Author: Aeneas
Rating: R (violence, language, nonexplicit sex)
Spoilers: Anything, everything and all spoilers you might have heard for the end of BtVS and season 4 of AtS. Since Spike never stayed in Sunnydale, season 7 went down very differently and there's nothing to really spoil, so this is mainly a warning for the Angel viewers.
Pairings: Spike/Faith, Gunn/Gwen, Xander/OC, everyone else is pretty much single for now - will change soon enough.
Distribution: Archived at The Crypt (lovely site). Ask me if you want it, I'll say yes. Can also be found on my own website.
Feedback: Appreciated more than I can possibly express. It's better than a happy ending for Season 7 - almost.
Disclaimer: It's Joss's sandbox - I just play there.
Summary and Recap:
Previously on Raison D'Etre - Spike's journey to get his soul and be a better man messed up the cosmic balance and set reality on its ear. He managed to impress a few people in high places, who then stepped in to help when everything went to hell. He staked himself to save Faith and the world. In return, his demon was granted ascension, he was given a human body (William's) and returned to Earth without memory of his past. No, I don't consider this to be Shanshu but that will become clear in time. Also, the government has decided that the Slayer lines - which now end with Buffy, Faith, and Cara - need to be regenerated.
What to expect from Part Three - Each part has encompassed its own arc
and its own theme. Part One was Ethan Rayne and the past coming back
for revenge. Part Two was the grand scale, sweeping, higher beings
getting their hands dirty, and world conflict type of story with the Incarnations
of Reality. Part Three is going out a whole new door. Expect
the nature of family and love to be some of the central issues. With
a large helping of intrigue, bad guys, and general Welcome to the Hellmouth
goodness.
Note: There has to be at least one chapter with sex...consider yourself
warned. I try not to be real explicit (because I'm not very good at it
and feel ridiculous trying) but this is a bit more detailed than usual.
There was the option of doing the whole angst/misunderstanding thing to
keep Spike and Faith up in the air – but I think that I've hurt both of
them enough so this is all the Will They/Won't They angst you're going
to get.
Finding Heaven
Beyond the pain radiating throughout his body and the cottony taste of
antibiotics at the back of his throat, Spike knew there was a very good
reason that he should be waking up. She had dark brown hair, chocolate
eyes, and she smelled of magnolias. Beneath the pain, he could feel his
wounds healing. Swelling faded and bones knit. He could feel the tug of
surgical tape and stitches in his skin where he had been bandaged and sewn
up. Floating just on the edge of consciousness, he let the parade of memories
march through his drug addled brain. He would have laughed if his ribs
hadn't felt as though they were on fire every time he inhaled. At least
he hadn't ended his career as a vampire by chaining Buffy to a wall. That
was too pathetic even for a depraved, blood-sucking fiend.
And the world hadn't ended. Maybe he'd actually done something right when he dusted himself in that basement with Faith. Now that he could remember the look of pain on her face as he died, he was anxious to see her again. To touch her, feel the silk of her skin and the heat of her body. From the vague memories of the fire, he thought he remembered dark circles under her eyes and the impression that she had lost weight. Of course, he'd been halfway to Neverland at the time and wasn't sure if he could trust his memory at all.
Light began to filter through the darkness, awakening the tired nerves in his eyes and brain. Ears began to pick up the sounds of machines and the humming of lightbulbs. Just a few minutes more, he told his aching muscles. Just a few more minutes of quiet and rest. Then he realized that he could feel her. Her presence, her power, the strength that emanated from every inch of her body was washing over him in waves.
"Can I get you anything?" It was a man's voice. Unfamiliar and softly concerned.
"I'm good. Thanks Frye." Faith's husky tones were strained and awkward, as though she was uncomfortable answering the question.
"I'll be back in an hour or so."
"I'm fine...you don't need to."
"I'll bring back some Chinese or something. What sounds good?" The man named Frye told her firmly. "I want you to stay with me tonight."
"Frye, please." She sounded so tired that Spike wanted to reach out for her.
"And I mean the whole night, not just long enough to get your clothes back on."
The rest of the conversation faded into whispers as Spike realized that Faith was talking to her lover. That she had a lover. Of course, he'd told her to find someone. Idiot that he was. He couldn't have known that he would end up back in her world somehow. Torn between two worlds, he teetered between sleep and wakefulness. Not wanting to face the reality sitting beside his bed and not wanting to drift back into the comforting cocoon of sleep either. What was he supposed to say to her? In a way, he was touched that she'd listened to him. That she'd moved on with her life instead of falling apart over his death. The way he had fallen apart after Buffy died. That was a memory he would have been glad to have never gotten back. One of many.
"Spike?" Hope lifted her voice several notes.
A dry throat took care of any questions about what he would say first, rendering him unable to do anything but croak as he squinted against the bright lights and struggled to move his limbs.
"Don't move." Her warm hands fluttered over his chest and shoulders. "Do you need anything? Water?"
He nodded slowly and let her help him into an almost sitting position, enough that he didn't have to crane his neck to look at her. The hospital gown was puffy with the bandages underneath, wounds itching as they healed under layers of fluffy cotton. Her hands were shaking as she filled a glass of water, coming back to his side and helping him drink carefully.
"Easy...easy." That voice could drive a man insane.
Throat soothed and the taste gone from the back of this mouth, he took the glass from her trembling hands and held onto it tightly. She had lost weight. Clothes hanging just a little too loosely and collar bones more pronounced than he remembered. Dark circles under her eyes were also new, accompanied by the haunted look of someone with too many sleepless nights behind them. The scars were familiar, each one just where he had left it. Unconsciously, he reached out to trail his fingers over the circlets around her wrists, noticing the tremor that passed through her as their skin touched. It was different. Touching her had always been heady and erotic but this was a charge that he couldn't explain. A jolt of electricity and energy through his hand, up his arm, and spreading through his chest like fire.
"Hey." She took his hands gently, mindful of the broken fingers.
"Hey." Great first words there. Still pathetic after all these years. "Faith...I...you...how are you?"
"Good."
"Good."
"Yeah." Hesitant, she pulled her fingers away and returned to the chair, sitting on the edge like a child waiting to be set loose for recess.
"Probably have a lot of questions." Spike rested back against the bed.
"Nutshell."
"I don't have any answers."
"Oh." Her face fell slightly. "Research then. Frye's a whiz at that kind of thing. He's like a male Willow only taller and...not gay." She stumbled over the last part and looked down at her hands for a moment. "But you are Spike, right?"
"One and only." He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "Go ahead and quiz me if you want."
"Buffy Summers."
"Slayer. Blond, holier than thou attitude...or as you so eloquently put it while you were joyriding...a stuck up tight-ass with no sense of fun."
"Xander?"
"Glorified carpenter with a habit of leaving brides at the altar."
"Angel?"
"Now you're just being cruel. No need to torture me." For a moment, the tension faded and she smiled brightly at him. The same smile he'd seen that night in Sunnydale when he'd realized that he wanted her, had taken her into his arms and let her heat burn everything else away. After a moment, she seemed to remember as well and the smile faltered as her cheeks colored, eyes returning to her lap.
"Your accent's...different."
"Yeah...s'pose it's all those memories of growing up in the states." Shifting carefully, he avoided the curious look for a second before giving her a faint shrug. "Whole life time of memories that aren't real...running around in the sun, college, friends. Least I know how the Bit feels with all those monk memories she's got."
"So you have a life...here. With family and everything?"
"Not anymore." He closed his eyes against the fake pain of his parents' deaths and the very real pain of Gage's death. At least he had known Gage. Some of those memories were real.
"What happened?"
"The usual. Dad had a heart attack and Mum got cancer." Pausing for a moment, he frowned and opened his eyes. "Dru got Gage and he was all I had left. Of that life, anyway."
"Oh." She sounded lost.
"Faith...luv." It was a strain to use the term of endearment. "You don't have to stay here. And you could probably use a rest yourself."
"You're sure you're all right?" Her brow furrowed.
"Right as rain. Really. I'm sure they'll take good care of me and I'll be out making a nuisance of myself in no time." He really wanted her to leave before her boyfriend came back. Wasn't sure if he could handle the little things, the touches and glances that would give away the fact that they were lovers. The intimacy that he no longer had with her.
"I can stay...it's no problem." Her hands were tight fists in her lap, teeth showing as she gnawed on her lower lip. "I mean...if you want me to leave."
"Yeah. Don't want to keep you." Turning his face away from her, he closed his eyes against the sound her standing up and moving toward the door. His own heartbeat was loud in the silence as he waited for the door to open and close. When it didn't happen after nearly fifty beats, he opened his eyes again. Faith was standing at the bottom of the bed glaring at him. Warily, he straightened further despite the tugging of his wounds, "What is it, Slayer?"
"You son of a bitch." She ground out angrily.
"Hey!" Spike held up a hand, moving the glass of water to the table beside the bed. "I've only been awake for five minutes. What the bloody hell have I done now?"
"You're fucking lying to me." Scowling, she wrenched her jacket off of her shoulders.
"Don't know what you're talking about." He raised one eyebrow as she undid the laces of her boots and tossed them into the corner with her jacket. "And what the hell are you doing?"
Ignoring his question, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his legs, grabbing hold of both wrists tightly enough to leave bruises on already injured skin. "You left me. You fucking left me in that fucking basement. Left me sitting there with your goddamn dust all over me."
"Faith." More than a little surprise at her vehemence, he didn't want to hear how badly he'd hurt her. Leaving her, causing her pain, felt as good as swallowing a spoonful of tacks even though he knew that there hadn't been a choice.
"Shut up." Furious, she tightened her grip on his fingers for emphasis. He could tell she wanted to hit him, a bare sliver of restraint away from sending him back into unconsciousness. "I had to go back to Sunnyhell and get fawned over by the bloody Scoobies. And you? You were here...in Boston...playing detective with your new friends and your family. You didn't even...you...and you told me to find someone...so I did. I haven't slept...I haven't eaten. Just sat on that chair waiting for you to fucking wake up and now you're telling me to leave." Tears slipped down her cheeks as her anger faded into pain. "Just tell me why...just tell me."
"Come again?" Spike stared at her, bewildered.
"Did you even look for me?" Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.
Speechless, he pulled her tightly against his chest, filling his lungs with the familiar scent of her skin and lotion. "Don't cry. Please don't cry." Rubbing her back gently, he waited until her tears had subsided before straightening her up again and catching her eyes. "I'm sorry...I don't know what else to tell you. I'm sorry."
"I just don't understand how you could be here...alive...and not even call. Not even pick up the fucking telephone."
"I didn't remember." Spike cradled her face in his hands, brushing away the streaks left behind by the tears. "I swear I didn't remember anything at all until I saw you. Faith, if I'd known...if I'd had any idea. You know I would have found you."
"Amnesia? That's convenient." She sniffed quietly, sarcastic and hopeful at the same time.
Slowly, Spike managed to gather his thoughts together. "I think it was part of the deal. Heartbeat, life. Don't think I was meant to remember anything at all. Probably wouldn't have if I'd never run into you."
"Guess I have to believe you."
"Don't have to. Go ahead and hate me, luv. For being the bloody pillock I am." He kissed her forehead gently before pulling her back into his arms, basking in the heat of her body and the way it curved against him perfectly. "Can't say I'm not glad that you missed me."
Her voice was soft, dangerously so, and her face turned away so that he couldn't see her expression. "When you died, you took me with you. There was nothing left. Nothing."
That emptiness was something he knew agonizingly well. Had felt it when he had seen Buffy's body lying in the rubble, incredulous and in denial of what was before him. He'd felt it again when his hands had touched Gage's dead skin and dull, sandy hair that had gleamed in the sunlight just a hour before. Watching as meaning and life were stripped away, wondering if he'd ever find something to fill the crater inside his soul, to ease the constant ache gnawing away at his emotions. The pain of loss ignored all barriers, striking down its victims with impunity and not caring who they were, what they did for a living, or if they deserved that kind of pain. He wanted to tell her that he would never leave her again, never let her go, but he wasn't sure of his place with her. She had taken him at his word and moved on. Where did that leave him?
"He's good to you, right? This bloke you've found."
"Spike." She pushed away quickly, her eyes shining as she looked up at him.
"S'alright, luv. I wanted you to find someone."
"He's not someone...he's just...someone." Burying her face against his chest, she clung to him like a lifeline. "He's not what I want."
"Good." He smiled when she blinked up in surprise. "Cause I was gonna have a helluva time not killing him."
It was such a foreign sound that Frye stopped outside the door to listen. Puzzled, he leaned to the side and glanced through the blinds of the hospital room to see what was going on inside. Faith was lying in the hospital bed with her head on the detective's shoulder and one arm wrapped around his waist. Laughing. She was laughing. He'd never heard her laugh. She looked like a completely different person. Younger, happier. Vulnerable.
The familiarity between them hit Frye like a sledgehammer, watching the man nuzzle her hair softly, fingers stroking her arm with a gentleness that she had never allowed. The way she curled against him with complete trust and openness. With affection. They fit together like puzzle pieces, locking tightly into a whole. Fingers tangled together and voices intimately low as they talked. As he made her laugh. Like old friends catching up after years of being apart. Minutes ticked by slowly as he watched the scene through the blinds. Watched her cuddle against him, watched her lips brush against the bandaged knuckles of the cop's hand. Teeth grinding together, he tried to think of an explanation. Someone she knew from when she was in Boston before, maybe a good friend, ex-boyfriend even. She probably hadn't known it was him until that night. It would explain why she'd been so worried, so adamant about being there when he woke up. Crying into the phone, tears of worry and fear.
He'd known it wouldn't last. Every time he'd put his arms around her and kissed her, he'd known that she wasn't thinking about him. That in her mind, it was another man. But he'd hoped the bastard who had broken her heart was gone forever. Even if he did come back, Frye had believed that she would know better than to trust him again. Apparently not. Davis Williams was not a stranger to Faith and he couldn't think of another explanation for the closeness between them.
Wincing, he exhaled painfully as he watched their lips meets. Hungry, passionate. She had never kissed him like that, never pressed against him, shaking with desire and heat. Masochistically, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle as she pulled the t-shirt up and over her head. Her bra fell to the side of the bed, baring her exquisite breasts to the blond. They could barely keep their lips apart and hands off of each other long enough to push her slacks and panties down those beautiful legs. Locked together in a struggle of fire that burned away every obstacle between them.
He almost choked on his breath as she threw her head back, her beautiful face a picture of ecstasy that Frye had never seen. And the scars on her back. His eyes were riveted to the angry slashes and the way the cop's fingers traced them unerringly. As though he knew every inch of her body, every scar and dimple in her skin. They moved together perfectly, caressing and kissing with practiced experience. Tongues, lips, hands moving and flowing easily over well-known skin.
And he couldn't look away.
Couldn't pull his eyes from the sight of losing her forever. Of seeing the way she tenderly, lovingly, stroked the blond hair and bandaged shoulders. Watching her hips move against him, breasts rising, falling as her breathing and heartbeat quickened. Knowing the moment her orgasm hit because he had never seen anything like it. Never seen her cry, kissing every part of the cop's skin she could reach and cling so tightly to him as she rode out the waves of pleasure moving through her. She didn't jump up and hunt for her clothes. Didn't roll away and pretend she wasn't there. She curled against his side and closed her eyes, blissfully content and unaware that anything existed outside of that room.
Frye finally managed to take a step away, his breathing ragged and pained. He left the overnight bag he had taken from her apartment just outside the door, grateful that he hadn't gone home first. She would never be his, never share his bed again, and he would never get the chance to make her laugh. Wearily, he turned away from the room and started down the hallway. She would never love him.
Faith Hawkins was already in love.
"Who was one the phone?" Warm lips started down the side of Faith's neck as Spike's hands slipped through the folds of her robe to caress her skin.
"No one." She lied, kissing him quickly. "I'm going to burn your eggs if you keep...doing...that." Shivers started down her back as his teeth playfully nipped at her neck and shoulder. Of course, she probably would have burned the eggs anyway. Since she'd brought Spike home from the hospital, he had taken over most of the cooking, ranting about Slayers being unable to follow a simple recipe.
"Let 'em burn." He whispered, breath trickling in hot rivers down her back.
"Spike." Breathless, eyes half closed as he turned her around and slid the terry cloth over her shoulders to pool at her feet. He was so hot, burning into her skin and branding her with his fingerprints. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the fact that he was warm, that he had blood flowing through his veins and oxygen in his lungs. His body was still solid, firm and muscular beneath her roaming hands. Instead of the pale skin of a vampire, he was a golden tan; still smooth and full of the planes and angles she adored. Brown was beginning to show at his roots as her fingers wove into his thick blond curls, pulling him down to her lips.
Every kiss since that first one in the hospital bed held the same urgency. The same feeling of making up for the time they had been apart and every kiss that had been stolen from them. Some were hard and desperate, leaving her lips bruised and swollen afterwards. Others were gentle, teasingly playful as he nipped at the sensitive skin and danced the tip of his tongue along the edge of her mouth. Everything was a dance. Each movement choreographed by the same driving force inside, moving his hands over her hips and breasts, pulling her against him until she didn't know where she ended and he began. Each breath in unison, lost and falling into each other. There was nothing beyond blue eyes, nothing past his hands sliding across her skin, thumbs rubbing circles along the swell of her breasts until her knees buckled and her body was aching with anticipation.
"Liar." Strong arms lifted her onto the counter easily, pushing her legs apart so that he could wrap them around his waist. "Why don't you want to tell me it was Buffy?"
Faith smiled against his shoulder, knowing she hadn't fooled him for a second. "She'll want us to go back." He was messaging her back rhythmically, pushing ever so gently against her hips as his hands finished their arc. Just enough to push her against his body, feeling him pressing up against her. Hard against soft, burning through the thin fabric that still separated them.
"And?"
"Don't want to share." Truthfully, she was afraid that if she did anything, changed the slightest detail, the dream she was living would vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. That if she returned to Sunnydale, her life would once more fall to pieces.
"What don't you want to share?" He asked huskily, his tongue flicking out to catch her nipple, its rough texture smoothing over the hardened flesh with delicious heat.
She reached down, trailing her fingertips over his stomach and teasing the skin along the band of his boxer shorts. "A lot of things. Like this." Easing underneath the fabric, she curled her fingers around the shaft of his cock and gave him a gentle squeeze.
"What makes you think I'd share that particular item?" He raised one eyebrow in mock outrage. "And with who? Xander?"
Faith laughed, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. "I just don't want this to end."
"It won't." Tightening his grip around her waist, he pulled her weight into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom of the apartment.
"The eggs!" She protested as he lowered her onto the bed.
"Turned the stove off."
"They'll be cold."
"Hmm...too bad." His lips were already burning a track across her stomach, hands tracing the lines of the muscles flexing beneath her skin as she moved. "You're so beautiful. Amazing. Beautiful. Powerful. Beautiful."
"I get it." Faith grinned, savoring the thrill the touch of his skin gave her. She tingled under his hands and lips, her skin turning bit by bit into a layer of shivering electricity the longer he caressed her. Until she was so heady with the feeling that she could barely breathe but always wanting it to go on forever. He surprised her by rolling onto his back and pulling her with him, lightly holding onto her hips.
"I want to watch you." One hand strayed up her side to cup her breast, fingers catching her nipple as they played across her skin. "I want to see you."
Blushing a little self-consciously, Faith eased her weight onto her knees enough to lift her hips above his. The split second before he sunk into her, when the tip was pressing against the hyper-sensitive flesh, for that instant she was always shocked by the sensations and the realization that he would be inside of her. Then he pushed into her, stretching against the inner muscles until they settled around the familiar width. She decided that she preferred him warm-blooded and burning against her own heat. His eyelashes fluttered, sculpted lips parting as he stroked his hand up and down between the patch of curls between her legs and the valley of her breasts.
"Talk to me." He whispered softly, raising her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Say anything." The tip of his tongue was sending shivers up her arm to her spine.
"Spike."
"Good start."
"I don't...know." Her breath caught as he moved his hips, thrusting deeper into her body. "What to say."
"It'll come."
"Won't be the only thing." She was treated to his husky, male laugh that she had quickly become addicted to and leaned down to tug against his shoulders. "I want to hold you." Complying quickly, he shifted to a sitting position and pulled back against the headboard, arms wrapping possessively around her.
Faith watched her hands play over his shoulders, touching the scars that marred his perfect skin. He scarred now that he was alive, keeping the pale reminders of battle wounds. Fascinated, she traced one fingertip over the lines the same way he followed the tracks on her back and shoulders. Savoring the way their bodies fit together, her breasts pressed against his chest and his hips between her thighs. Down the expanse of his back, she marveled at the feel of his muscles beneath the skin as she slowly began to rock against him. Just enough to feel him shifting inside of her, pushing against the walls as she rolled back and rubbing the sensitive spot against his skin as she arched forward.
"Faith." Their breath mingled together, noses brushing lightly as she moved against him.
"So empty." Closing her eyes, she focused on the sensations coursing through her body. "I feel so empty when you're not inside me." His arms tightened around her for a moment before his hands began to explore again, one whispering across the scars that lined her back and the other moving between their bodies to tease the underside of her breast.
"So hot." It was more of a moan than a whisper.
"Everything fades away." Their lips were a hair's width apart, touching and not touching as they inhaled and exhaled. "Everything but you. The way you make me feel. Like I'm on fire." He stopped her abruptly, kissing her hard and urging her to increase the pace with pressure on her hips. Gasping for breath, she pulled her lips away and lifted up enough to increase the depth of the thrusts, sliding along more of the shaft with each roll. "I can feel you...so deep. So hard."
"God, Faith." Raggedly, he panted against her, eyes closed as he leaned back against the headboard.
"I don't know what this is...what you do to me." Tension began to radiate through her thighs and stomach, muscles quivering with anticipation. She began to move faster almost involuntarily, only able to think that she wanted more of him inside of her. Until there was nothing left between them, no boundaries, no limits. Completely and totally whole. She had never given herself to anyone, never abandoned all of herself to someone's touch, to lips and hands. Never had enough faith in someone to take that plunge and let them have that much power over her. Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms tightly around him. "For as long as it lasts...I'm yours. All yours."
"Faith."
"All of me. Every breath, every scar, every part of me."
"Faith...I can't...stop," Moaning, he buried his face in her neck.
Smiling, she leaned down to nibble at the edge of his ear, sliding the tip of her tongue along the groove and feeling him shudder against her. Holding onto him tightly, she heard him moan and felt his hands tighten on her hips as he pushed into her.
"Oh God...Faith." He was panting, shivering as he sunk back against the bed and gave her a lopsided grin. "Next time I ask you to talk to me...bloody ignore it."
"Why's that?" She asked coyly, tracing patterns over his chest.
"Other than the rather embarrassing fact that I just lost control like a virgin?" He rolled her over onto her back. "Your turn, Slayer."
"My turn?" Faith squirmed, succeeding in getting his hands several places that felt extremely good. "You're evil."
"Was evil." He tipped his head to the side and smiled down at her. "Now I'm just the man who's falling in love with you."
Faith stopped moving, searching his face for any trace or hint that it might not be true. There was nothing but honesty in his eyes as he waited for her reaction. Her face flushed crimson and she opened her mouth without any words ready to come out.
"Shhh." His fingers brushed against her lips, delicate as butterfly wings. "You don't have to say anything. This is enough for me."
He distracted her with his hands and lips, dipping his fingers into her heat and pushing deep inside her until her back arched with the pleasure. Lips were spreading fire across her skin, down the inside of her thigh and finally bathing her center with it. Licking, suckling, his teeth brushing tenderly against the skin as she writhed. Every inch of her body was throbbing, muscles taut as guitar strings until she thought she would snap, shattering into a million pieces. Her senses overloaded with the feel of his skin, fingers, tongue. The smell of his body, blond hair curling around her fingers as she buried her hands in the curls. All that mattered was the way he made her feel. There was nothing beyond that bed, that room. Beyond his hands and his heat.
Release came suddenly, crashing through her with the force of a hurricane and leaving her breathless, speechless. Eyes open wide as the orgasm ripped through her body, white-hot lighting searing through veins and muscles until every part of her was scorched and raw. Control was impossible, her body lost in the wave, bucking and twisting against him. It faded away gradually, leaving her shaky and weak.
"Hey." Spike nuzzled her ear softly, pulling her against his body in a comforting embrace.
"Hey."
"Mmmm. Still want eggs?"
Faith smiled dazedly up at him, "I lied. When I said I don't know what this is."
"Oh?"
"I know what this is." She nestled against his chest sleepily.
"And what's that, luv?"
"Heaven."
"You're sure this came from Detective Williams?" Benjamin Moore looked up from his computer screen as the door to the lab swung shut. His desk was neatly organized into piles, drawers, and file folders. Around him was the heart of the Boston teams research facilities, equipped with all the latest technology to study demons. What made them tick and preferably what made them stop ticking.
Frye nodded, crossing his arms as he pulled up a chair. "Faith had his blood all over her. I helped her clean up."
"And hijacked a sample. You have a devious mind, Birkman."
"Just tell me what he is, Ben."
"Honest answer? No fucking clue."
"But he's not human."
"Oh, he's definitely not human." Ben clicked through a series of folders, navigating through files to pull up a series of charts and images. "He's got the basics of human blood. Type, the general structure, and ratios are all the same. But when you go deeper...crack open the DNA and take a peek. Worlds of difference."
Frye frowned at the screen, "And these differences...what could they do?"
"They could do just about anything really. Most of them are where normal humans have sets of inactive genes. The genes that evolution turned off centuries ago. His are not only active...they're entirely different base pairs." Ben was typing a series of numbers into the computer. "I got a looksie at the medical files for your mystery man and I think I can give you an idea of what they might be doing. The guy bounced back like the Energizer Bunny when he should have bought the farm. He was already healing when the doctors got to him. Norris didn't even want to put stitches in because, and this is a direct quote, he could watch the tissue healing. Real time. You read any comic books as a kid, Frye?"
"A few."
"Well, our Mr. Williams would make Stan Lee proud."
"Who?"
"X-Men? Where have you been?" With a long sigh, Ben hit the enter button and sent the electronic brain away to think. "I'm surprised the doctors didn't stow him away in an Erlenmeyer somewhere. Probably didn't want to piss the Slayer off and find themselves at the wrong end of a pointy weapon."
"Randy saw him put his fist through a vampire's chest...rip the heart right out."
"If you believe Randy."
"I do." He tapped his pencil on the counter as he considered the possibilities. "Anything else?"
"There is one more thing." Ben glanced around the lab a little nervously. "We're not supposed to be messing with this stuff. After the shit that went down in Sunnydale, if you even look at one of the Slayers the wrong way you're up for a court martial."
"But?"
"I pulled a sample of Faith's blood and ran it against Davis'."
"A match?"
"Not quite but it's closer than anything else." Ben motioned to another set of diagrams, dragging the two imaged double helixes side by side with a quick swipe of his mouse. "General Crazy Ass isolated which genes are the Slayer genes, they're highlighted in yellow...here. It's a specific set that isn't seen in normal people and only become active when the girl is called...no idea on how that works either. Now look at Davis'."
"What am I seeing here?" To Frye, it was a colorful patchwork of fancy blocks and lines.
"The same goddamn genes. Only the segment of foreign base pairs is longer, there are more of them."
"So he's a Slayer? A male Slayer?"
"He's more than that, my friend." Ben grinned. "Safe to say he can do anything a Slayer can plus a bit more on the side."
Frye looked back and forth between the two sets of pictures for a few moments before he reached down for his backpack. "I want to show you something. Probably just bring up more questions." Pulling a folder out of the pack, he opened it carefully and pulled out several glossy eight by tens. The familiar face of Davis Williams stared out of the pages, identical down to the leather jacket and bleached hair.
"Nice prints...what kind of resolution?"
"You're missing the point. Who's the guy in the photos?"
"Detective Williams." Ben answered, puzzled. "You sent a photo with the blood sample."
"Check the time stamp."
"A year ago. So what?"
"Those pictures are from the Watcher's Council and they aren't pictures of Davis Williams." Frye picked up the pencil again and began to tap it absently on his knee. "They're pictures of Spike. Also known as William the Bloody, sired by Drusilla in 1880. Dusted about six months ago in New Orleans according to the Council."
"A vampire?"
"A vampire."
"It's possible that they're identical by chance...odds are pretty steep but not technically impossible. You're sure this isn't Williams?"
"The Council's pretty sure." Frye shrugged, staring at his pencil as though it had the answers he was looking for. "As sure as I am that Davis Williams has a heartbeat and no sunlight issues." He'd seen Davis and Faith together, hand and hand, looking for all the world like a newlywed couple as they laughed their way down the sidewalk. He'd seen them fight together. Two angels of death in black leather, each movement perfectly in synch and evenly matched in strength and speed.
"This isn't because she's sleeping with him...is it?"
"According to the Council, she was fucking Spike the vampire before she killed him." The words tasted bitter, poisonous, and he wished he'd never made that phone call. Never asked the right questions and gotten all the wrong answers.
"Twisted."
"I hear it's a Slayer thing. So no, it's not about her and Davis." He shifted in his seat and stopped tapping for a moment. "I'm curious. I want to know what he is and where he came from. If he is Spike reincarnate or brought back to life somehow...I want to know how and why."
"Asking the unanswerable questions here."
"There have to be answers out there somewhere. Someone has to know what happened."
Spike closed the cupboard door and turned back to the Slayer watching him. "You know there's not a drop of alcohol in this place?"
"I know." Her voice stayed casual even though she stiffened just enough for him to notice the change in demeanor. It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned liquor and watched her go distant. She'd ordered a glass of water at the restaurant the night before and artfully skirted his questions with offhand comments about not being in the mood and driving home.
"Don't remember you having anything against a drink now and then." Pressing a little, trying to find his way into the maze that was Faith. He knew that she had let him further into her world than she had let anyone, let him see inside her where she was human and fragile. But there were pieces of her still locked tightly away from his questions.
"Things change." Dismissing the topic with a casual shrug, Faith headed into the living room and settled onto the couch with a magazine.
He wasn't sure if he was supposed to follow her, still feeling out the boundaries and expectations of their relationship. The spacious apartment had more than accommodated his arrival, what few things he had decided to keep as reminders of his brief months in idyllic human ignorance before the past had come back to haunt him. Clothes mostly, odds and ends, photographs of a past that had never happened. They'd fallen into an easy rhythm of work and play. Living apart had never been considered, never a possibility now that they had managed to find each other again. He returned to the force as soon as he could shoot straight and after he'd worked out all the lies in his head.
Lying to the men he had considered friends and colleagues was difficult, lying to the press was easy. Lying to Dr. Coleman had fifty-fifty odds of blowing up in his face but if she had doubts about his story, she hadn't voiced them. In the end, he didn't have the heart to ruin the name and legacy of Lieutenant Scott Merritt. There was a detailed story, aided in fabrication by the team of misfits that Faith worked with. The government also had a vested interest in keeping the truth under wraps, supplying the evidence Spike needed and sneaking in through the technological back doors to make the numbers add up. Davis Williams was once more in the headlines, his face and words splattered in ink everywhere he turned until the next story came along.
The simplest lies were always the best. Merritt had been working with the DEA, investigating a drug ring operating out of the warehouse district and spreading throughout the east coast. Believable enough. Suspecting that someone inside the force was either turning a blind eye or taking in something on the side, the Lieutenant had turned to Spike as a cop he knew he could trust. The story unraveled from there. Mistakes made, reconnaissance gone south and Merritt had died in the crossfire as the criminals panicked. Two fingers crossed behind their back, the boys at the DEA had managed to produce half a dozen types of drugs at the crime scene like a bouquet of mild-altering rabbits out of a smoking hat. Beyond that, they'd found a worn section of pipe in the underground gas line that had been struck by a stray bullet, incinerating the building above it and half of the surrounding block. All wrapped in a neat, tidy package of lies and falsification. But the Lieutenant had gotten a heart-wrenching tribute at his funeral, an American flag draped over his casket, and a twenty-one gun salute. He'd died a hero in the war against crime.
Life was a funny thing.
He knew why Faith was afraid to tell the Scoobies he was alive, was terrified himself of what would happen if they knew. Every time his life seemed to be making a turn for the better was when it all went to Hell. Here, now, he felt as though his most incredible dream had come true. He was almost too afraid to even breathe, afraid that it was all going to fall apart again. There was plenty of tension in their own backyard as it was. The crew had uneasily welcomed him into their midst, never truly vocalizing the fact that he wasn't quite like the rest of them. Stronger, faster, he and Faith left the rest of them stomping their feet, milling around with nothing to do as the Slayer and her Who-Knows-What boyfriend took the demon world to the cleaners. Beyond that, he didn't know what Faith had told her former lover but Frye was uncharacteristically quiet and a little pinched around the edges when he spoke to Spike.
Spike couldn't blame him. He knew what it felt like to imagine Faith with someone else. Knew how infuriating and painful it must be. He wasn't about to rock that boat either. She was his, in the bedroom and out of it, and there was no fucking way any other man was going to lay a finger on her. Machismo and testosterone aside, he knew it was her decision and he was determined to hold on to her as long as he could. As long as she wanted him, he would be there.
He heard the cell phone ring. Knew from the way her voice dropped that it was Frye and he had to take a deep breath to keep from getting close enough to hear the conversation. It wasn't any of his business. Almost inaudibly, the phone clicked shut and the silence thickened to the consistency of molasses, giving the impression that time and light slowed down in their furious racing. Stuck in the conspicuous absence of sound, wild beasts with invisible hooves firmly planted in a tar bed. He waited. Until he heard the couch shift as her weight left the cushions and the soft footfalls as she returned to the kitchen.
"He found her." Her voice was stone, cold and heavy.
Spike only nodded and opened his arms, hugging her tightly when she came to him. "Right then. We'll make a day of it. See the sights, do some shopping. Sound good?"
"Yeah." She pulled away, looking around aimlessly as she collected her things. Car keys, wallet, a jacket in case the weather turned. Fall was in full swing, leaves changing and lighting up the New England area in a blaze of color. Cold air had crept into the city, leaving a chill in the wind even when the sun still shone down brightly.
Tugging the keys from her fingers, he took her hand as they left the apartment. "Got the address?"
"Here." She stuffed the crumpled piece of paper into his jacket pocket, eyes still darting around nervously.
"Hungry?"
"No. I'm good."
Conversation was kept light and superficial as they drove, commenting on the weather or the color of the leaves. About places they'd heard about, a new dance club opening up that might be worth trying. The idle banter of two people talking to reassure each other that they were still there, still together.
"You're gonna be fine, luv." He broke the unwritten law of subject skirting with a quick glance toward the passenger seat.
"I can't...I can't even tell you how much I hate her." Faith was staring out the window.
"It's over now."
"It's never over, is it?" Shifting in the seat, she sought out his hand, thumb stroking the back of his fingers lightly. "The past is always there. Always comes back. I tried running away, that turned out fucking fantastic with an extra serving of jail time. Tried fighting back, tried forgetting about it. Tried drinking." She stopped abruptly, as though there had been more to the sentence but she didn't want to finish it. "But it never goes away."
"No. It never does."
"Then what's the point of doing this? So the bitch is still alive. Why should I care?" Her voice dropped, tired and strained. "Why should I care?"
Unable to think of a good reason and knowing that despite her protests, she actually did care, Spike kept his eyes on the road as he drove toward the address in his pocket. He took the longest route he could think of that wouldn't cross state lines or require a plane ticket. Weaving through Boston, closing the circle on the rundown apartment complex that would bring Faith back to her past. It was a line he'd crossed more than a century before and it had scarred him. He wasn't sure which was worse, having a mother who doted on him turn into a demon or a mother who had never loved him at all. The experience was so far beyond his experience and imagination, he couldn't begin to understand.
"Sorry." Shaking herself visibly, she smiled. "Been crazy moody for the last few days."
"Woman's prerogative." He grinned when she punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I have to use that arm, Slayer."
"Really? What for?" She raised an eyebrow, brown eyes raking down his chest suggestively.
"Killing vampires...of course."
"Just that?"
"Maybe a few other demons...throw down a beating or two." Winking playfully, he made a right turn and slowly eased into a parking space outside their destination. He left the engine running, half expecting her to change her mind and want to go home.
"It doesn't seem real." She mused, staring out the window at the rundown building. "New address...same shitty apartment building. Wonder if she still wears that cheap perfume. Supposed to smell like wildflowers."
"Didn't fill your head with images of poppy fields?"
"Couldn't smell anything but the schnapps." Steeling herself, she climbed out of the car and took up a patch of concrete to stare up at the building.
Spike followed her, one hand raising enough to rest comfortably against her shoulder blades, letting her know that he was with her every step of the way. She wasn't alone. Despite the cool air outside, the hallways of the building were stifling and oppressive. Stained carpet and peeling wallpaper added to the gloom, building images of shouting tenants, kids in second or third hand clothes with dirty faces. Broken bottles and cigarette burns. It wasn't a place that welcomed or brought back memories of Grandma's cooking, crackling fireplaces, and hot cocoa. Dead end lives collecting behind battered doors lining the narrow hallways, tainting the air with pent-up anger and despair as thick as the smoke.
"206. This is it." Faith took a deep breath as she squared off against the door, looking more like she was preparing for battle than meeting her mother.
"You don't have to do this, luv." Spike caressed her shoulders gently, kissing the back of her neck.
"Yeah...I do." She turned her head just enough to brush her temple against his lips and give him a smile. "And it was your idea in the first place."
"I'd offer to bite her..."
"But no fangs."
"Pity."
"Yeah...well...stakes work just as well on humans as they do vamps."
Spike brushed his lips over her hair, squeezing her shoulders one last time before he moved back and took a deep breath, "Let's do it then. Those hot fudge sundaes won't wait forever."
"Right." With a brusque nod, she raised one fist and rapped hard on the flimsy door. They waited. Nearly a minute had passed before they heard footsteps behind the wood and the sound of a lock sliding away. The door opened, chain still attached, just enough for a woman's face to peer into the hallway.
"Whatever you're selling, I don't want it." She snapped angrily before moving to close the door.
"Wait!" Faith put her hand out to stop the door from shutting completely. "Mom?"
More silence. The woman stared at them for a few long seconds with a puzzled look on her face before she reached for the chain, reopening the door once it was unlatched. Spike was amazed how much she resembled Faith when he finally got a good look at her. Same bone structure, same wide brown eyes and dark hair. It was streaked with gray, tugged tightly into a severe ponytail that conflicted with the flamboyant pants and snug tank top. Gaudy earrings dangled from her ears, wrinkles deepening as she sucked at her cigarette.
"Well, well...little Firecracker's finally come home." It was the same rich, husky voice that came from Faith's lips, edged with the hardness of someone who'd lived a long, hard life.
"I was in the neighborhood." Faith offered vaguely.
"Almost didn't recognize you. What the hell happened to your face?"
"Car accident." She was getting more agitated, more defensive by the syllable.
"Who's the babe?" Faith's mother eyed Spike appreciatively and held out her hand, complete with long, lacquered nails at the end. "I'm Emma. Don't suppose she told you that, did she?"
Spike glanced at Faith quickly, seeing her look down at the floor as he shook her mother's hand. "It didn't come up, ma'am."
"Don't ma'am me...I'm not that old." The laugh was harsh from years of smoking, her thumb rubbing against the back of Spike's hand as she pushed open the door with her hip and nodded toward the dim interior. "Come on in, handsome."
"We don't want to take up too much of your time." Spike kept one hand on Faith's lower back protectively as they stepped through the threshold.
"I have a few minutes to spare." Emma shoved a pile of magazines off of the battered sofa before settling into an equally ragged easy chair. Cigarette smoke curling around her fingers, she reached for a tumbler sitting on the table beside the chair and sipped at her drink. "So you've come back to check in on your dear old mother."
"Something like that." Faith answered stiffly as she took a seat on the sofa, hands gripping the jacket on her lap tightly.
"Looks like you're doing well for yourself." Brown eyes raked over Faith with casual dismissal. "Nice boots."
"They do."
"Expensive."
"They were."
Spike sat back uneasily, wondering if he should have come fully armed in case the two women decided to fight it out. The room was unkempt and shabby, whatever money she earned was obviously spent on something other than furnishings and cleaning supplies. Faded magazines, a few empty beer bottles tucked into corners, and a layer of dust accumulating over every flat surface. One of the lamps was giving off a faint buzzing noise, the bulb flickering. There were pictures hanging on the walls and some without frames tacked to the plaster. None of them were of Faith.
"How much did he cost?" The rough voice jerked him back from his perusal of the rooms. A gentle touch from Faith let him know that he didn't need to interfere.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Faith demanded coolly.
"Come on...you expect me to believe that you snagged this guy with that face? Are you even wearing cover-up?" One eyebrow arched disdainfully. "I taught you better than that."
"You taught me." Faith repeated incredulously. "What exactly do you think that you taught me?"
"Probably everything you know."
"You don't know me."
"Don't I?" Fake nails scratched against the ashtray as she stubbed out her cigarette. "I carried you in my body for nine months. I raised you. Like hell I don't know you."
"And where have you been for the rest of my life?"
"You're the one who left, Faith. Not me."
"I left...I left because you were too drunk to even remember who I was. I left because you cared more about getting your fix than stopping that bastard Shane from coming into my bedroom at night."
"You always were an ungrateful brat."
"And you're still a worthless bitch."
Spike was reeling as the conversation whipped past him. One more piece of the Faith puzzle, one more piece of her that she had carefully locked away and kept from him. His first impulse was to pull her out of there, pick her up and carry her away from the harpy with painted claws, spitting whiskey scented barbs. Away from the woman who was still doing damage years after the events.
Emma's hand trembled as she finished off the glass of liquor and reached for the pack of cigarettes. "So you came back to tell me how all your problems are my fault. Blame it all on me. Go ahead. I don't give a fuck."
"Did you ever?" Faith's knuckles were white.
"About you?" Emma laughed, cruel and mocking. "You were a goddamn mistake. Asshole told me he was fixed and I believed the fucker. I was sixteen."
"Who was he? Do you even know that much?"
"Hell no. Even if he told me his name...I was too high to care."
Faith crumbled a little, eyes dropping to the coffee table in front of them. Instinctively, Spike slipped his arm around her back for reassurance. His own fists were aching for a go at the older woman. It hadn't occurred to him that Faith might be looking for her father, that she might not know who he was. That her own mother didn't know the father of her child.
"This was a waste of time." Faith moved to get up.
"What? No hug?" Emma sneered bitterly. "Always thinking about yourself. Poor Faith, her mother did her wrong. Did you ever think about me? About my life? What I wanted?"
"What did you want? Cause it sure as hell wasn't me."
"Having you ruined my life. Screaming needy little brat...couldn't get a moment's peace until you ran away. And now you come waltzing back with your fancy boots to show me how well you're doing." Puffing furiously, she leaned back in the chair and propped her feet up on the table. "You were worthless from the day you were born and you're still worthless. Fucking everything with a dick...you didn't think I knew about that, did you? Didn't think I knew about the boys climbing in your window at night? Does your pretty boytoy know all about that? How much is he paying you to fuck him? Cause you aren't worth shit."
"Do not bring him into this." Faith snarled, shoulders tensing.
"The only thing you ever did for me was get Shane to drop the price a few bucks."
Spike came off the couch cushion a second before Faith, hurling the coffee table across the room where it shattered against the wall, sending a cascade of photos crashing to the floor and rattling the lamps. Grabbing Emma's hand hard enough to crunch the bones together and make her cry out, he wrenched the cigarette from her fingers and yanked her out of the chair. One hand closed around the bitch's neck but all Spike could see was her twisted smile as she let her dealer destroy her own daughter.
"Spike! No!" Faith dragged him away, pulling his fingers off her mother's throat and shoving him toward the far side of the room.
"Sorry." He bit out, hands still itching to kill.
Emma gasped for air, collapsing back into the chair and staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. "You bastard." She managed to cough, reaching for her empty glass. "I'm calling the cops."
Faith put both hands down on the armrests and looked her mother squarely in the face, "He is a cop. And believe me when I tell you that no one will listen to you. No one will miss you if you suddenly disappear and no one will look for your body." Ignoring her mother's spluttering denials, Faith continued. "Do you want to know what you taught me? You taught me that the world is an ugly, horrible place. You taught me that I was nothing, that I would always be nothing. You taught me to hate...to be angry. You taught me that there is no such thing as love, that it's all about money and taking care of number one."
Emma glanced at Spike warily, cowering in the chair. "He's a cop?"
"In fact, he's a goddamn American hero." Faith snatched the newspaper crumpled on the floor and tossed it onto her mother's lap, Spike's picture filling the front page. "What's the matter, mom? Can't you read?" Her mother's face paled as she blinked down at the newspaper, comparing the image to Spike.
"Well...I..." she stammered nervously.
"Do you want to know something else?" Faith pulled away. "You were wrong about all of it. The world isn't ugly or horrible. Maybe it's not perfect but there are still good people out there. There are people who care, people who are capable of love. People who aren't like you, who aren't so fucked up that they don't even know what it is to be happy. And I am not nothing. I'm part of something you wouldn't even understand." She paused to take a deep breath. "This man...he doesn't pay me, I don't pay him. He wants me. Me. And when he looks at me, he sees what you never could."
Spike heard her voice break and stepped forward to take her arm, "Let's go, luv. We're done here."
"It's over now, mom." A muscle ticked in Faith's jaw. "You're dead to me." She turned so sharply that she nearly ran into Spike, headed for the front door like a freight train. He turned to follow her, not daring to even look back.
"Is it true?" Emma croaked. "What she said?"
"Every
word." He stopped halfway down the hall.
"Do you love her?"
He glanced back over his shoulder at the suddenly frail looking woman standing behind him. At the image of what Faith would and would never be. Her hair would streak with gray, wrinkles would line her face as the years marched by. But Faith would never be weak, never be broken. In that moment, he realized that he did love her. Not the way he had loved Dru or Buffy but it was just as real. A new kind of love that he didn't understand, hadn't felt before. He nodded, waiting for a caustic remark from the bitter woman's lips.
Instead, she sighed and rubbed at her throat. "Then she did okay for herself. Didn't turn out like me."
"No. She didn't turn out like you."
"Good." Reluctantly, she turned back to the armchair and pulled out another cigarette. "We always hated each other."
"I've only known you for twenty minutes and I hate you."
Emma cackled, snorting with laughter as she began picking up the pieces of the coffee table, "Yeah...well, that makes two of us."
"Why'd you do it?" He had to ask. Morbidly, stupidly, he had to ask. "Hurt her like that."
Straightening, she waved to the door. "Get out of here. I've had enough of this fucking soap opera for one day. You won't be back so don't bother saying goodbye. Just shut the door on your way out."
"My pleasure." He slammed the door behind him hard enough to knock the remaining pictures off of the wall and hurried from the building, looking around anxiously for Faith. She was sitting in the car, eyes closed and head resting on the arm draped out of the car window.
"Did you kill her?" She asked without opening her eyes.
"Not worth the effort." He took her hand gently, crouching down on the curb beside the car.
"Too bad." The corner of her mouth quirked and her lashes fluttered for a second before they rose. "You owe me a double hot fudge sundae with sprinkles."
"I don't know about the sprinkles." He teased.
"That was totally sprinkles worthy."
"All right...sprinkles it is."
"And a cherry on the top."
"And a cherry."
It was a bright and sunny day in the photograph. Cordelia glanced at it curiously before dropping it on Wesley's desk. Warm sand, warm azure water capped with white frosting as it lapped up against the miniscule people captured in that happy moment on the beach. Brazil. Rio de Janeiro. He looked as though he'd never gotten a postcard before and she was pretty sure he didn't know anyone in Brazil. Mostly sure. There was one person who might be there but she wouldn't have a reason to send him a postcard. She knew that he wanted it to be from Cara but he didn't dare hope for it. Didn't dare flip over the stiff paper and read the handwriting on the back just in case it wasn't from her and he would be left wondering if she was still alive. Wondering if she was still trapped in the Hell of Lilah's making. If she'd killed any more human beings since Sunnydale. They were all asking themselves the same questions.
"Aren't you going to read it?" Taking her cue from Angel's surreptitious nod, Cordelia took a seat across from Wesley, stirring her coffee lazily. "Usually the whole point of sending a postcard is to...you know...keep in touch. Kinda helps to read it."
"I was just thinking." The postcard slid through his fingers and scraped against the tabletop.
"I can see the signature from here, do you want me to tell you who it's from?"
Wesley smiled tolerantly, "Why don't you read the whole thing, Cordy? I know you're dying to get your hands on it."
"All right then. All you had to do was ask." She snatched the postcard out of his hand and made a big show of getting ready to read it. It was addressed to 'Watcher', which could only be Wesley and that meant it was from Cara. Good, maybe he'd stop moping. She kept reading. Five words. The blood was draining from her face and head, leaving her dizzy and shaking. She wondered when the world had started spinning and playing musical chairs with her sanity.
"Cordelia?"
"It says," Her voice trembled as she stared bleakly at the postcard. "Watcher."
"Yes?" There was obvious relief in his voice, knowing it was from Cara.
"Lilah," Cordy choked on the word. "It says...Lilah killed Connor. Cara." More silence. She could feel Angel's eyes on the back of her head and knew that Wesley had turned to stone, his face loosing all expression as his brain processed those five words.
The first to break the silence, Angel left his seat and moved toward them, "Cordy?"
"I don't understand." She gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. "You told me that you saw it. Saw Jasmine kill Connor. Isn't that what happened?" The memory of waking up and hearing Angel's voice telling her that Connor was dead, that Jasmine had murdered him, was etched so deeply in her mind that she could even remember what the vampire had been wearing, the look on Fred's face, the smell of the flowers sitting next to the bed. Every detail was as fresh as it had been that moment and she had relived it every day for nearly three years.
"That's not entirely correct." Wesley's eyes dropped to his desk.
"Not entirely correct? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Cordy." Angel reached out to touch her and she knocked his hand away.
"Don't Cordy me! Did she or did she not kill your son?"
"Please."
"Do I need to repeat the question?"
"It's complicated."
"Then simpify."
Angel sighed. That was a bad sign. "I wasn't there. What I thought, what we thought happened. He killed Jasmine. I watched him walk away and I knew...that he was broken. He had nothing left to live for."
"Keep talking." She ordered sharply, realizing where he was heading and trying to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes.
"I saw him fall. He was gone when I reached him." His voice shook slightly and he was staring at the floor. "I didn't see anyone else and I thought he jumped. I thought it was suicide."
"And you told me she killed him?"
"I didn't want you to feel guilty."
She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him, of his pain and his utter stupidity. How could he not know her well enough to know that she would rather know the truth regardless of how painful it was? Seven years and he didn't even know that much about her. Truth, blatant ugly truth she had wielded as a weapon all her life. Speaking her mind, throwing white lies and anything like them out the window, truth was such a part of her that she couldn't even imagine what kind of person would spin the lies she was hearing. Connor had been the only one to leave off the sugarcoating, to tell it like it was and be perfectly honest with her.
Wesley was frowning down at the card, "Lilah must have pushed him, gotten behind him somehow. If he was distracted."
Cordy came to life with a flourish. "I am going to cut that lying head off for the last time and nail it to my wall as a trophy! If she thinks for one second that she can get away with this."
"She doesn't." Lilah's alto voice interrupted her rant, smiling sadly at Wesley as she closed the main door behind her. "Hello lover."
"What are you doing here?" Wesley stood up slowly, both hands flat on his table.
"Saying goodbye. But you could've figured that out by yourselves. Always knew that brain of yours would come in handy." The former lawyer touched her neck absently. "Now that you know, time's up and I'm headed back to Hell. I'd just distract you if I stayed. Something about a vampire who tends to become obsessed with revenge."
"You killed him." Angel was frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare.
"I did. What can I say? Sorry."
"I don't think sorry is quite good enough." Wesley answered dryly.
"The best part is that your Slayer probably thought she killed him since she has my memories. You want my guess? That's why she didn't come back." Lilah shrugged and crossed to one of the bookshelves, running her fingers lightly over the books. "I'd love to say it's been fun working for you but it really hasn't and I don't feel like lying anymore."
"Why?" Very carefully, deliberately, Angel kept his hands unclenched and at his sides.
"Honestly? I wanted to." Lilah didn't turn around, continuing to scan the bookshelf. "Of course there's more to it than that but I can't tell you without getting into more trouble with the higher ups and believe me when I tell you that the shit hit the fan over this Slayer nightmare." Finally she turned around and smiled. "I can tell you this much. Everything I know...she knows."
"What do you mean?"
"Cara. Your Slayer. Do you have any idea how much it costs to change that many passwords? They're even replacing the regular locks. You'll get your keys on Monday."
"No more riddles, Lilah." Anger crept into Wesley's voice.
"No riddles, no games. The world is changing and the Slayers are number one on the hit list. But it's bigger than that, bigger than you and me, bigger than Wolfram and Hart."
"And Cara knows this?"
"She doesn't know what she knows, hasn't put the pieces together yet. It'll take her a while to make sense of the alphabet soup stuck in her head and figure it all out. The Senior Partners were hoping that she wouldn't be lucid to write that postcard but apparently she's got a better grip on sanity than we'd like." Lines formed over her brow as she frowned. "Whoever messed with the neural transfer knew what they were doing, exactly which memories to give her. It's been right there in front of you the whole time and no one saw it. Not even us."
"Why are you telling us this?"
"Because I have nothing left to lose. Except the witty banter and the pleasure of your company which...actually...can't say I'll miss it all that much."
"And you're saying that Cara knows what's going to happen to the Slayers?" Angel was watching her like a hawk, indecision warring across his face.
"More than that, my sunlight challenged nemesis. She knows how to get your Shanshu."