| Yellow Brick Road - Book II: Nemesis by Holly |
| Chapter #4 - Part Four: Patrol |
In all honesty, she shouldn’t have been surprised to practically slam into Faith as soon as they stepped out of the Sun. It was in the other Slayer’s nature to experience happiness vicariously through others—at least, what she could only assume was happiness. The date was already a non-success without Faith’s help. After all, she had just spent the past half hour fidgeting uncomfortably while failingly denying memories from her one-nighter with Spike, and something told her that Angel could smell it all over her. Faith’s brows perked appraisingly when she saw them, likely not debating how to make the best out of an awkward situation. Despite the calamity that had happened indoors, Buffy was tightly pressed at Angel’s side, her fingers threaded through his. The closeness was forced; a failed way to alleviate the guilt that stretched her insides. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the inner voice that screamed she was being unfaithful to Spike, thus bestowing her a heavy loss. There were gray areas everywhere she turned, and it was driving her crazy. “Whoa, talk about power to the people, B,” Faith drawled, nodding to the proud title that rested at the head of the building. “Never figured you for that type. You two certainly are skirtin’ around the question of how to get your rocks off.” Buffy immediately flustered in defense, and she didn’t know why. She owed Faith nothing; she was, after all, of age, and it wasn’t as though she had known it was porn. Who would guess with a title like Marquee: Le Banquet D'Amelia? “I didn’t exactly plan this, you know,” she answered begrudgingly. “I thought it was about food.” “There was food,” Angel offered, his assistance not in the area code of helpful. “Right.” Oh, I’ll say. Buffy nodded, her mind dangerously treading the path of ‘going there again.’ That was something she absolutely could not do, especially with Faith standing three feet away. “There was that scene with the…food. It was very artistic.” Faith’s eyes narrowed and she stepped back, hands comfortably resting on her hips. “Well, color me surprised,” she said. “Even with Mr. Joe Restraint, I figured a cinematic experience like that’d have you pawing all over each other like a coupla deranged lust-bunnies.” Buffy shrugged apathetically. “We’re good.” “Very good,” Angel agreed in the same monotone. Faith’s gaze grew all the more skeptical. Her scrutiny was not welcome. Why she felt like hounding this to death, Buffy had no idea. The guilt raging inside was wrenching but manageable. She had several weeks’ practice under belt, and still her fool mouth decided to run away with her. “Really thought it was about food…other than chocolate and whipped cream,” she insisted, and immediately regretted doing so. Bad line of thought. Bad. Need to get mind away from sinfully enticing film and… Uh oh. Another flashback. “You’re the kinda girl a fella could spoil for centuries, luv.” Spike rolled a cigarette casually between his thumb and forefinger, gauging her eyes for reaction. It was odd hearing terms of endearment—near worship—pour from the lips of a man whom had so vehemently campaigned for her death. “Ohhh, now I’m gettin’ all sorts’ve naughty ideas.” “Why am I not surprised?” He favored her with a rakish grin, lightly running his hand down her bare arms. “’Cause you finally took the time to get to know me, pet?” he offered. “Down to the bloody skivvies?” “I swear I’m going to hang that Travers guy out a window by his toes when I get outta here.” She paused, then pouted. “Doesn’t sound nearly as menacing as when my mom used to threaten the same to me. Maybe I’ll just beat him up. Seems to work on Willy the Snitch.” “Think I’ll send him a fruit basket.” He turned his head awkwardly to meet her eyes. “’S that what you human-types do? Or should I just stick with a thank-you card?” “As long as the blood of the innocent with a side of virgin’s heart are left out of the gift package, I’d say you have free reign.” Spike barked a laugh at that. “You sure know the way to this man’s heart, luv,” he complimented. “Now, like I was sayin’…what we need is a weekend somewhere. Don’ look at me like that. I can pretend it’s gonna happen, can’t I? Don’ know where we’d go, but I’m sure I could find ways to keep you entertained for hours. Teach you everythin’ you need to know ‘bout foreplay.” At that, she managed to look wounded, and he swept in before a word escaped her lips. “Don’t even,” he snapped, sharpness counterpointing the tenderness in his eyes. “Don’t turn that around on me. You know you’re bloody perfect the way you are. But we could have fun, don’ you think?” She withheld her tongue. “You don’ have to answer me, ‘course. Keep to yourself. But…” He slid closer to her, voice intrusive and right at her ear. “I could show you how to have more fun with a can of stringed beans than you ever thought possible.” He pulled away just as quickly, favoring her with a wicked grin and an innocent shrug. “Nibble on that all you like. Jus’ a li’l food for thought.” “B!” Faith snapped her fingers in front of Buffy’s eyes. “You really oughta send a postcard when you go off, you know? Least let us know where to find you. Christ, what’s with you and the spacey?” “I…ummm…lot on my mind.” She kept her gaze resiliently trained on the pavement. Do not look at Angel, do not look at Angel. “Still got an exam to make up for. Remember? With the skipping out of class we did a couple of weeks ago?” She deliberately did not tag the implied ‘You know…before you killed that guy and we nearly killed each other?’ But it was there. Oh, it was there. “I never really got the chance to make it up…with the…and Will having the evil twin from freaky-dimension-land. Giles managed to convince Mrs. Taggart that I was doing something much more important than chemistry…hence the making-up on Monday.” Faith nodded appraisingly, not reacting to the minor references she’d molded to jab at her indiscretion. “Nice. Two weeks, eh? Wish my old hang had been that chilled with the voluntary absenteeism. Might’ve actually lingered around past grade nine.” She paused with an apathetic shrug. “Well, all’s well that ends well.” “She didn’t exactly give me two weeks,” Buffy felt obligated to clarify. She didn’t know why; it just seemed important. “I’ve kinda had something come up every time the opportunity arose.” That, and it’s been really hard to study with Willow mad at me ‘cause I’m juggling free-flowing hostility and all these lusty Spike thoughts. Oh God. Bad brain. I mean…non-lusty Spike thoughts. Non-Spike thoughts that are of the non-lusty variety. Is that a double negative? Double negative means positive. Dammit! The one thing that sticks from algebra. Non— Faith shrugged indifferently. She was seemingly determined not to react to anything that remotely hinted at her sins. That was so very Faith-like. For the millionth time that night, Buffy felt herself shrivel with envy. “Hazard of living on the Hellmouth. So, you comin’? I’ve got this itch that’s gonna go unscratched unless we get in a few good kills tonight. No rest for the wicked.” “Council has you back on active duty, then?” Angel asked, making Buffy jump. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Finally.” Faith nodded. “They want us down by Mercer tonight.” “How are things with Wesley? Have you two been…I know you—” “What, with the kidnapping bit? I’m in for the long-haul of no.” The raven-haired Slayer’s eyes flickered dangerously. “But something of interest did happen in way of him tonight.” “What? Did his green card expire? Please say yes.” Faith snickered appreciatively. “Nah. Nowhere near that excitin’.” “Don’t think the Council would go for that, anyway,” Angel observed. A shadow of a smile had crossed his face. “Apparently, Dudley Do-Right was takin’ a stroll over to Giles’s for a late-night batch of demon research and ran into somethin’ nasty on the way.” Faith flexed her shoulder. “Giles beeped me a while back to give me the full. Guess he wanted to make sure I wasn’t the one who did it.” A twinge of guilt rolled in Buffy’s stomach. “Is he all right? Wesley, I mean.” “Unfortunately so. Barely a scratch, save the glasses. I’m willin’ to bet he hurts himself more when he jerks off.” Buffy’s nose crinkled. “Ewww. Save the image. So…right. Patrol.” She turned to Angel at last, eyes seeking his out in manner of some latent apology. Too little, too late. The marks of their failed evening had burned him sufficiently. Ouch. Movies bad. Check note to self for future. Especially if movies look to be about food. Mmmm…stringed beans. “I’ll see you later,” she promised, leaning forward instinctually, head tilting upward to receive his kiss. A casual touch. Brief. Fleeting. Empty. Something heavy fell in her stomach as his lips brushed against hers. Something cold that left her wanting. No. More than that. Left her more than wanting. The heat was gone. Their eyes clashed with mutual, troubled understanding. “Right,” he said. “Be careful.” Buffy watched him turn and leave as she and Faith started for Mercer. It wasn’t fair. No part of this was fair. Spike strolled into her life and took everything she knew away, made it into a big perversion, and left her to sort out the pieces. She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t asked for anything. She’d been happy before. She’d had friends. She’d had Angel. She’d had duties, and life was good. God! I hate him! Only she couldn’t. She could never hate Spike. Not for what he’d given her. “Wow,” Faith drawled from the sidelines. “I take back what I said. Less bunny and more cold fish.” “Faith?” “Yeah?” “Shut up.” A devilish smile crossed her face. There wasn’t anything she enjoyed more than exploiting another’s discomfort. “Hold on, B. I feel suddenly very out of the loop. What’s up with the nonexistent UST?” Something dark twisted in Buffy’s stomach. Why oh why must this come up tonight? Faith had been surprisingly good about keeping her mouth shut, minding her own business—if her business consisted of killing mayor’s aides and attempting to pin it on her Sister Slayer—without really breaching the line. Why did she feel the need to bring it up now, of all times? Probably because she saw us walking out of a porn film. Was it that obvious that I wasn’t thinking about…okay, so not going there. Too late for that. She was there. She’d been there all night. She’d been there all month. She practically lived there. There was no there without Buffy persistent at its heels. Similarly, there was no way she was having this conversation right now. Nuh uh. Not with the way the night had gone. Tonight was supposed to be about moving on. About starting over and gluing the tattered remains of her relationship with Angel back together. Reminders of Spike were not allowed to pop up around every corner. Forget that she couldn’t do anything without being reminded of the night she’d spent with Spike. The argument with Willow was still fresh in her mind. They hadn’t made up yet, and she wasn’t sure when they were going to. In all fairness, she had been distancey girl. She knew it. She watched herself distance willfully from her friends. Oh yeah. Life sucked. “Silence speaks volumes, B,” Faith said, voice annoyingly cheerful. “Y’know I’m just gonna come up with my own opinion if you don’t spill the goods, right?” “Wow. This is me, astonished. See that? With all the astonishment?” “Is it the close but no cigar thing? Man, talk about balls. Takin’ your Life-Would-Be-So-Much-Easier-If-We-Could-Pretend-You-Were-Impotent boyfriend to a porn flick?” Faith shook her head with a chuckle, promptly ignoring the death glare set resolutely in her direction. “Was he squirmin’ in his seat? Must’ve been tough not to cop a feel of—” Anger pillowed on the verge of eruption. Buffy felt it spread from her fingertips to her toes—addled, provoked, just begging for that final reason to break free and make someone feel marginally as bad as she did. However, she maintained control of herself and inwardly counted to ten. Do not take it out on Faith, she encouraged herself rationally. That’s what she lives for. ‘Sides, she doesn’t even know half the story. Let her believe what she wants. It was a wonderful place, Denial. The atmosphere never changed, the climate was always great, and the company swelled with familiar faces and already-argued debates. “Oh, I get it!” Faith’s eyes were dancing maniacally. “This has nothin’ to do with ole Broody, does it?” The line stopped there. This was a no-cross zone. “Don’t.” They’d reached Mercer now, and she couldn’t be more relieved. A demon needed to show up right now and wash all remnants of the night away. She didn’t care what kind. “Faith, when it comes to Angel, me, and me and Angel, do me a favor.” Oh. Pretty demon. Excellent timing. “Duck!” A flash of curly brown hair and the offending Slayer was out of the picture, revealing the grubby looking thing that had perched behind her sometime during their ‘we’re never talking about this again’ discussion. Short and of the wouldn’t-take-him-home-to-mother variety. Okay, so we jumped the gun with ‘pretty.’ Still in ‘yay’ with his sudden appearance. Buffy hoped to convey her gratitude with a timely clout. Convenient or not, he was still a demon. A demon sneaking up on two slayers at night. Either very stupid or had a big jones for pain. Or both. There wasn’t much time between the hitting and the whiplash to consider. “Ow!” the demon wailed dramatically, head flying back as his hand instinctually tended to his nose. “Ooh, what are you, nuts? Going around punching people?” That was a laugh. Even with the dorky hat, it was more than obvious that he ran in a group that was not connected to the human variety. In firm demonstration, she yanked the ridiculous hat off his head, quipping an inane, “People?” even if she knew verification was not needed. Faith had recovered, and was glaring daggers. “So what? I’m a demon,” the creature replied. Oddly like Whistler, only not as tolerable—or helpful, from the looks of it. And she was quite certain that Whistler hadn’t smelled that bad. “That makes it okay?” The Slayers exchanged a pointed look before raising their stakes in flawless synchronization, and the demon squeaked. “Hold it, whoa!” he cried, hands coming up. “Stake me now and you never find out what I got for you, huh? Think about it. Demon seeks slayers. Highly unusual?” Buffy had to stifle a bitter snort at that. Oh, not too unusual. Depends on the demon. “Talk fast,” Faith hissed. “How would you like to get your hands on the Books of Ascension?” Buffy glanced to her companion with a narrowed ‘huh?’ veneer before she pretended to consider. “Never really a priority, you know. But now that you mention it, does Barnes and Noble still have them in stock? Get to the point.” A not-so-subtle nod to the stake still coiled tightly in grasp. “Before the point gets you.” Hah! There’s a bit of the bad-pun-lovin’ Buffy the world’s been missing! “Oh come on, you’re kidding me! The Books of Ascension,” the demon repeated incredulously. “Very powerful, and I’m not talkin’ about the prose. Dark stuff—major dark stuff. And the Mayor, if you catch my meaning—” Neither noticed Faith tick just a tad. It was probably a good thing. “—would hate for someone to get a hold of them before he…well, you know.” Buffy shrugged. “Don’t know. Before he what?” The demon shook his head, his eyes wide. “Hey, hey. Read 'em and weep. That's all I got to say. Tomorrow, I get the books. Meet me here and if the price is right, well I give the books to you.” “Not really looking to trade with a demon,” Buffy replied, smiling sweetly. “And if this were still a barter economy, that would be a problem. I want cash, princess, five large for the whole set.” Faith arched a brow, casually gesturing at his face with one finger. “So you can buy…and I'm guessing here, skin care products?” “Plane ticket. Out of the Hellmouth before it’s adios, Slayer Loco. So, five G's, what do you say?” The look on Faith’s face turned scary for a second; she shifted and whipped a stake from her back pocket. “I think ‘Die Fiend’ sums it up, wouldn't you say?” She was about to tear into him until Buffy’s hand curled around her wrist, holding her back as the smallish annoyance took off in a blur. “Let him walk,” she said, fight drawn out of her. “I don’t think he falls into the ‘deadly threat to humanity’ category.” There was something frighteningly neutral about the look on Faith’s face. Something Buffy couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Demon’s a demon,” came the simple, soft-spoken rejoinder. “Well, it could be important, and even then, I’m curious. I’d like to know about these Books of Ascension,” she answered rationally. “We’re pretty much sitting ducks right now. I know Giles will go all ‘oooh’ when he hears about this…and anything that would pin the Mayor down would be great. Annoying as it is, the thing had a point. If he’s seeking slayers out, the big upcoming bad must be…bad. You think he’s the one that got to Wesley, as Wesley is the walking epitome of pansydom?” Buffy wasn’t even sure that Faith was following anymore. There was a cold, almost reverent look of odd consideration in her eyes that took a minute to clear. “Nah,” the other Slayer dismissed. “Wes said that it was a guy just getting into town that got him.” She shook with mirthless humor. “Story goes, as retold to Giles, he got into some stink with this guy who has a seriously outdated ‘I Love The ‘80s’ complexion ‘cause he burst through the good ole Welcome to SunnyD sign on the way into town. Oh, but it gets better. Said it was a vamp. ‘Course, Wes’s description of the vamp was twelve feet tall and wicked-long claws that’d gouge your eyes out in a second. Wonder if the prick pissed himself when he saw his first—or five hundredth—demon. To be honest, B, the story doesn’t stick. Probably looking for his five seconds of sympathy, ‘cause no one’s shelving that out by the bushel anymore.” She gazed off thoughtfully. “Not that we did in the first place. I don’t get why a regular vamp’d leave a defenseless flesh bag when he coulda made with a midnight snack.” Faith could have just as casually mentioned that her pet penguin was a chain smoker and elicited the same reaction. Heart-stopping, mind-numbing realization that leaked through her veins in the manner of a really, really bad joke. She had heard nothing beyond the needed. Vamp rolling into town and knocking over the welcome sign in the process, negating the helpful additives of his attire. And Wesley was alive. Would Spike have left Wesley alive? Would he have recognized him as a Watcher? Would he know to… It couldn’t be. For all her wanting and waiting, it couldn’t be. “Hey, girlfriend. Still with me?” Numb. For all the feelings she had touched tonight, this was the last she expected. She walked without feeling her legs, spoke without registering the words on her lips. Now. Was it now? Had the wait come to an end? Was he back for her at last? Buffy paused and forced a reign on her thoughts. She refused to jump to conclusions on secondhand information from a girl she didn’t trust. Better to get to Giles with this information before her emotional blockade initiated a self-destruct sequence of bad tidings. Better to do it now when she felt somewhat attached to her surroundings. Was it now? One thing was certain. That old Divinyls record that had gone neglected since the years of Billy Ford would be worn to disuse before the night was over. TBC |