Enemy Incognito

By Wynn

Chapter Seventeen: Preconceptions and Pretense

Pale streams of sunlight shone on Sunnydale and crisp winds blew wispy white clouds across the cerulean sky, signaling the dawn of the new day. The Summers house was quiet as Buffy moved up the stairs to the second floor, a steaming cup of tea clasped in her hands. She glanced into the living room, hazel eyes focusing on the sleeping form of Giles. He lay on the couch, an open book resting on his chest, revealing his failure to follow his own command. He had taken control last night as everyone straggled in, beaten, battered, and bloodied, and slipped into Watcher mode, ordering everyone to get some rest before investigating the two ambushes. No questions had been asked about the night battle behind the Bronze, not even about the half-conscious man in black shackled to the concrete pole in the basement. Only a deep sigh had been uttered by Giles before he told everyone to go to bed.

Buffy reached the second floor and silently moved down the hall towards her bedroom. She nudged the door open with her elbow and entered the dark room, softly closing the door behind her. Placing the mug on the nightstand, she looked at the still, bandaged swathed form in her bed, concern pinching the delicate lines around her eyes and lips. Bending forward, Buffy examined the multitude of bandages, making sure they had not shifted during the night.

"I really am Ok."

Jumping slightly, Buffy smiled sheepishly at Clem before sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just wanted to make sure. Slayer's prerogative." Her eyes flickered to the mug on the nightstand. "I brought you some tea. It has some of those herb things Emilia gave you for pain."

Grasping the mug, Clem inhaled the rich, earthy aroma, a wide smile appearing on his face. "I would've gotten stabbed in the chest long before now if I knew I'd be served tea in bed by a beautiful woman."

Buffy arched an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth quirking up at Clem's infectious joy about hot tea. "Hmm… this is a one time deal, Ok. No more demon pin cushion for you." Face sobering, Buffy said, "I wanted to thank you… again. For saving Dawn. If there's anything I can do-"

"You've already done enough. Like I said before, I'm fine. One advantage to having all of this skin is I heal fast. Regenerative powers of the Dermola demon and what not." Clem peered at the bandages covering his chest. He frowned slightly and said, "I used to be faster than this though. In the old days, I would've been able to dodge and block and knock the guy flat without breaking a sweat. Too much time spent watching TV, I guess." He shrugged and looked at Buffy again, dark eyes twinkling. "Not that I'm complaining though. Life before TV was pretty dull. All ancient power rituals and ridiculous plots to take over the world. Two hundred years of that is enough to make anyone, demon or not, wish for a little mindless fluff." Clem set the mug back on the nightstand and said, "How's Dawn?"

"She's Ok. Her wrist was fractured again, and the doctor put her in a sling, which she is not happy about. She says it itches. But she should be right as rain in a few weeks."

"What about you? How are you doing?"

"I'm alright. Kind of sore and a little cranky. But that's from Dawn. She's a kicker and a cover hog."

Buffy's gaze drifted over the bed to floor, onto the figure resting beneath a pile of blankets. The curled ends of Spike's ash blonde hair peeked out from the layers of cotton quilts. She stared at the soft strands, mind mulling over the fact that he was now a vampire with a soul. Shock didn't begin to adequately express her feelings. Nothing could. They were a whirlwind within her, a torrent of feeling threatening to overrun her mind and spill out into the world.

"He told you," Clem said quietly as he watched emotions flit across Buffy's face. "Didn't he?"

"Yeah. I- I just… Dawn said he fought for his soul because he loves me. So he could be something more than just an evil, soulless thing."

"I think she's right."

Silent, eyes still trained on Spike, Buffy said, "I… I knew… he loved me. I just… never imagined that it was… deep enough, strong enough for him to change everything. To give up everything he knew… everything he was. To go against the demon. For me. I… I don't think anyone has ever done anything like that for me before."

A hushed contemplation fell over Buffy as her admission sunk into her, burrowing through her preconceived notions of love, of good, and of evil. Buffy blinked, a faint blush staining her cheeks, and looked at Clem. Her hazel eyes were filled with tears. "Sorry about that. You're all wounded and here I am going on and on about me. I should go now." Standing, she walked to the door and glanced back at Clem as her hand closed on the knob. "You should get some more sleep. Do you need anything? Cookies o-or another pillow or anything?"

"No. I'm good. Thank you."

Buffy nodded once. Her eyes darted back to the blanket covered form of Spike. He writhed beneath the quilts, a low pain-filled moan echoing through the bedroom. Brows drawn together in concern, Buffy stepped away from the door, halting after a few steps when Clem spoke.

"He's dreaming. He's not in pain. His shoulder started healing last night and he made sure he got all of the wood splinters out before turning in for the night." Clem glanced at Spike and said, "He's been having a lot of nightmares."

"I-"

"Don't worry. He'll be Ok. He's strong. Stronger than he thinks he is."

"Is there something I can do?"

"You already have. You forgave him and let him back into your life."

"He was never out of it. He just left town for a while." Buffy watched Spike for another moment before flashing a small smile at Clem and returning to the door. She twisted the knob beneath her hand and quietly left the bedroom.

* * *

As one door closes, another opens. That's what everyone says when failure hits hard and knocks you on your ass or life throws a curve ball that smacks you dead in the forehead. The grass is always greener on the other side, every cloud has a silver lining, and all of the other optimistic bull that's written on the inside of a Hallmark card. But sometimes the happy hope of something else, of something better than what you have, doesn't exist. Sometimes all you have is pain.

From the doorway to the master bedroom, Faith watched Buffy disappear within her room, a cup of healing foul-smelling brew clutched in her hands. Faith's dark eyes hardened as she moved to the stairs, leaving the bedroom door open, oblivious to the fact that Anya was still inside the room asleep on the bed.

She knew there was no magical cup of crap that would cure all of her ills.

She spared a glance at a sleeping Giles before turning the corner and drifting into the kitchen. Edging around the pool of sunlight shining through the small window above the sink, Faith approached the back door, her fingers grasping the cool metal and turning the knob, bracing herself for the exuberance of the early morning. She grimaced at the harsh light of day, moved outside, and pulled the door to, sitting on the steps leading from the back porch to the yard.

Her eyes traveled over the suburban environment of Revello Drive, at the crayon green grass and impossibly blue sky, and wondered how the morning could hide the desperation and destruction associated with the night. How this frail, shallow façade of light could conceal the rough, all-consuming blackness of dark. The darkness was too brash and seductive, too easy to succumb to when one had no light in life.

Faith thought she had clawed her way out of the soul chilling hold of the dark. She had owned up to her crimes and went to prison willingly, wanting desperately something other than the nothing that filled her to the core. And then she was released, set loose upon the world, slightly bewildered at her newfound freedom but determined to take advantage of her second chance. She followed the rules, returned to Sunnydale, and resumed her Slaying duties. Hell, she even made a friend. But it was all pretense. She had fooled herself into believing she was free when all along the clever tendrils of blackness slithered within her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The perfect opportunity to be unleashed upon the world.

She hadn't changed. And she never would. She would always be a killer.

"Faith."

Springing to her feet, Faith spun and faced the open kitchen door, heart racing in her chest. She stared wide eyed at Giles and said, "What do you want?"

Smiling slightly, Giles closed the door behind him and walked to the edge of the porch. He yawned, eyes squinting from the sunlight, and sat on the recently vacated step. "I thought a bit of fresh air would be good. I find, at times, the house to be very stifling."

Faith glanced at Giles, dark eyes darting from the seated Watcher to the closed kitchen door. "I, uh, I'll leave. Now."

"Don't leave on my account. There's room enough for two."

Smirking, Faith crossed her arms and said, "What's your angle, Watcher? Here to ask me about last night? Impart some sage advice on the finer art of killing? 'Cause I think I have that down fine."

Giles stared up at Faith, his hair and clothes rumpled with sleep, his grey eyes clear and alert. "No angle, Faith. I thought you would like some company."

Faith gnawed on her bottom lip, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other. She stiffly uncrossed her arms and sat opposite Giles, as far away from him as the narrow porch step would allow. Her muscles were tense, her spine ramrod straight.

"Did you sleep last-"

"Slept fine."

Giles nodded, watching Faith from the corners of his eyes. They sat in silence, serenaded by the lilting songs of birds, and watched the morning unfold before them. Faith moved beside him, bare feet scraping against the splintered wood steps.

"You ever kill anyone?"

His brow creasing, Giles shifted and looked at Faith. She avoided his gaze, fixing her eyes on the ground. "Yes."

Faith tilted her head and glanced at Giles from beneath a curtain of dark, tangled hair. If he was surprised at her blunt question, he didn't show it. "Did you mean to?"

"The first time, no. The second…yes."

Nodding slightly, Faith looked from the ground into the sky, face impassive, carefully covering herself in a tough shell of disinterestedness. "I didn't. Not the first time anyway. He… It all happened so fast. Didn't know what the fuck I was doing." She paused and drew in a deep breath. "Why did you kill 'em? The second one, I mean."

"To save lives. The man was a threat, albeit an indirect one, to Buffy and the others. The consequences of leaving him alive were too grave, so I did what had to be done."

"You feel bad about it?"

Giles shrugged, his gaze perusing the early morning sky. "I did what was necessary, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed it. However, I am not sorry that the man is dead. He attempted to trade the life of a fourteen year old girl to ensure his own survival and bring about the end of the world." He turned and looked at Faith, locking his light eyes on her dark. He said quietly, "Did you kill last nig-"

"No! I…" Fidgeting, Faith ran her hands through her black hair, roughly pulling through the tangles. She winced as she yanked a few strands loose. Her voice was low, a soft murmur, as she said, "I… I wanted to. I had him right there. Vulnerable. Beaten. Him and his gang attacked us and he cut me with his knife and I just wanted… I could feel it inside me."

"What?"

"Power. I could end him, keep squeezing until he died, if I wanted… I had control…"

"But you didn't. Why?"

"Fuck!" Faith pushed off the porch and stalked across the backyard, crossing her arms over her thin black tank top. "I don't know why! I just… fucking didn't alright! Back off, Watcher. Why don't you go find Buffy and analyze her? Give her your precious advice 'cause I don't need it! I don't need anything or anyone." Faith slowed to a stop, her shoulders hunched, her face concealed beneath her hair. Her ragged nails bit into the bare skin of her arms. "I'm fine. Five by five."

Giles stood and crossed the dew-covered backyard. Slowly approaching Faith, he said, "I am your Watcher too. I know that I-I made mistakes in the past. I wasn't there for you when you needed someone… when you needed me. But I am here now and I will not abandon you. Not again." He stopped in front of her and gently laid a hand upon her shoulder. She was shaking beneath his palm.

"You weren't my Watcher then. Wesley was."

"It doesn't matter. I was still responsible for you."

"Why would you care about me? After all I've done…"

"Because you returned to Sunnydale and faced everyone when you could have run. Because you've dedicated yourself to patrols and to training. Because you made a choice last night. Because you deserve to have someone care about you."

Faith lifted her head, her dark eyes wide, stripped of all bravado, allowing the frightened young girl to shine through, pleading for help. Begging for acceptance. Desperate. "I… I don't want to be a killer. I don't want to be alone in the dark anymore."

Standing with Faith beneath the brilliant sun, Giles placed his hand on her head, softly smoothing the raven strands and said, "You're not."

 

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