Nemesis by Holly

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Part Six: When The Night Is New

It was quiet, too quiet, and that made her nervous. Any lingering doubts about Wesley’s so-called attacker had retired the minute she stepped into her bedroom on Friday night. If not for the physical strains of evidence—the hovering hint of nicotine, the few items that had mysteriously traveled across the room, and the conspicuous absence of her favorite pair of panties—then definitely for the tinglies that rumbled low in her stomach. Buffy was well aware of how her body reacted to a vampire’s proximity; she was not prepared to feel her anxiety heighten and her pulse quicken for one vampire specifically. One vampire that was not Angel.

Spike had not yet shown himself, and that wigged her out. True, only two days had passed, but the guy was not known for his patience. How many attacks had she countered because of his negligence to plan? Why wait now?

Then again, perhaps his patience deserved more credit than it earned. He had waited for months as he regained the ability to walk, and even longer to act on it. He had exhibited uncanny resilience the night they made their alliance; refraining from lashing out until her provocation became too intense. And even then, she hadn’t needed to fend him off. He had realized what he was doing, and stopped to calm himself rather than simply kill her and have it done with.

But this was different. Mitigating circumstances had intervened back then, and right now, all the circumstances were set. Despite the popular consensus of her friends, even her own barbs aimed at his aptitude, Spike was intelligent. He made the frequent mistake of acting rashly, but it was very obvious that he moved only when he knew he could handle the negative consequences of his actions.

It seemed more than peculiar that two entire days would go by without seeing him, now that she knew he was in town. Though he probably suspected that she was still at unawares, the Spike she knew would have leapt out immediately, ready for that promised discussion. Ready to fight—or more likely—pick up where they left off. The Spike she knew was not one to wait.

Perhaps he did know that she was aware of his return, and had thus refrained from acting. That didn’t seem very likely either. It was his modus operandi to create new problems rather than wait for the old ones to sort themselves out. And now, after two nights of no-show, Buffy was nervous. She kept expecting him to be waiting on her bed when she returned, and didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed when her room was empty.

It was amazing how quickly her mood had changed. Angel’s distancing, in league with Spike’s ambiguous non-appearance, left her confused with little room for anger. All the more to believe that Spike knew exactly what he was doing.

Thoughts of Angel caused her stomach to churn. Their date on Friday night had led her to a seemingly endless series of confused dead-ends. It was so strange to think about how their relationship had progressed in the matter of only a few months. It didn’t seem so long ago that she dreamt of him in Los Angeles. Thinking of how he would see her, were he to ever come back. How it had felt to see him spring out from nowhere; how her body had rattled with shock. How her days and nights were tagged with the ever persistent huh? From there to the revelation on Christmas Eve when she confessed that she still loved him, no matter what he did to her. The night that had seen their reemergence as BuffyandAngel™, accessories sold separately. Prepared to link hands, face disapproval, and remain dancing at arms length for a taste of what they could never have together.

Even without Spike’s sporadic appearance on her birthday and the wackiness that ensued, Buffy had been sorting through various qualms about her relationship with Angel. She wasn’t stupid—she knew she would eventually care about the goings-on in the bedroom—romanticizing the situation and making it all about love was ideal on a Disney-like level. Prince Charming and his token bride. The couple that knew nothing of sex and shared the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kiss as the curtains drew closed.

But it hadn’t mattered to her. Not then, because she had loved him. There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him still. It was only now that she could see that there would be others. There would be love like she never knew, but nothing quite like what she had with Angel. The love she felt for him now was not the passion that had initially drawn them together. If it had been, Spike’s advances would have gone ignored rather than encouraged. True, she had fought it. She had fought it with every fiber of her being. But her actions of that night were not those of a girl who believed she belonged to one man for all eternity. At least, not a girl who believed she belonged to Angel.

Again, she was resigned to the knowledge that Angel was already her ex-boyfriend. She’d moved on. There was some residual sadness, of course, but she didn’t love him. Not like she had—not like a girlfriend loves her boyfriend, or a wife loves her husband. She loved the memory of the guy he’d been once upon a time, but even then, the memory wasn’t enough for her. The guy in the memory belonged to a girl that no longer existed. She wasn’t the sort of person who could love Angel. Not anymore.

Was that all that Spike had been to her? A wake-up call? No, it couldn’t be something so cold and simple. He had haunted nearly every waking thought since his departure. Her body ached for his touch even as her mind sought reason. It was not what she wanted: moving from one vampire to another. To one she wasn’t sure that she could love. To one that had no soul to begin with. He was a killer. The thought of him was supposed to make her shiver in disgust. She was supposed to be above it. She was supposed to represent something larger than herself. Larger than existence would lead her to believe. She was supposed to—

Bleh. Minor wiggins. Am channeling Quentin Travers.

There was more to it than that. Were Spike merely a distraction to open her eyes, she wouldn’t have hated him so vehemently for leaving her in the first place. She wouldn’t have searched for him at every vampire hangout. She wouldn’t have experienced those delightful chills when she thought the chances of seeing him were running high. She wouldn’t have had to make excuses for herself in firm denial of said chills.

It had been a bad weekend for no reason at all, and that annoyed her immensely.

Thus, Buffy was not in the best of moods as she entered the library that day. The Watchers were chatting hurriedly, anxiously, so she doubted either of them even noticed.

“There was one reference to the Ascension,” Giles said excitedly when he looked up, “in the Marenschadt Text. Not much, mind you, but significant.”

Buffy nodded, though her eyes were drawn to Wesley’s shiner. It had grown worse over the weekend, giving him the comical appearance of a twelve-year old boy in adult’s clothing who had suffered an unfortunate confrontation with the playground bully.

“So,” she said, perking at the idea of having something to focus on that wasn’t vampires in reference to her love life. “Ascension in the negative? I didn’t catch the demon on patrol this weekend, but—”

“It would be very wise for you to track him down,” Giles agreed. “Before someone gets word that the books are in his possession. I would hate to think of what might happen should they fall into the hands of the Mayor. I didn’t find much, mind you, but I found enough. There is a reference to the journal of Desmond Kane…a pastor in a town called Sharpsville. In May of 1723, he wrote, ‘Tomorrow is the Ascension. God help us all.’ And that was the last anyone heard.”

“Of Kane?” Wesley asked.

“Of Sharpsville. It more or less disappeared.”

Buffy pursed her lips. Just when life couldn’t seem to get anymore complicated, reality stepped in. “So, I’m thinking this is one concert I don’t need to see.”

“You should meet with the demon, Buffy. If he has the books—”

“And I’m getting the money from where? Hello, unemployed high school student here. Do you have five thousand dollars?”

“It’s wiser to find the demon sooner rather than later,” Wesley stated obviously, earning an eye roll that he ignored. “Perhaps persuade him to lend us the books free of charge.”

“You didn’t see the demon, Wes,” Buffy retorted with an air toward the dismissive. “He wasn’t exactly on the up and up of high-flying patrician society. He wants cash, and he’s looking for a sell, not to become the world’s first demon library service that delivers.”

“I believe he would have an enlightened point of view if, say, his life were at stake,” the younger Watcher countered. His observation earned two pointed glances, and he fumbled over himself to gain some footing. “Not that I advocate killing harmless…creatures, mind you. Perhaps if you exercise Faith’s more notable persuasion techniques…”

There really was no disputing that point, much as she would have liked. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Buffy sighed. Didn’t seem she’d be staying long after all. “I don’t suppose either one of you saw Faith over the weekend? She’s been MIA girl since Friday night.”

Giles’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Are you suggesting Faith would suddenly develop the presence of mind to report to us when her patrols are complete, especially when I noted that such precautions could go untended under rare circumstance, unless something of high importance was discovered?”

“Wow,” Buffy mused. “I think that’s the longest sentence I’ve heard you get out in one breath.”

“It’s better that you find Faith,” Wesley interjected sharply. “The demon needs to be located, and fast. Given the Mayor’s resources, it’s safe to say he might get there first if we do not act quickly.”

There was no denying that. With a mute nod, Buffy turned to head out of the library. She had checked Faith’s usual hangs over the weekend with no success, but the other Slayer knew not to stray too far from sight, lest the Council be brought back into the mix. It was only a matter of time.

And, if anything, looking for Faith and hunting down a demon would be less confusing than what she had been tormenting herself over for the past two days. Spike thoughts were too muddled. There was no sense in beating herself up about it if he wasn’t going to seek her out.

Famous last words, a pesky voice warned. She opted to ignore it.

“Faith.” There was no reason to mask the shock in his voice. While Angel was accustomed to a variety of late-night visitors, she had not approached him willfully since the failed intervention. There had been a snide comment here or there—a barbed glance when it wasn’t so painfully obvious. The consequences of their last heart-to-heart had damaged things between them, and he had not attempted to rekindle whatever bond they had. However, discussing the matter was something Angel found important. He just refused to corner her.

Which was why he was so pleased that she’d come on her own terms.

Pleased for about ten seconds before she stepped forward and the scent of blood hit the air.

“Angel,” Faith implored softly. It was so strange to see a face that confident all but bursting with insecurity. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I got nowhere else to go. Look, I hate asking for help, but I’m asking, ‘cause I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble of the extremely bad variety.”

The words that escaped his lips were the most natural thing to grace the air, even if he didn’t wholly believe them. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not. It’s a couple county lines over from ‘okay.’ Believe me.”

A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “Look, just talk. I’m not going to judge…I really can’t. Start from the beginning.”

The look that crossed her face was dazed, almost maniacal. “Mind if I skip past the ‘mom never loved me’ part and get right to it? I’m scaring myself.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Yeah. That’s why I came to you. I don’t wanna get all twelve-steppy, but remember what you told me, that killing people would make me feel like some kind of a god?” The whiff of blood dancing through the air suddenly assaulted his senses with a powerful blow. Her hands were in view, covered in grit and stained in red. He’d known it wasn’t human from first smell, but the sight worried him all the same.

“It's not human if that's what you're thinking. Not that that makes me feel any better or this guy any less dead.”

The waver in her voice was enough to verify that—human or not—the demon hadn’t deserved this. Angel took her arm instinctively and guided her to the sofa to inspect her indiscretion closely. She was trembling; the blood humming through her veins beckoning with the temptation of just a little closer and…

“Faith, you need help,” he said honestly, his hands cradling hers. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I know. For real now, I’m scared. Scared of what I am…what I’m turning into.” Her eyes burned into his. “Cold-blooded straight up killer. Like you.”

There was no denying the sting, but Angel pushed it aside. Hurtful or not, it was the truth. “Not like me. I didn’t have a choice. You do, Faith. You can stop this.”

“Believe me, I don’t wanna end up the way everybody said I would. Dead or alone or a loser.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

There was defeat in her tone. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was defeat. Defeat wasn’t for the strong. He’d fought the power of his demon for almost a full century. Angel had led himself down a number of darkened alleys with the hope of discovering something that would put his aching soul to rest. He’d wanted to quit more times than he could count. Wanted to scream, wanted to claw, wanted blood in recompense for everything that had been stolen from him. Wanted it over with every fiber of his being. But it had never defeated him.

“Maybe it’s too late for me,” she whispered. Her lower lip was quivering. She was close to tears.

“It’s not.”

“Angel…I’m so scared.”

It was one of those moments where impulse reigns supreme, completely overriding every other nerve in the body that screamed a certain course of action wasn’t perhaps the best idea. But the girl in his arms wanted comfort—needed comfort. Needed that blessed second of reassurance that in some parallel reality, everything could be all right. It was second nature that persuaded him to embrace her. Just as natural, then, when Faith pulled back and brushed her lips against his. The contact was so light, so fleeting, that it could have easily been accidental; the girl in his arms wasn’t the sort to gamble on that kind of wager. Oh no. She saw what she wanted and she took it. Anything she did now was planned.

Angel snapped back, and the illusion he had been painting for her shattered. He wondered if she thought she was fooling anyone when she pulled these stunts.

The words that escaped his lips were not as harsh as they could have been. Resolute and forceful but nowhere near cruel. She did not deserve that. “Whoa, Faith. Hold on.” He delicately grasped her wrists from where they were linked around his neck and secured them in her lap. “I’m here for you. I am…but not like that. I’m with Buffy.”

At first, there was nothing. The look in her eyes could not be read. “You’re with Buffy,” she echoed emotionlessly. “With Buffy. Of course. Well, bully for Buffy. Are you sure she knows that? Huh? You’re with Buffy, but is Buffy with you? Honestly, Angel. You’re pretty, but not exactly the brightest crayon in the box.”

The vampire couldn’t repress a flinch at that. There was no sense denying it. With as much as he reached for Buffy, she withdrew. With as much as he tried, she distanced. It had been understandable at first. He knew Spike well; knew that he was very capable of leaving a lasting impression. But Buffy was supposed to be above that. A night with his annoying grand-childe was a cakewalk after all she had endured, even if he was the renowned killer of Slayers. She hadn’t been hurt— (flash to the bite marks. A twin set. One on her wrist and another marring her neck. Those she allowed him to give her)—and therefore the road to healing should have been shorter than attributed.

Her change in behavior might not have been credited to Spike at all, but that was when it began to show. And he didn’t understand. She’d faced worse. She’d faced much worse.

She’d faced him.

Still, it was only a flinch. He couldn’t let Faith know how deeply the barb had cut. Therefore his answer was short and evasive. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” Her words sliced trenches into his heart. “Come on. I know you love the girl, but you’re not deaf and blind. Little Miss Perfect Buff hasn’t been the same since the you-know-when. Right? Isn’t that when this started? The mood swings, the distancing, the holdin’ back on the lip-action. I was there two nights ago when you got out of that movie. Sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but she has not been thinkin’ of you as she uses her slayer muscles to get herself off. I’d know. And you know what I’m thinkin’, ‘cause you’re in the same damn boat. I’m thinkin’ five foot ten of the blond persuasion. I’m thinkin’ the exact same thing you and everyone else has been thinkin’ since that night. Why don’t you come out and admit it?”

He would not let her win that easily, no matter how true her words rang. No matter how wide the hole in his heart was expanding. He would not let her win. He would not cave. This was about her. About her problem. It had nothing to do with his relationship with Buffy. “Faith, this isn’t the issue—”

“Then it needs to become the issue! You, King Wes, and all the grubby little Scoobies have been flockin’ to me like I have some sorta problem. So yeah. I killed a guy. Accidents happen.” There was something in her tone that took him aback, even as her words continued to burrow under his skin. “I killed a guy, and I feel shitty about it. I do. I really do. But I’m getting just a little fed up with everyone focusing on putting me through rehab when it’s Buffy who’s banging the undead. The not-so-safe undead. The sort that’s not you.”

Angel’s head reeled back, his eyes blazing yellow. “You have no right to make that sort of presumption.”

“No right? I have no RIGHT? I sure as hell do have a right!” Faith stepped back. “All your little girlfriend has done since I came to this shit-pit town is judge me. Let’s count the ways that Faith is a screw-up and Buffy is queen. And yeah, she’s good at what she does. She fucking has to be. But she’s not perfect. She’s far from it.”

“I know that—”

“Do you? Do you really? Is it because of common sense or because you know in your gut what really went down that night?” Faith leaned forward with dangerous temptation. “You can’t stand there and tell me you haven’t been thinking the exact same thing ever since she and your vamp-sprout got locked up together. Come on, Angel. I’m playin’ to your Dear Abbey…why don’t you indulge mine? Huh?”

It would have been easy to say no. One word. One syllable. Step away from Faith and remember that she was the one in need of help. That her problems amounted to much more than relationship issues that belonged on a demonically twisted Jerry Springer episode. However, there was no fuel. Throughout the entire ordeal, he had stood aside with quiet reflection, watching as Buffy tore herself and others to shreds with action more than words. Watched as she claimed that everything was all right, but knowing the truth was far more complicated, and had the surefire chance of being more hurtful. Watched and allowed himself to be pushed away. Looking at Faith now was an eye-opener. The link that screamed there was one of no more pretending. No more pointing in one direction while fleeing in another. No more accepting the idea that everything was all right when he knew damn well that it wasn’t.

Therefore, the words that escaped his lips became his own. Not some petty recitation of what she would want him to say. No. More than that. Something he needed for himself. An indulgence. A chance to rant. A need to make things better, if only for a few minutes.

“All right.”

It was growing harder and harder for Buffy to ignore the fact that the lower the sun sank in the sky, the closer she drew to the three-day mark. Three whole days since Spike allegedly burst into town, and there was still no word from him. Nothing aside from Wesley’s injury and a pair of purloined panties to suggest that he was in town at all. No Spike. No sign of Faith. Creepy demon that wanted to sell books. Her life was just screwy. The sigh riding up her throat fought for a taste of cold comfort as she made her way to Angel’s.

Angel. What did she plan on telling him? They hadn’t spoken since the theatre incident, and she still had no thoughts on what she wanted to say. He was needed right now—for finding Faith and the deal-making demon. He was needed for more than that, but she couldn’t focus when her thoughts traveled down such an obscured pathway.

Nothing could prepare her for seeing them together. Faith and Angel. Angel and Faith. They were talking quietly at the mansion’s doorway, leaning too close together for comfort. Hushed whispers as though they knew she was watching.

Anger and betrayal coursed through her veins with little hesitation. How long had Faith been here? An hour? Two? All day? Perhaps they had spent the weekend together and she was just now leaving. A swarm of irrational prejudices ran through her head, none and all of them making sense. She knew it wasn’t right—feeling deceived. Hadn’t she been doing that all month? But this…this was beyond comprehension. This was sick and wrong and it was time to go. Watching made her nauseous. Couldn’t be angry. Couldn’t be not-angry. Couldn’t be anything.

It was Spike’s fault. Everything was Spike’s fault. If he hadn’t come back…if he hadn’t messed things up…

Well, she’d be deadlocked in a passionless relationship with Angel. Not so different than where she was now, really. Only she’d be without Spike-shaped lusty dreams to get her through the day.

It irritated her that her reason for being mad at him had just turned into gratitude.

Buffy sighed heavily and turned on her heel. Other than betrayal, she felt nothing. And it wasn’t my boyfriend’s cheating on me betrayal. It was Angel’s found redemption in another slayer betrayal—like the special thing she could have given him, with or without a personal relationship, had been snatched from under her nose.

I just wanna go home. Draw a bath, snag some historical porn, and forget.

But then her eyes drifted upward and clashed with a violent wave of ocean blue, and the world around her tumbled away. She couldn’t have been more surprised had the earth swallowed her whole. There he was. The bane of her existence. The pinnacle of her aspirations. Standing all of twenty feet away. Watching her. Watching her through hooded eyes. Reading her as though none of the distance, none of the torture she had spent the past five weeks burying herself under had meant a thing. Not in the long run.

The air crackled between them, nearly threatening to break for the intensity of his stare. It took a minute of stunned stupor to form anything resembling cohesive thought. Spike. There. At Angel’s. How long? Had he been following her? Oh God, he was still looking. That was no good. The bottom of her stomach fell with no sense of stamina. As though weeks of repression could be blinked away with one powerful glance.

Angel was forgotten. She couldn’t remember her own name if she tried. And Spike did that. He did that to her just by looking at her. No touching. No ‘did you miss me’ grin. No mind-numbing kiss. Just staring at her. Daring her to make the first move.

Time to speak. Damn, he beat her to it.

“Hello, luv.” It was his voice. Oh God, it was his voice. The very voice she’d listened for every time she stepped outside the house at night. Every time a stranger tugged at her arm for a dance at the Bronze. All amounted to this moment. He was back. He was back, and everything inside went numb in affect. “Fancy runnin’ into you, here of all places.”

Her eyes refused to leave his for fear that he would disappear if she looked away, but there was nothing to say. Spike tilted his head slightly and took a bold step forward. If anything, her reaction seemed to amuse him, though she saw a flicker of uncertainty waver in his eyes.

Buffy swallowed hard. Words had abandoned her. “Spike…”

A soft smile of fond reflection tickled his mouth. He was close now. So close. So close that his scent filled her nostrils and his unnecessary breaths fanned her skin. A lone hand strayed to brush loose strands of hair from her face. When he spoke again, his voice was low. And now all she could do was stand and stare. Just a few feet away from Angel’s mansion, where he was chatting with Faith. This was no good. “You gonna stand there all night catchin’ flies?” he drawled huskily, eyes roaming over her without shame. It made her shiver; she had seen that hungry, feral gleam before. “Or are you gonna welcome me back…good an’ proper?”

That snapped her out of it. A flash and everything came soaring back. The weeks that had not gone by quickly. The sham of a life he had left for her to clean up. The way she burned for him when all she wanted to do was forget. And now he was touching her. And she was letting him. Right when she had been going to make things right.

He was there, hovering over her. Invading her personal space and relishing every second of it. As if he could come and go as he pleased.

Buffy glared at him, not realizing she had moved to strike until her fist connected with his jaw and she watched him barrel backwards, landing on his ass. A shiver of satisfaction shimmied up her spine. God, that felt good.

Only now he was angry. And ohhhh…

“Bloody hell, woman!” he all but shouted, reminding her all too quickly of Angel’s proximity. “Should’ve known better than to make that a sodding either/or question. Then again, I thought we were old pals. Guess I shouldn’t have expected as much. Slayer back in full motion, ready for a round of fisticuffs. Fancy a dance, luv?”

Despite his frustration, his tone had not lost that tantalizing brogue. She hated the fact that he could have such an effortless effect on her. They regarded each other for a sharp moment, both panting heavily, hardly recognizing the voice that grew louder with its approach. It wasn’t until Angel said her name directly that Buffy had the presence of mind to realize he even existed.

She panicked, gaze darting to the walk where he was about to emerge, then again to Spike, who remained on the ground. Her eyes widened with comprehension as she, for the first time, understood what was about to happen.

Uh oh.

This was not going to be her night.

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