[A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! :D Motivation to write is derived from your thoughtful reviews, so keep’em comin’! =] I very much liked this chapter, I thought it progressed the story nicely, brought some of Spike’s flaws to light in a very hyperbolic fashion, and created more conflict. Because, really, this story didn’t have enough conflict already. >_> Spike must be against his friends, his teachers, the government, the world, the gods, and maybe even himself. I’m a big meanie, I know. :( Have faith, though; I have a barrelful of nice fun Spuffy moments that I’ll deliver after the angst. Title from the Ozzy Osbourne song.]
Faith whipped out a silver handgun and pointed it slantedly at Cordelia. She extended her arm fully, toying with the thought of shooting the ringleader of the people she hated so much. Faith’s head was at a wicked tilt, and a devilish, almost crazy look penetrated her eyes. How she could just kill a person right about now...
“Hey, hey!” Cordelia’s hands flung to the air as she started to back away from the crazy brunette. Cordelia was drunk, yeah, but not incoherent. Not completely, anyway. Everyone knew the language of gun. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Oh look at the roll reversal now,” Faith thundered as she took an authoritative step closer to Cordelia. Faith stuck the gun out a little farther, pointing it at Cordelia’s head. “How much you hate this girl, Spike? She thinks she’s just so much better than everyone else... let’s put her in her place.”
“...you don’t want to do this,” Buffy exasperated from beside Spike.
“You think I won’t, little miss sunshine?” Faith jerked around and pointed the gun at Buffy.
Wow wow wow! Spike’s mind raced.
Spike reflexively jumped in front of Buffy to shield her from Faith. Basic instinct to protect her, to help her, to save her; screw that purgatory shit he was just thinking about a minute ago. Spike didn’t care about that stuff anymore. There was a decent, nay, pretty good chance Faith wouldn’t shoot Spike, but the chances of Faith ending Buffy were off the roof.
Faith was somewhere between shock and disgust until an observation quickly formed in her mind. “Oh I get it, save the cheerleader bitch and you’ll be greeted with legs wide open.” Faith laughed bitterly. “Nice try, Spike.”
“Stop it, Faith,” Spike said in a calm, somewhat irritated voice. Spike had his hands in the air, at ninety degree angles to his body, more to show Faith that she’d “won” than anything else. She had her proverbial high in power. “So you scared everyone. Put it down.”
“How can you try to stop this?” Faith’s grip on the gun tightened. “Compare their superficial lives to some floating body in New Orleans or some innocent guy being tortured in Abu Ghraib.”
“That’s a faulty juxtaposition, Faith, and you know it,” Spike tried.
“Then compare them to our lives!” Faith screamed.
Spike’s long sigh seemed to put Faith slightly at ease. “Listen, Faith, not everything is as it seems... these populars have just as screwed up lives as we do.” Spike shot a wayward glance at Buffy before quickly refocusing on Faith. Spike couldn’t believe he was doing this right now – defending the populars and actually relating to them. But he had to. “Trust me... school is their only escape from this fucked up world.”
Faith snorted in disbelief. “Oh yeah? Give me one example of a popular with a more fucked up life than me or you.”
“Well...” Even in a situation like this, Spike didn’t dare bring up Buffy’s past. She looked about ready to commit suicide after he told Angel, but Faith... that would absolutely kill her.
“Uh... Cordelia?” Spike scratched his head, the gesture a failed attempt to ease the tension of the room. “Your family’s pretty screwed up, right?”
Everyone’s eyes turned to Cordelia. It was her turn to play hero. Or tell the truth. “Well... my mom’s in rehab from alcohol withdrawal... she takes Valium... and father’s never around—”
“Aw, daddy’s never around,” Faith mocked softly. “Looks like he’ll just have to buy you another red beamer and give you his motherfuckin’ beach house. You don’t know pain and suffering... you haven’t been on the receiving end of a needle to numb it all away...”
So that was it? Faith was on drugs? Might explain the craziness.
Angel casually walked in the room, probably drawn by the massive exodus of people. He immediately froze at the door when he saw the gun in Faith’s hand.
“Faith...” Spike edged an inch closer to Faith. “Just put the gun down, okay?”
“I don’t think I want to, Spike.” Faith jerked the gun’s aim over to Spike, the air suddenly sucked out of the room. “I think I want to...”
Spike sighed and dropped his hands down completely. His attempts of getting Faith’s gun obviously weren’t working. Faith was way too driven, determined, and insane to give in to a passive surrender. If Spike was gonna stop this, he was gonna have to do something drastic. Get a little crazy, get down to her level, relate with her, and inevitably save the day.
“You know what...” Spike threw his hands in the air. “Go the bloody well ahead. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
“What?” Faith’s voice was high and pitchy from the shock.
“Do it.” Spike looked completely relaxed now, all the tension out of his body. His shoulders were round and his head was sliding down, hanging lower and lower. It was like he was watching a television show, playing a video game, reading a novel. He was completely comfortable and relaxed. “Go ahead. Kill’em all.”
Faith was smart enough to see a basic psychological trick. “Don’t think this reverse psychology crap is gonna work on me, Spike. That’s insulting.”
But Spike completely ignored Faith, in his own little world. It was like she wasn’t even there, like she wasn’t threatening his life. His head was hanging even lower now, almost at a forty-five degree angle to his shoulders. Spike took a few steps to the kitchen, back facing Faith, looking unimpressed as ever.
“Hey!” Faith yelled to the back of Spike. “Nobody leaves!”
Spike turned his head, back still facing Faith, and started. “I wish I had that power... the power you have right now...”
“...the power?” Buffy questioned softly with intense curiosity.
Spike shot a look at Buffy before he turned around to face Faith directly again. The words he was about to say next would have to be expertly delivered, a magnificent oration and extraordinary acting job. He would have to utter them rather hastily, and with a vigorous impetuosity that would horrify the entire room, Faith included.
“...the power... the power to line up every wanna be silverback and alpha male and pretty trophy woman and mega bitch... line them all the fuck up and tear away everything they’ve ever had...” The vehemence, the unbridled rage, the furious fumes of anger that boiled in his intemperate voice... no one could honestly say in that moment that Spike was “acting.” This was straight from the heart.
“Tear away their good health, their good fortune, their good looks... tear away every last shred of superficial happiness and contentment and solace in them... just tear it all the fuck away...” Spike intertwined his hands and swiftly tore them apart, an acerbity awakening in the motion.
“People like them,” Spike pointed accusingly at Cordelia, “like Cordelia and Riley and Parker...” he trailed as the last name entered his mind, “and Buffy... they need to suffer, all of them... be made small and humble before death.”
Spike took a sporadic glance at a piece of furniture to the left. “All the torment and suffering and pain they’ve caused...”
Spike did something really unnerving then. At least for a situation as dramatic and provoking as this one.
The bleached man let out a choked, bitter laughed. “Maybe I’m just jealous of everything they have... but that doesn't change the fact that people like them are the easy and most deserving targets... live a good life, have a quick and painful death. ‘Tis the natural order of things; a maintaining of balance.”
Faith’s eyes widened. He wasn’t serious?
“So do it,” Spike finished caustically. “Maybe they’ll all be reincarnated into tape worms or some other shit.”
Spike took a few stumbling steps toward Faith. She didn’t back away. He looked harmless, with a slouched posture and a lowly hung head. Talking crazy but looking harmless. “Sometimes I wish I was the catcher in the rye, cutting all the stalks down to an equal size.”
Now Spike stood right in front of Faith. His dark blue eyes were just staring at her, urging her to do it. It was the biggest dare in the world. To end life. To rupture someone’s soft skin and puncture the still beating heart, stop the blood flow that surged through the arms and the legs and the fingers and the toes and the head, stop the organs from maintaining life, stop the creative genius and the adept observation that lived in every human being...
Stop a life.
Kill a living, breathing, beating person. Put a bullet in the head. Make death creep wondrously.
Faith floundered clumsily. She began to stammer something unintelligible, but Spike cut her off.
“Aren’t you gonna do it, Faith?” Spike asked with an air of challenge and mockery.
The gun was held in a now lowered arm, pointed directly at the floor, completely harmless. Faith stared at the ground, a pathetic degeneracy mopping her face.
“Come on!” Spike yelled. “Kill Cordelia! You know you want to... you wanna put a bullet right through that pretty little head of hers... end her superficial and underachieving life.”
Faith’s eyes finally met his. She looked completely and utterly lost.
“Exit light, enter night,” Spike muttered cohesively.
Faith gulped and slowly raised the handgun. It was pointing directly at Cordelia, a straight shot to the heart. Cordelia was at pointblank range; an amateur to firearms could hit her. The small gun would have no powerful kickback, it wouldn’t backfire or hurt its user in any way. A little kick, a little rumble in the hands, and it would all be over.
Faith’s eyes met Cordelia’s silhouette. Faith couldn’t look Cordelia in the eyes, she was staring at Cordelia’s shoes.
And then everything just stopped. The clocks weren’t ticking or moving or telling time anymore. The air went a new degree of stale. No rock music played in the background anymore, even though a contagious riff was being shred. Not a soul smelled the scent of the sultry room, even though the smell of alcohol was overwhelming.
Everyone just stood. Just frozen. Waiting for Faith to do it. To end life.
And then it happened.
Faith’s arms dropped to her sides as she started to cry.
Faith didn’t shoot.
The threat was almost gone, but the gun was still in Faith’s clutches.
“Aw fuck! Am I gonna have to do it for ya?” Spike snatched the gun from the grasps of Faith, without any fuss or hassle from her at all.
Mission accomplished.
With an air of discontent, Spike threw the gun on the ground next to Buffy and glared at the whimpering Faith. “Get the fuck outta here, Faith.”
Faith choked a sob. She knew this was her only chance, though, and she quickly slipped through the door.
“Call the police,” Spike authoritatively announced to the room once the door shut.
Cordelia hopped right over to the phone and dialed 911.
“‘Sorry about that...” Spike shyly glanced at Buffy. “Didn’ really wanna... I had to get down to Faith’s level, only way I could stop her...”
Angel was overwhelmingly outraged. He wouldn’t have any of Spike’s excuses, the man had almost killed Cordelia, for Chrissakes! “I can’t believe you, Spike! You almost... you almost killed Cordelia! You could have gotten the gun before that happened!”
“It was the only way...” Spike said softly. “I needed to get the gun from her willingly, or else something bad might have really happened...”
Spike couldn’t look Angel in the eyes. “I’m sorry...”
“No you’re not!” Angel bit harshly. “You really wanted to do that... you believe what you said... you’re an insane hypocrite...”
Angel ripped open the porch door at the exact same time Spike grabbed him by the arm. Spike wanted desperately to further explain everything to Angel. Angel would have to understand, he needed to understand. Spike couldn’t live without Angel.
Angel jerked his arm out of Spike’s weak grasp and pushed the bleached man, with some type of hateful force, back into the center of the room.
“Just get the hell away from me, Spike!” And with that, Angel made his melodramatic exit. Spike was completely crushed.
Spike glanced back at Buffy and Cordelia. Surely both of them would understand that he never wanted to cause any harm, that he only had good intentions. When you fought with a ferocious, crazy lion, you had to become ferocious and crazy yourself to prevail. It was like going to prison or becoming a politician. You just became a little corrupt while in the position, but that didn’t mean you had cruel intentions.
But both Buffy and Cordelia quickly glanced down, not wanting to look Spike in the eye.
Spike stood in some disgusted awe horror. “You can’t be serious... I was just acting, that’s all...”
“You sure you weren’t inspired from real life?” Buffy asked insightfully.
“No, of co...” Spike trailed as some sense finally hit him.
“You know what,” Spike fumed, “I don’t need this. I rescue all of you stupid little ungrateful gits and you treat me like this.”
Spike shook his head, unconvinced by the two girls in the room. “I’m outta here. You ‘might as well tell the police I was the one with the soddin’ gun...”
And in complete disarray, Spike left the beach house and entered the black night with his black duster and black malice and defunct black craziness for his black car and black life.
So nobody died. :( I’m sorry about that. Maybe later. In fact, you can count on another life threatening situation. Maybe two, if you’re really lucky. Angel stuff might seem too melodramatic and over the top, but you have to look at the situation through Angel’s eyes; Cordelia means the world to him. And B & C were almost killed, you have to see, so they should feel a little indifferent about Spike right about now. Contradict me if you see fit. I had a really, really, really fun time writing crazy Spike’s dialogue, which is, I feel, a testament to one of the story’s major motifs. Again reviews on current events are very much appreciated. I’m thinking I might fast forward time a little here, as I don’t want the story to flounder in between plot points. I can’t guarantee another update until at least the second of February, unless I get really motivated, as I’ve been doing some first rate procrastination on projects and assignments and I probably won’t have much time. Sorry for the inconvenience. :( And thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing! Because I do love my reviews... :D