passed through Faith’s features, but it was quickly gone. “What…what happened to me?” she asked innocently, unaware of her own injuries.
“You want the short version or the long version?” Spike replied, getting ready to do a list on his fingers. “Two broken ribs, mild concussion, bruises all over the bloody place, and you came away with some attractive cuts on your face and arms. Not too bad for a night’s work, eh?”
Faith absentmindedly ran her fingers over her face as she considered this news, feeling the tiny cuts. But they were already beginning to heal, and would be completely gone within a few days, judging from how fast she had recovered from similar injuries in the past. But the ribs were a different story; even with her Slayer healing abilities, she wouldn’t be able to move much or defend herself if Angel or Buffy came looking for revenge. She looked up at Spike.
Sounding very much like a lost little girl, she asked, “W-will take care of me?”
Heart almost breaking upon hearing the fear in Faith’s voice, Spike leaned in and kissed her forehead tenderly. “You know I will, love,” he said.
Gratitude literally radiated from Faith as she gave a weak smile. “Thank you.”
Gently taking Faith’s small hand in his own, Spike gave a similar smile, not needing to say anything else.
They sat that way for a long time.
FIN