Deliverance by angelic_amy

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 ::

Chapter 9: Replacement

His heart sank.

From the moment Giles had stepped foot in Boston he’d been certain he was in the right place. So sure this was where he’d find her. Find his slayer. Find Buffy.

It wasn’t to be.

Following the information he’d gathered and the leads he’d been tipped off to, Giles had made his way toward the seedier side of town. If there was such a differentiation. For over an hour he’d searched the darkened alleyways, watching, waiting. And all the while hoping.

Then the sounds of a scuffle had met his ears. Grunts of exertion, the crack of breaking bones, and moans of pain… all sounds of a fight. He’d pursued the noise, seeking to locate where they were coming from. A growl pierced the air and the hairs went up on the back of Giles’ neck. He was certain this was not just a normal fight; there was a demonic presence which meant maybe, just maybe, he was at the right place. When a female laugh tinkled the night air before he rounded the last corner it deflated his burgeoning hope. It wasn’t Buffy; he knew it before he had even laid eyes on the girl.

Not his slayer, but he was certain she was in fact a chosen one.

A strangled cry and the vampire was dust.

Giles watched as the brunette brushed the demonic remains from her rather revealing outfit and turned to walk away in the opposite direction.

“You dropped your shoulder,” he called out after her.

The girl stopped, pivoting slowly. A perfectly manicured brow arched in contemplation.

“Yeah? Fancy taking me for a ride, gramps?” she taunted, her chocolate coloured eyes raking up and down his body scandalously. To his credit Giles didn’t flinch. “Help me brush up on my… skills.”

“Further training would be beneficial,” he replied, his voice devoid of any acknowledgement to the true nature of her comments, ever the consummate professional.

“Oh really?” That brow lifted again, her arms settling on her hips as she thrust her chest forward.

Giles nodded. “Rupert Giles, Coun—”

“Council of Watchers.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I couldn’t spot it a mile away. You Watchers are all the same. Upper crust accents, head-to-foot tweed; it wasn’t exactly hard to pick, Jeeves.”

“Giles,” he corrected automatically.

“Whatever,” she shrugged.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

Her eyes studied him for a moment, as if trying to make a decision about whether to give up her identity or offer an alias. When she figured all it would take is a quick phone call to verify her identity anyway she went with the truth. “Faith Lehane,” she introduced. “And I’m not currently shopping for a Watcher at the mo, G.”

“Giles.” He grit his teeth, ignoring the smirk she shot him in response. “If you are without Council support I am going to have to insist on accompanying you back to your quarters. We’ll need to inform—”

“The chivalry act doesn’t fly with me, Giles,” she replied, deliberately drawing out his name. “If you wanted to get me someplace more private—”

“How did your watcher die?” Giles interrupted, cutting off her lewd suggestion and redirecting the conversation at the same time. When she flinched ever so slightly, the first emotional reaction which differed from the devil-may-care attitude she exuded, Giles knew he’d hit a nerve.

“Vampire, what else?” Faith laughed hollowly. “What a cliché, right?”

“And the demon?”

“I’m on it.”

“Ms Lehane—”

“It’s Faith, plain and simple. Cut the Ms crap.”

“Faith,” Giles drawled in a similar manner to her earlier treatment of his name. He refrained from mentioning the demon responsible for her watcher’s death again. The vampire would have to be dealt with eventually, but right now Giles had an unguarded Hellmouth he should be watching over. “I can present you with two options. One, I can alert Council Headquarters to the demise of your watcher.” Faith stiffened but Giles continued, allowing her to continue with the pretence that nothing was wrong. “They’ll most likely insist I remain here in Boston until a new watcher can be assigned. Or there is the possibility you’ll be summoned.”

“To jolly old England?” she scoffed, believing he was pulling her leg.

“It’s not unheard of in such cases.”

The disbelief fled her eyes. “And option two?”

“You return with me to Sunnydale. As you may be aware the town is situated over a hellmouth. With my slayer currently…” He searched for a delicate manner to share the information, settling on a half-lie as opposed to full on deception. “Indisposed elsewhere, we could certainly use the help maintaining order.”

“Your slayer?” She frowned in puzzlement. “But my watcher said—”

“Buffy is an anomaly,” Giles informed briskly, not wanting to betray his affection for his charge. “She drowned but was revived soon after, long enough for the calling to pass onto the next chosen.”

Faith considered the information for a moment before nodding. “Cool. So tell me about this Hellmouth, sounds wicked fierce. You get a lot of demon activity down there?”

“I take it I should prepare return travel arrangements for two?” Giles surmised.

Again Faith nodded. “Count me in G-iles,” she finished when she caught the watcher’s frown. “So. When do I get to meet B? It could be fun having a sister slayer around.”

Giles’ shoulders stiffened slightly before he forced himself to relax. “I’ll arrange a meeting upon her return.”

The dark haired slayer eyed him suspiciously, knowing there was a story there he wasn’t sharing, but decided to let it drop. For now. “Five by five. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” she suggested with a saucy grin. “This town’s dead anyhow.”

With a curt nod he waved his hand toward the mouth of the alleyway. “Shall we?”

The slayer followed him without further argument.

Giles would be returning to Sunnydale without Buffy, but he would not be empty-handed.

He just hoped that, with time, his slayer returned.

~*~*~

Nestled beneath the covers of her bed, Buffy was sleeping fitfully, plagued by dreams of a life left behind.

Time almost seemed to move in slow motion, as if it had been slowed to the point where the images before her became snapshots, each as gut-wrenching as the next. Specific moments stood out from the rest.

Xander’s crushed hope when she rejected him on the Bronze dance floor.

Giles’ sorrow filled eyes at the funeral of Jenny Calender. The agony of their combined loss as they both broke down outside the burning factory.

Willow rendered unconscious due to Angelus’ ambush.

Joyce’s disappointment and shock when she found out about her daughter’s secret life. Complete incomprehension as to who stood before her. The lack of recognition in her mother’s eyes opened old wounds from when her parents divorced.

The shock and betrayal in Angel’s eyes upon finding himself skewered to the demon Acathla. His eyes haunted her. Surprise, anguish, love, even forgiveness; they all flickered through his eyes before the end. The end. Even when dreaming that concept hurt.

A sob broke from Buffy’s lips but she didn’t wake.

Even when sleeping it seemed she was afforded no true rest, haunted by the ghosts of her past.

~*~*~

Spike’s muscles were screaming in protest. Despite knowing it was a pointless activity he tested the bonds again, just in case by some miracle they’d managed to loosen. Careless is one thing the Slayer most certainly was not. He was well and truly secured, effectively cutting off his artificial circulation.

With a sigh of resignation he attempted to make himself as comfortable as possible. He’d just have to wait it out. He’d promised, and for some unexplainable reason he meant it.

Spike would stay quiet and let the Slayer sleep.

Physical pain he could deal with, no worries. It was the boredom which would eventually do him in.

He shifted again, muttering quietly to himself. Spike was determined that once he was set free he was going to make some changes, starting with his drinking habits. If it weren’t for the sleeping girl in the next room he’d have found himself in a far more life-threatening situation than the one present. He’d be dead. Dust.

Gone.

The thought caused a shudder to roll through him. While Spike knew he was strong and cunning enough that he could fight his way out of a sticky situation, he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe himself untouchable. Sunlight promised a flamey death, and if not for Buffy’s confused reaction to his plight the LA vamp mortality rate would’ve been one higher.

Why did she save him?

He still hadn’t worked that part out entirely. Matter of fact he didn’t think he’d asked, was too blown away by the how of her actions to question the why. For a while he tried to come up with an answer, a logical reason as to why the Slayer would come to his aid. Was it because she wanted to defeat him on her own terms? Possibly. If there was one thing he knew about this girl it was that she never backed down from a challenge, and theirs was a duel which had yet to reach a true climax. Maybe she felt sorry for him—and didn’t that thought make him feel pathetic. Fortunately, he didn’t think that was likely.

For a second he considered the possibility of loneliness being her drive. Out here in a foreign city, away from everything and everyone she knew, maybe the thought of losing the one familiar face was what ignited her protective streak. The idea was pushed away almost as quickly as the pity theory. Lonely though she may be, Spike seriously doubted the girl wanted vampires for company.

He was stumped. And not knowing bothered him. In the grand scheme of things he supposed it didn’t matter. He was still a card-carrying member of the un-dead and that was all that was important. Didn’t mean he wasn’t curious.

A soft sigh from the other room interrupted his introspection.

At first he thought nothing of it, but when a second sound followed he began to... well, not worry—because the Slayer wasn’t exactly high on his list of things to worry about, but he did feel mild unease. Unlike the first, the second sound which travelled to his ears was not a sigh, no this one was more of a whimper. One of pure anguish, laced with a hint of fear.

The Slayer was hurting.

And it bothered him.

More than he cared to admit.

At first he tried ignoring it, ignoring her. He shut his eyes and hummed a tune in an effort to block her out. But it didn’t work. Her cries, though quiet, penetrated his very being. Distress rippled off her, each new wave hitting him stronger than the first. It was as if she was projecting her pain onto him. Listening to her was hurting him, and he could only imagine how bad it must be for her.

Whatever the cause Spike knew he had to make it stop, and now.

“Slayer,” Spike bellowed, hoping to wake her. “SLAYER! Wake up!”

No response. She was still asleep; the steady beat of her heart combined with the slow inhalation and exhalation of her breathing informing him so. Yet the pained cries continued.

He tried one more time to wake her, his voice lowering in volume. “Buffy, Buffy wake up.”

This time she stirred, sighing loudly once before settling into a calmer rest.

Whether or not he was of any influence did not matter. She was resting again, and this time peacefully. And it filled him with a sense of quiet relief. The sense of urgency which had previously rushed through him with such force had silenced, and the peace from that was a respite in itself. The immediate questioning for a reason why the Slayer’s ease was of importance was pushed aside. He convinced himself it didn’t matter, and returned to the task of keeping himself occupied until she awoke.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Submit a Review!