Nemesis by Holly

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Part Thirteen: Count Your Blessings

She was having the most ridiculous dream.

Spike and Angel were racing each other to see who could get to the edge of the cliff the fastest, giggling like children. It was Spike who reached the edge, turning to his grandsire with a cocked head. “You think she’s up for a round yet?” he asked.

“Timing’s not nearly right,” Angel retorted, casting a glance over his shoulder where the scenery melted from the sunny outdoors to the cold of his mansion. She saw herself chained to a wall, and where Angelus was preoccupied with the bonds. “She needs softening before we have our fun.”

“Fun’s not to be had.” Spike again. He sounded more and more distant with every word. “She doesn’ like me to have my fun. It’s all tease the vamp around the mulberry bush. Not you, though, mate. She’s having a gay ole time tryin’ to wager which one of us gets the trophy at the end of the tunnel. Fancy makin’ another round before she names the winner?”

“Sorry,” Angel replied. “I can’t. Terribly busy.” He nodded discreetly to the wall, eyes blazing. “Slayer’s all tied up. Gotta play.”

Spike pouted at that, fidgeting his displeasure. “But don’ you care about the trophy?” he demanded. “Needs tending to. Won’t know who wins unless we race. I promise I won’ cheat. I’ll wager my smokes against it. But I want that soddin’ trophy.”

“Take the trophy,” Angelus conceded, not even sparing a glance in their direction as he admired one of the finer swords from Angel’s private collection. “The race doesn’t matter to us, boy. You should have learned that a long time ago.”

“It’s no fun if I just take it,” Spike complained. “An’ you’ll jus’ steal it from me.”

Angel shrugged, walking toward his counterpart. “You’re right.”

“We probably will,” Angelus agreed, shrugging apologetically. “But you can have fun with it until we’re ready to put it on our mantle.”

“So you jus’ plan to keep her there?” Spike wondered incredulously. “Slayer doesn’ like to be kept. She’s gonna fight you for the title.”

“That’s fine,” Angel replied. “We like it when she squirms.”

Something hard shoved at her brain, and the three chatting vamps faded into a blur of nothingness. Someone was tugging at her, pulling at her arms. Her arms were tied. Tied behind her. Tied but…

Someone was kneeling before her. Her memory returned in shards. Someone. Angelus. Faith. They were at the mansion. Because Angel was now Angelus, and he was with Faith. Because she liked it here.

Oh God.

And no one knew where she was. Her mother did, of course, but by the time that she spoke to Giles or any of the Scoobies, the worst would have already been done.

There’s Spike.

Buffy shook her head inwardly. He won’t come. He doesn’t care.

Someone breathed a cold breath into her stomach, chilling her skin even through layers of clothing. “Now, now,” a familiar, overdrawn voice spat. The same that had starred in too many nightmares to count. “No need to play possum, Buf. Fun can’t be had until you’re awake.”

A sigh tore through her lips, her jaw clenching as her eyes reluctantly obeyed. He was right before her, staring up at her with the same gaze that had the ability to penetrate every nerve in her body. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted conversationally, grinning. “You know what I just can't believe? All of our time together and we never tried chains. Well, can't dwell on the past, especially with the future we have ahead.”

Buffy was quite certain that she had never hated anyone in her entire life like she hated Angelus right now.

“Bondage looks good on you, B. The outfit's all wrong, but, hey.”

Well, maybe not. It was a close tie.

She shot her raven-haired mutinous ally a look that could freeze hell. “Don’t talk to me,” she snapped.

“Oh, the girl’s all feisty!”

There was no way Faith had any measurable idea what she was getting herself into. A partnership with Angelus? He could barely maintain his deals with demon cronies, and unlike his grandchilde, forming alliances with slayers was not his modus operandi. Turning on Faith would be Angelus’s first move after he was done with Buffy. Two slayers in one day. Talk about bragging rights.

And Faith couldn’t see it.

That was just too…priceless.

Evidently, the other Slayer didn’t agree, for when Buffy crumbled into high-pitched, near-mad giggles, the other girl’s confidence slowly melted into confusion.

“What’s so funny?” Faith demanded.

“You.”

“Big talk for a girl who’s all chained up.”

Buffy shook her head, laughing still. “You don't know what you're doing.”

Faith climbed eagerly to her feet. “Really?” she replied. “Weird, because something about all this just feels so right. Maybe it's one of those unhappy childhood things.” Oh God. Was she going to go into some melodramatic explanation that somehow justified for handing her associate over to a deranged psychopath? That was so 1960s James Bond. “See, when I was a kid I used to beg my mom for a dog. Didn't matter what kind. I just wanted, you know, something to love.”

At that point, Faith found it absolutely essential to pull Angelus down for a round of tonsil cleansing. If the sight was to prompt a jealous reaction, then her captors were far behind the times. The reservations she had earlier that afternoon remained as pertinent as ever, though for whatever reason, watching her would-be boyfriend mack on the one chick that was making life particularly difficult failed to register as anything but…boring. And sort of gross.

Besides, she and Spike had been doing that very thing only a few hours ago. Only a lot better, from the looks of it. Of course, she couldn’t actually see herself when she was engaged in kissage, but she knew how Angel tasted, and while it wasn’t fair to play favorites…

They were still kissing. Buffy decided not to worry about what was and wasn’t fair. She was being forced to witness the other girl get her freak on with her mortal enemy. Wiggins of the massive variety.

Oh, thank God. Faith came up for air. She turned back to her, and somehow, Buffy managed to look irritated and hurt. “A dog's all I wanted,” the raven-haired loony continued. “Well, that and toys.” In manner of Vana White, Faith lifted a blanket off a small table at her feet to reveal an array of various torture instruments. Though subtle, the act alone was enough to draw Buffy back to a state of realization. This was of the very bad. Torture time with a slayer and Angelus? Not exactly her idea of fun.

“But Mom was so busy, you know, enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life that I never really got what I wanted. Until now.”

Buffy inhaled sharply, deciding to go for rational. If there was any hope of getting out of there alive, she had to reach Faith on some level where they understood each other. “Faith, listen to me very closely,” she said slowly. “Angel's a killer. When he's done with me, he'll turn on you.”

Angelus glanced up with a slow, frightening grin. “She's right. I probably will.”

Faith paused in thought, and while she would never admit it, Buffy knew a flash of fear when she saw one. “Yeah? Hmmm. Guess we'll just have to keep you around for a while then.”

That was better than nothing. A while meant that her friends had a greater chance of finding her before the ‘being dead’ part sank in.

“Before we get started,” Faith continued. “I just want you to know, if you're a screamer, feel free.”

In spite of herself, Buffy snickered. “Yeah. That’s happening.”

“Just thought I’d make the offer.”

“I scream for no one.”

Angelus cocked his head curiously. “Not how Spike tells it.”

She blinked at him numbly, then relaxed. There was no reason to keep it a secret anymore. No reason to keep anyone in the dark. Not with Angel gone—not with Angelus in his place. The thing she had tried to forget.

Her British vampire, even at his worst, he was never that blatantly…demony. Of course, he would likely resent the notion; that didn’t make it any less true. Spike could be damn scary when he put his mind to it, but he very rarely made the conscious effort. She had held a stake to Drusilla’s heart and won the day. She had made a deal with him and saved the world. She had been locked with him for hours on end and revealed more about herself than she ever cared to admit. Shared more than she thought she would with someone who wasn’t Angel. A vampire who wasn’t Angel.

Looking at Angelus now, Buffy couldn’t be gladder that Spike wasn’t Angel. She just wished he were with her.

What to say to the demon that already knows everything?

“Well,” Buffy began conversationally. “There are just some men who bring out the screamer in me. So sorry if you don’t measure up.”

She could have sworn a fleeting glance of hurt flashed across his eyes, and a pang struck her heart. However, before she could dwell, Faith had cackled in amusement and clapped her hands together. “So I was right!” she squealed delightedly. “You and the platinum sex-pot were doing the horizontal tango all along. Wow, B. Getting your funky on with yet another vampire. ‘Course, that one being of the soulless variety, I can see where the attraction is. William the Fabulously Fucking Bloody. Kudos. You have to be the kinkiest slayer in history.”

Buffy shrugged. “At least mine’s guaranteed to not kill me directly afterwards.”

“Oh no?” Angelus retorted stingingly. “Is that what you think? Silly girl. You really don’t know him at all, do you? Granted, poor William never really knew where to stick it with any form of success, but let me guarantee you, sweetheart…if he’s fucking with you, it’s because he thinks he can get something out of it. Something beyond slayer pussy. He’ll wear away his penchant for taking what’s mine because I did the same to him, but when the novelty’s gone, he’ll snap your neck just like the rest of them. He always has had an unhealthy obsession with slayers. Likely just wanted to know what I saw in you.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Spike just loves to taste what I’ve grown out of. Why do you think he took to Drusilla so…easily?”

Another barb that was designated to hurt more than it did. Buffy had learned long ago to take everything Angelus said with a grain of salt.

You’ve got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. But I guess you proved that last night.

The churning in her stomach was familiar.

As was the near-instantaneous detour to another night, more vibrant in her memory. Spike caressing her temples with the feather light touch of his fingertips. Whispering into her hair, caressing her skin with his lips. Holding her as she’d never been held.

The sincerity in Spike’s touch outmatched anything that Angelus tried to make her believe.

“Not the way he tells it,” Buffy retorted. “And let’s just say, for the record, that he did not pursue me at all. What happened between us is and will always remain our business. You might have grown out of me, Angelus, but I think it’s safe to say that Spike grew into me quite…nicely.”

There it was again; that telling flicker behind the demon’s eyes that made her insides flush cold. The very same that took the fun out of returning his snide with a bit of her own. Again, Buffy was forced to draw herself back from the line. Despite appearances, there was no way that Angelus would reveal so much through a simple look. It was difficult enough to get his soulful counterpart to acknowledge when something was on the outs. To see him react so negatively to an arbitrary mention of Spike…

Oh. My. God.

Buffy’s eyes went wide with realization, and when she met his once more, she understood.

It wasn’t Angelus. It was Angel. It was still Angel.

There was no sense in looking apologetic. While she was horrified, there was nothing to apologize for. It was finally out in the open. She was scorned and tired of hiding it. Watching him play the part of her greater nemesis served as one of the more potent wake-up calls in her short duration of existence.

This was the face of everything Angel kept at bay all the time.

This was Angelus.

The other vampire—her vampire—the vampire that had held her, caressed her, murmured appraising notes of cindered nostalgia against her lips…he was soulless. Spike was soulless. And yet he managed to express more feeling than her so-called boyfriend ever had. Angel or Angelus…neither could hope to match him.

Buffy had known it for a long time now. A very long time. She’d just wanted to hold on. A part of her had been unwilling to let go. Angel was her past, and letting go of her past meant growing up. Meant becoming a woman.

Meant embracing something that terrified her.

Spike.

“You vapid little vampire whore,” Faith sneered appraisingly. “Again with the not thinking you had the stones to strut your stuff. ‘Course, we really can’t be surprised, can we, Angel? After all, she was trapped with him for…how long was it? Not even an entire day? Yeah, she really needed your soulful half bad if that was all the persuasion it took to—”

“That’s enough,” Buffy snapped.

“Oh, don’t get testy on me now, B. You’re the one gettin’ all the practice being a vampire cum-bucket.”

“So, what? You turned Angel because you were jealous? Wanted to know what it was like, and didn’t take my ‘leave it be’ speech to heart?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you. It never was.”

“And yet, here I am all chained up. Huh.”

“Where you see prospect, I see bonus.”

Buffy’s head titled inquisitively, allowing her tone to drop as her eyes widened in a desperate need to understand. “Why, Faith?” she asked softly. “The sudden one-eighty? Was the first taste of blood not enough for you? You killed a guy and can’t stay on the ‘humans equal good’ wagon? I really want to know what the big is. What’s in it for you?”

Faith just laughed and shook her head as though disappointed. “What’s in it for me?” she repeated incredulously. “The real question, B, is what isn’t. You know, I came to Sunnydale. I'm the Slayer. I do my job—kicking ass better than anyone. What do I hear about everywhere I go? Buffy. So I slay, I behave, I do the good little girl routine. And who does everybody thank? Buffy.”

Buffy began struggling futilely against her restraints, eyes widening when she noted they weren’t tied as tightly as she was originally led to believe. Her gaze briefly averted to Angel, who was still not looking at her. “It’s not my fault,” she said desperately.

“Everybody always asks, why can't you be more like Buffy?” Faith continued. “‘Yeah, Faith. Be more like Buffy. Screw as many vamps as you can. Get a feel for the big long cold between your thighs.’ Oh yeah, be like Buffy. Seems like a sound plan. But did anyone ever ask if you could be more like me?”

A flicker of anger flashed across Angel’s face and he glanced up meaningfully. “I know I didn't.” He cocked his head. “Though perhaps in retrospect, I should have.”

Faith snickered appreciatively before turning her attention back to their captive. “You get the Watcher. You get the mom. You get the little Scooby gang. Hell, you get the vamp gangbangs, for Chrissake! I do exactly what I’m supposed to, and what do I get? Jack squat. This is supposed to be my town!”

Buffy jerked again. “Faith, listen to me!”

“Why? So you can impart some special Buffy wisdom, that it? Do you think you're better than me? Fuck B, you’re more screwed up than I am, and you can still come off as all holier-than-thou. Psh. Better than me.” Faith shook her head and turned around, raising a challenging hand. “Do you think it? Do you? Say it, you think you're better than me.”

At that, Buffy paused. So that’s how we’re going to play this, huh?

There was only one way to answer that inquiry and get any sort of response. And she knew it.

Helped even more that it was true.

Thus, deliberately, the elder Buffy concluded, “I am.” She had to bite back a victorious grin when Faith, stunned, slowly turned to face her, pinning her with a dubious glare. Buffy didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. She just continued. “Always have been.”

“Um, maybe you didn't notice…or maybe you did, but didn’t recognize a good thing when you had one.” Faith slipped her arm through Angel’s, curling into his side. “Angel's with me.”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, something insipid and overly dramatic, but her words were stolen directly off her lips with the sudden disruption of the most welcome voice she’d ever heard in her life.

“Oh, she noticed,” the British vampire drawled, removing the cigarette that was wedged between his lips and blowing a deliberate stream of smoke in his grandsire’s direction. “Prob’ly jus’ too busy rejoicing on the inside to even pretend to care a lick. An’ honestly, Peaches. Despite our differences, I always figured your standards for goin’ up, not down. Gotta say, I’m disappointed.”

The air froze with uncertainty. Buffy’s insides flooded with warmth. Spike was here. Angel wasn’t Angelus, and she wasn’t in trouble. Not really. And things were about to get really hairy, but none of that mattered, because Spike was here.

Spike had come for her. He had come for her.

At the moment, that was all that mattered.

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