Chapter Three
The past two days had sucked beyond the telling of it.
It was amazing how quickly the fiber of routine could crumble without preliminaries. Without warning. She had been content—molded into the fabric of her self-constructed tedium of world-saveage. And yes, while the repetition of a much-feared same old had danced on the sidelines of outward threat, finding everything she knew challenged without warning removed her from her safety nook.
And dammit, she had to have that safety nook.
Patrol was slow tonight. Hell, it had been all week. The demons in this town were simply not interested in quelling her boredom anymore. Which was fine except for times like now. With the excitement the week had entailed, she could use an excuse to beat up on something without the added bonus of consequences.
Flatly horrible week.
Two days. Two whole days since Faith awoke from her coma and resumed her life’s mission of ruining everyone else’s without missing a beat. She awoke from her coma and quickly reminded those that had moved on without her why they were so glad to have been rid of her in the first place. Just looking at her made the world of hurt that had been the previous year come swarming back in sordid detail. Divulging beneath the lines of moving on and reacquainting herself with the very cause of her misery.
Granted, things were better now than they had been even a few weeks ago. The Riley-factor was playing up. Becoming something that Buffy could see herself getting interested in, even if he remained duller than a sack of potatoes. He was nice; there was no denying that. He was a swell guy. Reliable. Sturdy. Overly-friendly even if his sense of humor was bland at times. He was everything she should want, and yes, while she saw qualities in him that she valued in herself, their conversations were lacking and often times seemed forced. He was adorable in his pursuit of her—doing everything a good boy should do for the girl he potentially wants to take home to Iowa and meet the Fam. She liked him, she did.
But that was where it ended. A flirtation based on obligation. He was Joe Normal, and she liked that. She liked him. But she wasn’t interested. She wanted to be interested. He was sincere and intelligent and, unlike Parker, hadn’t made any unwarranted attempts to travel south of the border. He seemed genuinely interested in her as a human being, and she appreciated that more than anything.
But God, he wasn’t what she wanted. He was what she was supposed to want. He was everything she was supposed to want. From the boyfriend who was as bad for her as smoking and heroine injections to the potential boyfriend who came with his own bottle of sunscreen and environment-friendly petrol. No transition. No middle ground. No attraction. Not on her side.
She had told Willow she was over the bad boy thing. She was lying through her teeth.
Thus the past week up until three days ago had been an exercise of both berating herself for her non-attraction to Riley and getting over the wiggyness that was being Spike’s fiancé for an hour. That was, of course, until Faith decided it was time to wake up and make her life even more complicated. She was fortunate that things hadn’t gotten more out of control than they did that night. Heaven knows what would have happened had the other Slayer been in possession of her body any longer than she was.
Well, judging by how she found the little harlot, guessing wasn’t as off the mark as she would have preferred it to be.
Buffy’s stomach was in knots in merely considering what she had walked in on. The past two days had consisted of futile attempts of placing it as far from memory as possible.
And the funny thing was—the really funny thing…she couldn’t blame Spike. Not really. If there was anything she had learned about Faith over the past year and a half, it was the undeniable notion that if there were something the Slayer wanted, nothing short of the hand of God would prevent her from acquiring it. In the end, Spike was a guy. More over, he was a vampire. A vampire with a twisted perversion for chasing after Slayers. Buffy was neither naïve nor stupid. The way they had been avoiding each other since Willow’s spell was a clear indicator that the events of said spell had unnerved him just as much as they had her.
What she had witnessed at the Bronze was not a dueled response to mutual attraction. Granted, she had not been there to witness the whole thing, but she did know that Spike had put up a hell of a fight. She had known him long enough to categorize his facial expressions and the way his eyes flared in accordance with his temperament. What she had seen was a clear strain of self-loathing and projected hatred for the woman inhabiting her body. His actions thereafter only supported that claim.
Spike might have liked pain, but he was no masochist. And he had held Faith tight enough in his endeavor to make sure that she got hers to knock him into the next world. He had been a wreck. More than his nosebleed and red-rimmed eyes. The Scoobies had hauled him with unspoken empathy back to the comfort of Giles’s duplex, doing their best to ignore his unconscious and near-incoherent rumblings that detailed exactly what he thought of Faith and what he wanted to do to her.
And, needless to say, his plans did not involve candles and champagne.
Hell, with the way he went on, they would be lucky if they had enough of Faith left to have a funeral.
Of course, that was a no-go. Spike was still Chips Ahoy and thus consigned to the dreary world of wishful thinking.
He had put her in an awkward position. While her previous hostility for him remained unchallenged, there was something about what had occurred that made her disposition soften in the slightest of degrees. There was more to him and all things previously construed than he ever let on. And she felt bad for him. Bad in a I-Shouldn’t-Feel-Bad-Right-Now way. He was a bloodsucking fiend. He was the bane of her existence. He was every wrong thing in the world times ten.
But he didn’t deserve what had happened. He didn’t deserve Faith making a fool out of him. Stripping him of whatever self-esteem he had left. In that, he was the lesser of two evils. At least Buffy could bank on her unlikely vampiric ally for honesty. For being exactly what he was without ulterior motive. For simply being. With Faith, nothing could ever hope to approach that county line.
Spike was a man—a vampire—and it was common knowledge that both men and vampires often relied on their libidos for thought. Faith had exploited that in the worst of ways. The same way she had with Xander the year before and who-knew-how-many other guys. And from what she had seen, Buffy knew enough to retract the blame from the peroxide pest and cast it on the shoulders of her evil twin. There were no other means to fair.
She hadn’t seen the vampire since he had awakened. Out of something she would hesitate to call obligation and never call concern, she had helped Giles and Willow tend to him as best they could without knowing the extent of the chip’s neurological damage. While none of them had any reason to believe the shock had been that severe, there was always a chance. After all, they still didn’t have any idea what they were dealing with. So, between the three of them, they cleaned Spike up well. Washed the blood from his face, doctored the wound across his brow that was acquired god-knows-how, and did their best to make him comfortable.
Without him, she wouldn’t have her body back. And Lord knows what all Faith would have done with it.
Faith.
That in itself was another lonely matter of delayed acknowledgment. Faith was gone—presumably to Los Angeles—and she had the fun task of bringing her back. The Scoobies had decided unanimously that no matter the crime, last thing the rogue Slayer needed was to be handed over to the Council. The Council was corrupt enough.
Buffy did not believe in Faith’s ability to seek redemption through successful rehabilitation, nor did she confer entirely with the group’s consensus. However, she hated the Council with the fire of a thousand suns and blatantly refused to do anything for them that might be considered helpful.
They needed to find Faith. And fast.
If anything, to get this entire embarrassing ensemble behind them. While absolutely not downsizing the massive in-sideness that Spike was, thorn-wise, she found herself missing his company. Missing it in that ‘I need someone to argue with, now!’ way.
Only that in itself was wrong. Because missing arguing with Spike? Not of the good. Just a testament to how pathetic her life had become. Buffy the Vampire Slayer—banterer of all local demons.
Shoot me now.
With a sigh of concession, she found herself at an abrupt halt, not seeing the virtue in pursuing a hunt for a perpetual nothing. Other than a few vagrant vamps, the last few patrols had not amounted to much. She continued them out of needful obligation, of course—an outlet to prevent boredom. Xander was constantly with Anya now and Willow was still in the post-Oz-leaving mopeyness. She had attended a few coven meetings of campus witches but found nothing of substance.
The post-graduation drifting was setting in big time. The same she had promised would never happen.
Thus, twirling her lonely stake, Buffy turned to head back to Giles’s.
Spike was sitting on top of one of the mausoleums, evidently lost in thought. His hair was somewhat ruffled and a cigarette was wedged between his lips. If he had seen her, he did not make it known. Rather, the expression coloring his features reflected what she had been feeling for the past forty-eight hours. Troubled, angered, and unsure exactly what to make of it.
Buffy felt an unexpected flush surge across her skin. This was the first time she had seen him since bringing him to Giles. The first time that he had been awake since what had not happened between them.
And she couldn’t erase the image of her own hand, navigated by Faith, wheedled inside his trousers. Regardless of his subsequent outrage, there was no mistaking his more immediate urge at that moment.
It was weird knowing that she could have him if she wanted. Not that either one of them were particularly thrilled with the notion, judging by the afterward, but it was weird nonetheless. She didn’t know of two beings on this planet that hated each other with equal fervor. The thought of him in that capacity was something she had never allowed herself, but since the Bronze, it had been an inevitability. Even more so than following Willow’s spell.
Because what she had seen at the Bronze was real. The spell was not.
Spike’s eyes met hers and held. She didn’t know how long he had sensed her there; a color of both surprise and expectation flooded his gaze. That and something more. Something she had never seen before. And it touched her in a way that was most surprising.
She shrugged it off just as easily, but the thought remained with her long after.
He looked at her for a long minute. Then stamped out his cigarette, pivoted promptly in his seat, and was strolling in the opposite direction within a blink.
The move alone should have persuaded her to turn and follow suit. It was the thing to do. And yet, for whatever reason, her feet remained firmly planted—her feelings almost hurt by his casual negligence. Despite how things were between them, Spike had never before exhibited qualms about speaking with her. Never so blatantly gave her the cold shoulder. And yes, while there was a small part of her rejoicing after the fact, the larger part demanded retribution. After all, it wasn’t as though she had done anything to upset him. His resentment in this was completely unjustified, and she intended to tell him so.
However, if it was blood she was after, she pursued its taste in entirely the wrong fashion.
“Hey,” she called, not realizing that she had run after him until she paused to catch her breath.
The ocean of blue that answered her query was not looking to impress. His eyes sized her in a manner that was nearly condescending, but otherwise left her in her own regard. He hid himself well when he wanted to, and though the notion was all but insulting, she knew enough to recognize a need to hide from his own humiliation rather than own up to what had occurred the other night.
It was strange to see him so vulnerable.
“Hey,” she said again. “Ummm…I just wanted to…ummm…”
His gaze narrowed expectantly.
“I…with what happened with Faith…I just…thanks for all your help.” An inner grin tickled her compulsion. The look on his face, if possible, drew even more exposure. As though she would brandish the metaphoric stake to drive that point home, or nail it with a particularly nasty ‘but’ clause. The very thought merited its own brand of humor. “Well, the thing is,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have…she would’ve gotten away if you hadn’t done what you did…and I never got to say thanks. So…thanks.”
A lame conclusion to an admittedly lame nod of gratitude, but he did not call her on it. If anything, the measure of awe coloring his features brightened with bewilderment, and he regarded her as though he had never seen her before. As though the light surrounding her persona had altered colors, and she appeared to him a picture of radiance. Someone never before granted access on a plane such as this.
Then, slowly, humor reached his eyes. Dry. Disbelieving.
“I tell yeh, Slayer,” he drawled. “You are a piece of work. I’ve been waitin’ for days for you to do me in rightly. This is almost a disappointment.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, really?”
“Note the ‘almost.’”
“I figured.”
He shook his head. “You sure you’re…I’ve had a recent unpleasant experience with a chit wearin’ your body but steerin’ someone else’s noggin’. Gotta admit to bein’ slightly gun-shy. The Buffy I know would never lower herself to even acknowledge that I was there, ‘less I was doin’ somethin’ unlawful, an’ she definitely wouldn’t let me walk after what she saw.” Spike took a step forward cautiously. “You all right, luv? Din’t hit your head or stumble out of your skin an’ into someone else’s, right?”
“Been there, done that. We try not to air reruns around here too often.” She shrugged with a wry grin. “But, as long as you’ve brought it up…yeah. It was strange and more than a little…well…just…seeing me and…and you…doing that…from a third person point of view? Not of the good. But—”
Spike glanced down obligatorily. “Yeh. Buffy—”
“I understand. I do.” He was giving her that skeptical look again. “Well, Faith has always had power over men. That’s what she does. She sees something that she wants and she takes it. And if that something just happens to be conscious and with functioning…parts…she makes him want it, too.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “‘Functionin’ parts’, eh?”
Buffy’s eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t see anything.”
“’Course not. Only naughty Slayers peek.”
The cheekiness in his tone was enough to draw her back. The humor dancing in her gaze faded, and she favored him with a peeved glare. “I didn’t see anything because I didn’t look. Didn’t really need to. It was obvious to anyone what you were doing. In public. With my body.”
“Ah. Here it comes.” Spike sighed fruitlessly and reached for his cigarettes. “Look, ‘f you think gettin’ felt up by some Buffy-wannabe’s my idea of a good night, you need to do your vamp research, luv. That girl fucked with my head. She—”
“I know.”
“An’ then—”
The Slayer held up a hand. “I know. I didn’t mean to…what you did helped me more than you can know. You didn’t have to. Hell, you’re probably lucky that chip didn’t fry your brain more than it did. And yeah, again with disgust and the…just, blehness that was watching…that. But you did help. So thanks.”
He cocked a brow. “You really think it was for you?”
“Well—”
“Don’ flatter yourself, pet. ‘S a romantic’s notion. I don’ give out migraines for nothin’. That bitch took somethin’ from me; it was only fair that I take somethin’ back.” The look on her face must have drooped in disillusionment, for the shine in his own paled as well as though he had said something he hadn’t meant to. And in a manner that was completely alien to him, he stepped forward with a façade of warmed indulgence and hissed a sigh through his teeth. “Okay,” he said softly. “So ‘s better to have you around than a two-dollar trick that’s only worth half a shilling, ‘f that. Leas’ you’re original, luv…an’ your psychological problems aren’ nearly as difficult to diagnose.”
Her eyes narrowed, though she was biting back a grin. “Hardy har har har.”
Spike smiled almost softly, sticking his hands in his duster pockets and rolling on the balls of his feet in a manner that was so little-boyish that it nearly reformed the entirety of his countenance. “So…” he began slowly. “What happened with the mega-bitch? She hauled back to Wankers Anonymous, or did Rupert decide to—”
“She got away.”
His eyes bulged. “What?”
“Not for long,” she amended quickly, as though she owed him an explanation. “Faith’s not the type to keep quiet for long. And Will’s working on a location spell.”
“Big comfort there, pet.” He favored her with a wry glance. “We all know how productive Red’s spells can be.”
“Hey!” His eyes narrowed. She balked with a pout and a shrug. “It’s all we have, all right? Besides…she’s getting better.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that when she accidentally wipes out western America.”
“She should start by sewing your mouth shut.”
Spike’s gaze twinkled. “An’ deprive the world of my sexy voice? Never.”
“Dream on.”
“Don’ have to, luv.” The picture of her flustered discomfort must have been amusing, but he jutted his chin in a manner of unexpected diplomacy and arched a brow. “So, the lot of you haven’t the faintest idea where your rogue bird is headed, I take it.”
Buffy glared at him a minute longer before sighing her concession. “We followed her to the train station where she hopped one to LA.” She shrugged helplessly, kicking at the dirt. “I kicked her off as it was beginning to move, we duked it out, yadda yadda…then she disappeared in mid-fight. Just up and vanished.”
Spike snickered. “Pathetic excuse for a Slayer. Bailin’ in the middle of the dance.” He shook his head. “She oughta be ashamed.”
“We’re thinking she caught up with the train. It wasn’t too far ahead, and she has the whole super-speed thing going for her.” The young blonde shrugged as they turned on virtually the same beat, heading without say in the direction of Giles’s place. “It won’t be long, though.”
“Findin’ her, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Because of Red’s spell?”
She nodded and cast him a narrow look, daring him to poke fun at her blind faith. “Willow can do location spells,” she said. “She has before…without nasty side effects or repercussions.”
“Breakin’ my dainty heart, luv.”
“Truth hurts, don’t it?”
He smirked. “’F you’re suggestin’ that spell was at all fun for me, you’re off your bird. Trust me, Slayer, this is one vamp whose list of hobbies far exceeds playin’ tonsil hockey with one of Angel’s hand-me-downs.”
The air went still; Buffy’s feet dragging her to a halt, her gaze widening with shades of angered hurt. For the curse that filled the air, it wasn’t difficult to decipher Spike’s own regret, but it was too late to take it back. Creatures like him often went for the kill, no matter whom he hurt in the process. And, as always, if it was her—bonus.
The look in his eyes vouched for the opposite, but she had long ago given up reading people based off expressionism alone.
“Look,” he said as she opened her mouth to voice her deserved and undoubtedly nasty rebuttal. “That was outta line, but you weren’ exactly buildin’ me up, buttercup. Can’t help it ‘f the hide’s still sore.” He glanced to the ground before she could reply. “So you an’ the merry lot are off to Los Angeles? Innit…oh what’s the word…opportune?”
If possible, her eyes darkened. “This has nothing to do with Angel.”
“But you’ve called him, haven’t you? Seems the only humane thing to do…what, with a wacked out Slayer on the loose.” He stepped forward, scrutinizing her to uncomfortable degrees. “’Specially ‘f the bird’s headed in his direction an’ has the track record that the lot of you talked about nonstop while playin’ nursemaid to the sick Big Bad.”
“You were awake?”
He shrugged. “Drifted in an’ out.”
“You’re lucky that chip didn’t fry your brain, you know.”
“An’ you care, why?”
She shifted awkwardly. “I don’t. I’m just saying.” A pause. “And yeah, we’ve called Angel. Just to let him know. But believe me, after the iciness of our last meeting, he wasn’t exactly happy to hear from me.”
“Nothin’ worth sheddin’ tears over.” Spike expelled a deep breath. “Look, Slayer, not that I don’ appreciate the sudden an’ much unexpected warm front comin’ from your usual frosty self, but what’s goin’ on? You’re actin’ as though what happened the other night din’t happen—or worse.” He frowned and took another step forward, subconsciously setting them on their way again. “Red din’t pull an anti-bitchy spell on you, did she?”
She rolled her eyes. “I swear, you’re the only person in the world who would object to not fighting.”
“Only ‘cause I know that I’m gonna get the shit end of this deal whenever you come to your bleedin’ senses.” He shook his head. “I don’ enjoy bein’ your personal punchin’ bag, but at leas’ I know where I stand there. Buffy, you know what you walked in on the other night, right? A bird dressed in your body with her—”
“I know. I know!” She shuddered. “Yes—I am majorly wigged and…grossed out…and eww! And yes, I did consider swathing my hand in alcohol to rid my skin from any Spike-related impressions. And—”
“What? Don’ tell me the Slayer is afraid of cooties.”
“But you didn’t do anything…that I should…” Buffy sighed and combed a hand through her hair. “You didn’t do anything. That’s the point. You didn’t take her up on her offer and…do things with my body that I would have had to stake you for. And that’s the thing. You’re a guy—more over—you’re an evil vampire that would love nothing more than to see me suffer…but you at least knew enough to…respect me that much. So…I’m grateful.”
A long, confusing beat settled between them.
“Buffy,” he said a minute later. “I din’t know it wasn’ you. Well, I had my suspicions, but there was a part of me that—”
“There’s no way you could’ve known otherwise. What? Were you supposed ask for proof of identification?”
“An’ ‘f I had shagged the bird an’ used that as an excuse?”
Buffy licked her lips, brow furrowing in thought before she offered a solemn shrug. “I don’t know. But you didn’t. You didn’t and then you helped me—helped us…and despite your own justification, it was the reason that I got back into my body. So yeah. I’m grateful. And it’s a weird feeling that I would like to have gone as soon as possible.”
Spike smiled gently. The first true smile she had seen on his face all night—perhaps ever. It was strange to think that she and the vampire understood each other, but nothing these past two days could provide suggested otherwise. “Well,” he replied, “I’ll get on makin’ your life miserable as soon as I can work it into my schedule.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure, Slayer.”
The air settled around them like an overbearing timekeeper. Settled and stressed the standard of shared realization. Issuing the subtle reminder that in no way should she be fraternizing with what she would usually think of as her prey. Spike was a mystery to her. A mystery. When had that happened? He had always simply been Spike. A vampire that couldn’t seem to take the boot in the way God intended. A vampire unlike any other—a vampire that forged alliances with Slayers in the namesake of love. A vampire that broke said alliances, granted, but behaved like an outed member of her circle of friends, even if he would deny any such allegation. He was a vampire still, regardless of what had occurred to make it otherwise.
With the implant or whatever the commandos had done to him to make him helpless, they had seemingly also stripped away his hostility. Not toward her in particular—they fought as regularly as ever. It was in that regard that the spell that had thrust them together just last week tugged at her insides as such an unruly abomination. No, Spike hated her as vocally as he had before. Perhaps more so: his desire to see her dead, however, had died along with his ability to make any such notion a reality. If he wanted to, unraveling her life would not take much at all. Spike was a respected vampire in these parts. He had cronies that were still loyal, she knew. Just because he was unable to see to her death personally did not mean he was not in the position to be its cause all the same.
Whether or not he even realized it, he had taken to helping her. Spike was helping her. And she didn’t know why.
“Anyway,” Buffy said suddenly, returning to herself. “I better be heading back. I was just gonna do a quick patrol and get back so we could—umm, figure out what to do about this Faith thing.”
The vampire snickered. “Yeh. Rupes’s really bugger all brassed about that. He had to phone a shag-buddy from the motherland to tell her now’s not such a good time to drop in for—”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Just stop talking. The last thing I need to know about—ever—is the regularity of Giles’s…” She made a face. “I just don’t need to hear about it.”
“His sex-life?”
“And again with the gross. Thanks very much for listening, Helen Keller.”
Spike grinned. “What’s wrong, luv? The old man deserves to get his rocks off on occasion. He has you to tend to, after all.”
“I swear to God, if you don’t want me to stake you, you’re really going about it in the wrong way.” She shook her head as they set off again in the direction of her Watcher’s duplex. A frown tickled her mouth when she noted he had not taken the hint and scampered off in the other direction. “Where are you going?”
“With you.”
“Why?”
He favored her with a long look. “’Cause, unless I’m mistakin’, my stuff’s still at Rupert’s.”
“You have stuff?”
He shrugged. “Carton of smokes an’ a box of Weetabix. Couple bags of blood.”
“Uh huh. And does Giles know that the Weetabix is yours?”
“He will once I eat it.”
Buffy shook her head. “When are you gonna move out?”
The vampire chuckled shortly. “You really are off your game tonight, aren’ you, pet? Make it sound like I’m a guest at the bleedin’ Ritz. I can’t move out, remember? Every time I try to leave, he sends you an’ your merry lot out to find me.” Spike bristled at that. “I tell yeh, this is not where I thought I’d be at my age.”
“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but at your age, you should be in the ground…stinking the place up.”
He smirked at her. “Been a demon a lot longer than I was a man. Tend to not think like one on those levels.” He shook his head. “Fifty years ago, ‘f you told me I’d be shackin’ it up with the Slayer’s Watcher of all things ridiculous, I woulda—”
“I don’t see what’s keeping you from moving out,” she said again. “Giles told me he didn’t think you were dangerous anymore.”
A dark scowl befell his face. “I am so dangerous!”
Buffy just paused and looked at him.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Stop.” He was pouting. And oh my god, Spike pouts? He was strangely and—very wrongly—appealing when he pouted. Appearing for everything in the world a normal man. A man. “’S not funny.”
“Oh no,” she agreed between chuckles. “It’s really, really not. Come on. Say it again, and this time I’ll pretend to believe you.”
“’m thinkin’ ‘s not a good idea to brass off a powerful vampire, luv.”
“And you notice just how badly you scare me with those big words.”
He smirked, his face drawn humorless even as his eyes danced. It was strange. Strange and discomfiting, but oddly familiar. As though they had been doing this all their lives. Not fighting. Not being as they were—mortal enemies and beyond. Just this. It shook her foundation. As though cutting Spike a break because of what he had done also entailed stepping down from the platform to make way for the more surprising reform.
“Remember this when I get the chip out,” he forewarned in a manner that was almost naturally teasing. No, no. This is not good at all. “I’ll make you eat those words.”
“Right.” Buffy released a long breath and shook her head, grateful when Giles’s front door was suddenly in view. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The scene upon entering the duplex was not the most encouraging sight she had ever stumbled across.
Granted, it didn’t take much to get the Watcher riled. Not these days, anyway.
“You monkey-scots git!” He was screaming into the phone, drawing a laugh from her companion and duel blank expressions from Willow and Xander, who sat on his sofa in survey of the television. “What nerve do you…oh, right. I see. She’s suddenly your responsibility. How silly of me. Need I remind you that the last time anyone had a word in bringing…Yes; I believe that is the point, actually. No, you cannot—”
Buffy sent a quizzical look in Willow’s direction, who mouthed obediently, “He’s talking to Angel.”
That was it. The vampire at her side burst out laughing.
All in the room paused to stare at him, drawing up his sobriety with haste that he would usually ignore.
“’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
It lasted all ten seconds before he was laughing again.
“Angel’s sending someone from his staff to help us,” Willow explained over the verbal reprimands and the laughter. “Make sure that we get to Faith before the Council does.”
“From his staff? That little Irish guy?”
Xander shook his head. “Nah. Actually—and here’s the really funny spin—it’s Wes.”
Buffy blinked. “Wes. Wes as in…I’m-The-Reason-Faith’s-Such-A-Screwup-Wes?”
“The one and only.”
A frown beset her countenance. This was not of the sense-making. “Whoa, wait. Hold it. Does he not think that we can do this by ourselves?”
“And hence why Giles is yelling at him,” Harris concluded.
Willow nodded, her eyes wide and apologetic. “Actually, Buff, I think he thinks that you and Faith mixed together is of the bad…being the reason why he wants to send someone from his team.”
Xander waved a dismissive hand. “Feel good, you two. You’re in the know. I didn’t even know Angel had a team.”
Spike recovered from his hysterics long enough to send a dancing look in Harris’s direction. “You din’t? You’re kiddin’!” Another blurb of laughter escaped his lips. “Angel’s gone industrious, mate. He’s a Vampire Detective.”
The other man’s gaze went wide. “A what? Oh holy moly, that is just too good for words.” His amusement drew up quickly enough, glowering a bit as he realized he had nearly laughed aloud at something the very disliked platinum vampire had to offer. “And what’s Evil Dead doing here?”
“Do I really need to remind everyone that I happen to be livin’ here at the moment?”
“Ah, that’s right. The Chipped Wonder has taken up the study of bum-hood.”
“So says he makin’ the leap in baby steps into the real world from mummy’s basement.”
“I’m still ahead of you.”
Spike snickered. “’F you’re talkin’ your admitted uselessness, you’d be wrong, mate. You still run around like a Slayer Groupie.”
“It’s called a job, Pasty. You’re off the juice, you gotta pay for the plasma somehow.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So,” she intervened sharply. “About Faith? We have any leads?”
That was all it took. In an instant, Xander and Willow were tugged from the morbid draw that was arguing with a soulless vampire to matters of actual relevance, though the former looked a bit scorned and the Cockney at her side was all sorts of unhappy. Giles was still on the phone, but had evidently relocated to the upper level where he could form an argument without prompt distraction.
“There’ve been news reports,” the redhead confessed. “She’s left a trail.”
The Slayer pursed her lips. She had been afraid of that. “Bodies?”
“Some dead. Most beaten.” Willow glanced down. “Buff, she’s not going to LA. Wherever she disappeared to the other night…I think that train, from what I got from the schedule and departure times…she’s in Mississippi.”
Spike arched a brow. “Mississippi?”
The Witch nodded. “The train she hopped was headed to Jackson. Early morning shipment. The last sighting was about an hour north of a town called Vicksburg. She beat up a woman at a gas station and stole her SUV. Two kids in the back—they were dumped at the next pull off.”
Buffy shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Mississippi?”
“From the sound of things, she’s heading south. Fast.” Willow expelled a deep breath. “The location spell results were inconclusive because of that—”
“Told you.”
The Slayer shook her head, not needing to look at the vampire to know that he was smirking.
“—for a couple hours after the first report.” The redhead shot a nasty look over her friend’s head. “Then she stopped. Just stopped.”
Xander shrugged. “Ran out of gas?”
“Coppers mighta caught up with her,” Spike suggested.
Buffy didn’t look convinced. “No. No. That’s…the police couldn’t hold Faith. No way.” She raised her eyes slowly. “Where did she stop?”
“Uhhh…well, from what I could tell…there’s a town south of Vicksburg. Hour and a half to two hours away. Her vibes are strongest there.” Willow licked her lips. “It’s a tourist town. I have no idea why she would stop there of all places…especially going as fast as she was to just…well, stopping.”
“And now we must wait until Wes graces us with his oh-so-desired presence before we bust a move on this thing.” Harris heaved out a breath. “Then we get to go down under.”
“It doesn’t take too long to drive from LA to here,” the redhead observed. “And, last I checked, Australia wasn’t an hour and a half away from Vicksburg, Mississippi.”
Spike snickered.
The Slayer held up a hand. “Well, regardless of how not-happy I am with this, it is better that we get Wes on the case than chance the Council catching up with her.”
Xander shook his head. “I’m not seeing the half-full of that. Someone please remind me. We hate Council, we hate Faith…why do we care if Council gets Faith?”
“Spite?” the vampire offered. “The enemy of my enemy an’ all that?”
“Question being, which enemy do we want to make a friend in this scenario?”
The Cockney shrugged. “A Slayer or a bunch of stake-happy old wankers who take the callin’ more seriously than any of the callees? You really need a vote on that one?”
Harris sighed in aggravation, hands dropping to his lap. “Who exactly invited you to this meeting, honestly?”
Spike favored him with the two-finger salute and rolled his eyes.
“He helped us out a couple days ago, Xan,” Buffy offered with a shrug. “And he’s probably gonna go wherever we end up going.”
“I am?”
“He is?”
The Slayer smiled wryly. “Unless you wanna be left here to a bunch of disgruntled demons and the commandos who put that implant in your head to begin with.”
The vampire frowned. “Why do you want me to go?”
“Excellent question,” Xander concurred with a nod. “Why do we want him to go?”
“Because two nights ago, Faith gave him a reason. Vendettas produce results.” Buffy drew in a breath. “I think everyone here can vouch for that. And I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d like to be in and out without screwing around. Besides…” She caught Spike’s gaze briefly. “He has her scent. Vamp senses make for easier trackage.”
There was a moment of consideration. No point in arguing with the truth.
“So,” Xander said the next minute. “We catch Faith…what’s next?”
“I’ll think about that bridge when it’s in sight, Xan. As of now, it’s not.”
He nodded. That was fair enough.
“Good. Good.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “Once Giles is through yelling, we can sit down and actually talk about this. Will…starting with where we’re going?”
“I pinpointed the town on the map,” the redhead replied. “Can’t remember the name. Rhymed with matches.”
The map indicated was strewn across the Watcher’s dining room table alongside a variety of herbs and spices. Buffy bit her lip. They must have just missed the big action of the evening.
Which was just as well.
And there it was, as specified. One word, circled in blue ink. The name of a town she had never before heard of. The name of a town she would never forget.
Natchez.
“Okay then,” she said after memorizing its placement. “Okay. I guess we have some packing to do.”
TBC