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Part Three: The Final Misstep



Pain was the first sensation that asserted itself as Spike roused. The pain was followed by a fogginess that settled over his brain, seemingly to force his consciousness back down into dreams. But Spike was defiant and pushy as always, and a moan of protest escaped his lips.



“He’s awake,” a female voice said, the sound a little husky. Spike tried to place the tone and speech pattern, but two words didn’t give him much to go on.



There was the scrape of a metal chair against tile (the tile in his apartment?), and someone loomed over Spike. He wished he could open his eyes, but they felt like someone had settled weights over his lids. A machine beeped, and there was the click of a small lever. Shortly after, something cool was entering his arm, and it took a moment for Spike to place the feeling as some sort of IV fluid.



Spike tried to move despite the piercing pain in his skull.



“Hold on there, tiger,” the female warned, an undercurrent of threat threading through her words.



This only made Spike fight harder to wake up.



“Will whatever’s in this pouch keep him down?” she asked the other person present.



A male spoke, his voice deep and low. “That’s not my problem. We’ve done as requested and given you a neutered vampire. And now, I have to report back to the professor. We’ve got a lot to do to set up shop. Besides, aren’t you a Slayer? You can handle him from what I’ve heard.”



Spike’s brain stuck on the word “neutered.” What the hell did that mean? If they castrated him, why was his head hurting and not. . . Spike couldn’t let himself go there. The land of nod was sounding more and more appealing.



“Fine, I’ll handle him my way.”



A fist contacted Spike’s jaw, hard and strong, and he bit his tongue, which sent jagged pain through his head.



“Hey! Be careful of his head. He may be a vampire, but he needs time to heal after a surgery like that, and we don’t know how the hardware could malfunction if you’re not careful.”



“He’ll be fine.” The Slayer sounded full of arrogant pride.



This time, Spike sensed her fist coming even though he couldn’t open his eyes to see it, and as his jaw exploded in agony again, he slipped back into blessed unconsciousness.



The pain was much less when he woke a second time, and his eyes easily slit open. The dimly lit room he was in had the same layout as his apartment, but it wasn’t his. This one was awash in more feminine décor – throw pillows, cozy chairs, and gossamer curtains in pinks of all shades. There was a dresser with perfume bottles of different sizes on top, and a very fuzzy-looking rug lined the tile floor, reminding Spike of a white one Dru used to fancy. She liked splashing droplets of blood from their victims across the fibers in a macabre kind of splatter-painting.



Spike’s arm was still hooked up to an IV, and he was tucked under the covers as if someone had actually cared about his comfort. His hand immediately went to his crotch, and relief swept over him. He was still intact, so he wasn’t neutered that way. Testing himself, he sat up a bit on his unencumbered arm, and when the world didn’t swirl around him, he managed to push himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the headboard.



Just then, a slender young woman appeared in the doorway to the room. Her hair was as dark as Dru’s, her skin as pale, and she was clothed all in black. Her scarlet lips stretched into a smirk, and she sauntered into the room with her arms crossed.



“You’re up, tiger. How ya feelin’?”



“Who the bloody hell are you?” Spike was pleased he didn’t sound as weak as he felt.



The girl plopped down at the end of the bed as if she had no reason to be afraid, and Spike realized from the power emanating from her that she was the other Slayer. “I’m Faith. What’s the last thing you remember?”



Spike’s brow furrowed as he thought back. Last thing he remembered was leaving the Sunnydale Arms after helping Buffy and Joyce. He’d been headed back to his apartment when his entire body had been zapped by some godforsaken electric ray-gun. Whoever had shocked him had done it from behind – coward. “Being knocked unconscious.”



“I’m impressed you remember that.”



Spike frowned, uncomfortable with how much she seemed to know and wasn’t saying. “What do you mean?”



“It was a lot of voltage.” She leaned back on her palms, and Spike felt anger boiling up.



Then, something dawned on him, something he should have known as soon as he saw this apartment and heard the familiar chair over tile. “You’re working for the Mayor.”



Faith grinned. “Gosh. No one’s gonna put you in the slow group.”



Spike needed information if he was going to get out of this prison without being in a dustpan. “But why? Aren’t you the do-gooder sort?”



Her face crinkled briefly and so subtly that only a vampire would notice. He’d struck a nerve – a nerve she was usually good at hiding behind bravado. It was something he recognized well because he did it himself. “Reasons.”



He softened his tone. “There’s always a very good reason or two for people to work for the mayor of a city on a hellmouth.”



Faith turned it around on him. “Why are you working for him?”



Spike decided to choose honesty. It would get her to lower her guard. “One reason and one reason only. I have a lady to impress.”



“Oh.” Faith seemed disappointed. She sighed. “It’s always about Buffy.”



Wait. What? This other dark Slayer had it all wrong. “Not Buffy. Drusilla. Why the bloody hell would I want to impress Buffy and why would I work for the Mayor to do it?”



“Everyone does. She’s the center of the universe around here.” Faith drew her knees up, almost protectively. “Little Miss Perfect. And duh, you’re probably undercover!”



Spike snorted and then grimaced in pain. “Buffy’s not perfect. She’s a right annoying thorn in my side.” Something stopped him from really going on about her flaws, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was the way she’d looked at him when she was terrified to lose her mum. “And I’m bloody well not undercover!



The corner of Faith’s mouth lifted. “I feel ya on the thorn part.”



“What’d she do to you?” Spike infused the question with gentleness.



Faith bit her lip uncertainly, but then, something hardened in her eyes. “I killed someone. And Buffy and the Watchers couldn’t handle it. Stupid Council sent a team to get me, but the Mayor stepped in. He’s been really great. Buffy and Co. don’t like him either.”



Alarm bells went off in the back of Spike’s mind. “Who’d you kill?”



Faith ran her hand through her hair. “Some guy named Allan. He was deputy mayor, I think. That’s the thing. It was an accident. Buffy and I were out slaying, and I hit a guy in the heart before I realized he was human. But there was no forgiveness. And Buffy didn’t take any of the blame when we were out together! She and Giles and my new Watcher set up a trap for me. It didn’t work.”



Spike felt a twinge of sadness that it was Allan she’d snuffed. Spike had gotten rather fond of the anxious bloke over the last few months. Spike tried to put the other pieces of what Faith was saying together. There was no way Buffy went from being powerless to out slaying with her rule-bending twin. “What day is it?”



Faith looked confused. “What? Oh, yeah. You’ve been out of it for a while. There was a lot of swelling. Or that’s what the doc said.”



“Ballpark on the date.”



“May. It’s May.”



What the hell? That was it, he needed out of this strange apartment that didn’t seem to fit the occupant, but there was one more bit of information he needed. While surreptitiously gearing up to move, he asked, “What’d they do to my skull? And why are you watching over me?”



Faith’s eyes moved from his, and she stiffened uncomfortably. “Well, looking after you is my first job. And look. All I know is that they put something in your brain to prevent you from hurting humans.”



Oh, holy fuck. This was not good. Not good at all. “Oh, well then.” His words were falsely casual, and he knew it. It was now or never.



Summoning all his energy, he let out a roar, allowing his face to transform and his fangs to descend, ripping the IV out of his arm, and leaping out of the bed.



Faith matched his fighting stance. “Whoa. Fuck, dude. Hold on there.”



“What’d he do to me?” Spike demanded. His head throbbed in protest.



Faith shrugged. “You betrayed him. You helped Buffy. He was just drawing a line.”



Dread filled Spike’s chest. The dread was rapidly replaced by rage. “By doing something to my brain? He doesn’t know who he’s messing with. And neither do you.”



Spike flew at Faith, connecting his fist to her jaw with every ounce of his energy. As soon as he made contact, his vision went white as pain more excruciating than he’d ever felt lanced through every nerve in his head. He screamed and stumbled to the side, grabbing defenselessly at his skull in an attempt to prevent it from exploding. He held onto the edge of her dresser, riding the wave of pain until he could see and then think again.



He glanced over at Faith, who was making low moaning sounds on the ground. He must have gotten in a lucky hit. She was a Slayer; she’d be up soon.



He spun the other way and staggered toward the door, managing to just barely open it. The hallway was familiar. It was indeed the apartment complex where he’d been staying. He ran toward the parking lot and spotted his DeSoto like a shining beacon of hope waiting for him. The door handle never felt so good under his hand, and he fell inside, tugging down the visor and snatching the keys before they tumbled to the floorboards. He jammed the keys into the ignition and was never more grateful that he always kept it full of gas.



The tires screeched as he pulled out of the parking spot, and when he put it in gear and hit the accelerator, he felt and heard a loud thump on the trunk. He pushed the pedal harder and careened away, leaving the Slayer with her howl of frustration.



* * *



From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:

Faith just called. Spike escaped, and she said he’s at the other Slayer’s house. Of course, I forgave Faith. She needs forgiveness after a lifetime of little to no compassion from others. She asked me what she should do about Spike, and I told her to leave him be for now.



So, it seems I’ve traded Spike for a much better bet. Faith’s a good girl. She’s more pliable; she’ll do as I ask. I thought the Initiative was the key to controlling Spike, but that turned out to be a little blunder. At least, he’s stuck with that pain-inducing chip in his brain. He won’t be able to hurt humans anymore, and that’ll kill his spirit. A creature like that is nothing without the ability to satisfy his bloodlust. Serves him right. I imagine his kind will kill him or he’ll leave town for help from his lover. Irritating problem solved. Now, I can focus all my efforts on ensuring my ascension goes smoothly.



But first, my Faith needs cheering up. I’m going to cook her dinner. It’s been a minute since I cooked for someone special. Edna May always liked my lasagna, so I must stop by the store on the way home for my favorite ricotta.



* * *



“Spike, you look terrible.”



Running a hand through his longer, unstyled, and likely unbleached curls, Spike gave Joyce a rueful smile from the shadows of the front porch. “I know. I need your help.”



Spike stared at Joyce’s neck as she tied her robe closed. The open wound on her neck was healed, leaving behind a raised pink scar. She stepped back, letting him inside the house. “Come in.”



“I have a request first.”



“Anything.”



“Can I park the DeSoto in your garage?” Spike needed his car out of sight. He didn’t know if the Mayor already knew he was at the Summers residence, but Spike thought it couldn’t hurt to not announce his presence.



Joyce studied his face but didn’t question him. “Of course. Hold on. Let me go open the door.”



Spike hurriedly ran out to pull his car next to Joyce’s. Relief spread over him when the garage door safely closed, and he was back inside the house with Joyce.



“Sit,” Joyce commanded, pointing at a stool at the breakfast bar. “Do you need blood?”



“What?” His stomach growled. How long had it been since he had food in his system?



She shrugged. “I’ve been keeping some for you in case you came back. I wanted to thank you for helping my daughter and me. You saved our lives.”



An unexpectedly warm glow filled Spike’s heart as he slid onto the stool and set a tote bag on the counter. “Oh.”



“And I felt bad for only offering hot chocolate last time.” Joyce retrieved a mug from the cabinet and went to the refrigerator. “It’s not human though.”



“That’s fine.” If any other person offered him anything than human, he’d slit their throat but not Joyce. And at this point, beggars couldn’t be choosers.



“I think it’s pig,” she continued as she pulled out a plastic container. “I got it at the butcher’s.”



“I’ve had it before.” He’d had it at a time Joyce should never know anything about.



Joyce poured some into the cup; it smelled fresh. Spike wondered if she’d been replacing it every few days for the past months. Joyce slid the mug in the microwave for heating. Neither of them said a word as the machine hummed, and shortly, the smell of warm blood permeated the kitchen. Spike was starving, and he had never smelled something so good in his life.



When Joyce set the mug in front of him, he tried not to gulp it down in front of her. Instead, he sipped at the liquid and almost immediately felt better somehow. It was swill, but god, it was the best damn swill he’d ever had.



Joyce took the stool next to him. “Now, tell me what happened. And what’s in the bag?”



Spike swallowed. “Something important. I’d better wait for your daughter to explain.”



“She should be home soon,” Joyce said and then pressed her lips together. “Does it have something to do with Faith?”



“And the Mayor.”



Joyce frowned and gave a little shake of her head. “He’s not a nice man. He puts on a good show, but he doesn’t follow through on the important issues. I’m waiting for the election. Maybe people will vote him out.”



Spike took another drink of the blood. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. “If things go the way I think, he won’t be around for the next election. Not in the way you think he will.”



“That’s ominous.”



Crap. He might as well tell the truth. “The Mayor plans to take power trip in a whole different direction and soon.”



“Soon as in before Buffy’s graduation?” Joyce’s heart rate was picking up.



“I’m not exactly sure.” He had some copies of things that he’d taken from the Mayor’s office, and while he understood enough to know the information was valuable, there were some things he hadn’t been able to make sense out of.



“Is she going to be in danger again?” Joyce had her priorities straight. Her daughter was number one.



“Probably.”



“Oh god.”



The back door opened, and Spike froze as Buffy walked in, but she didn’t even balk at Spike’s presence. That was new. “Oh god, what?”



“Spike has information,” Joyce offered.



Buffy tossed a stake and a blade next to Spike’s duffel and addressed him. “What are you doing here?” She wavered and added, “You look terrible.”



Spike arched a brow at her. “So I’ve heard.”



“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since – ”



“Your birthday.” Spike took another swig of the blood. God, he needed it. “I was out of commission. It’s a long story.”



Buffy crossed her arms, and though there were sparks in her eyes, she was noticeably softer toward him. “Tell it.”



Spike glanced at Joyce, uncertain how much she should hear.



Buffy noticed, of course. “She can stay.” Then, she addressed her mother. “As long as you promise not to freak out.”



Joyce straightened up and marked a solemn cross over her heart with her finger. “I promise.”



Spike shared the whole story – well, most of it. He left out the parts that would get him punched, mostly because he didn’t know if his head could handle another blow right now. In his rush to escape, he hadn’t really had time to process what had just happened with the other Slayer, but he shared that part, too, including the bits about the blinding pain in his skull that came with hitting her.



Spike also left out the bits about wanting to kill Buffy. He told himself that he was just protecting Joyce, but he knew that wasn’t quite it. Before, he’d gloried in announcing his plans to rip her limb from limb, but his mind couldn’t go there. God, he was falling apart. Becoming a Nancy boy.



Midway through telling Joyce and Buffy about the papers he’d been swiping from the Mayor’s office on his “ascension,” something occurred to Spike.



Dru was right. His dark princess in her nutty, insightful, creative, empathic, psychic way had seen right through him and known.



Soon, he finished his tale and miracles of miracles, no one had hit him. As Buffy and Joyce glanced through the information from Spike’s bag, he stood, hiding his shakiness, and went to the fridge for more blood.



“So, Spike,” Joyce said as he watched the mug circle round and round in the microwave, “you’re staying here tonight.” She wasn’t asking.



Buffy didn’t even protest. Instead, she offered, “There’s a place to sleep in the basement that’s safe from the sunlight.”



Spike blinked at her. Did he want to stay in the Slayer’s house? He tucked away his pride. It was probably the only way he’d make it out of Sunnydale with his heart whole. “Thanks, pet.”



“We’ll talk with Giles in the morning.” She paused and clarified, “About all the information you brought about the Mayor.”



Would he stay long enough for that? He knew the answer even as he asked himself the question. “Alright.”



And that was that.



Before Spike knew it, Joyce was hanging his duster on the overflowing coatrack. Then, he was showered, in some fresh clothes that sort of fit him, and in the basement with sheets, a pillow, and a blanket. As he made up the cot, Buffy slipped downstairs with her arms full of another cot and more bedding. She unfolded the twin cot next to his – well, three feet away.



“What’re you doing?” he asked nonchalantly.



“You think I’m gonna let you stay in the house with my mother and not guard you like a hawk?” At another time, Buffy’s would have been biting and cold, But now? She just sounded tired.



“That only makes sense.” Spike slid a pillowcase over his pillow.



Buffy fluffed her pillow. “Yep.”



When they both finished artfully arranging the covers, Buffy padded across the room to flip off the light. Spike noticed that she was wearing her pajamas, which were covered in tiny pictures of what looked like sushi. That was not what he expected a Slayer to wear to bed. She was. . . beautiful.



Buffy used her flashlight to make her way back over. “What’s that smirk about?”



Spike bit his lip and couldn’t help but smile at her – a genuine smile. “Nothing.” He decided he’d better get under the covers before he got himself into trouble.



When they were both settled, Buffy clicked off the flashlight, and almost as if this gesture gave her courage, she asked, “Why are you helping? I mean, I’m grateful. Don’t get me wrong. But you’ve always been out to kill me. What changed in the last few months?”



Leave it to the Slayer to lay it all out upfront. Spike wasn’t feeling defensive, so that allowed him to think about his response, which had never been the case with Buffy and rarely anyone else since he became a vampire. “The truth?”



Buffy shifted, and Spike heard her heart pick up speed. “That would be nice.”



“I got offered a deal to work for the Mayor.”



“You told me.”



Spike took a deep breath. “But it wasn’t for what I said before.”



“Not because you gave up on Dru?” Buffy scoffed. “Saw right through that bullshit reason when you gave it earlier.”



Maybe it was the teasing note in her words or the darkness engulfing them or both that made it easier for him to say, “You didn’t call me on it. Why?”



Buffy was quiet and then said softly, “I didn’t want to. Didn’t seem pertinent when you were laying out all his nefarious plans.”



Spike’s next words came in a rush. “I came back here because he offered to let me kill you, pet.”



“I knew it!” Why did she sound more amused than angry?



“But something changed as I got to know the Mayor and his plans. When I found out about the Council’s test and Joyce almost got killed.”



Spike caught a whiff of a tear rolling down Buffy’s cheek. “That was awful.”



“The test was an abomination.”



“Yeah. Giles felt terrible for his part in it.”



“His part?” Something dawned on Spike, and he took a guess. “He was the one making you weak.”



Buffy breathed out. “Yeah. He’s been very apologetic, and he’s all fired now so. . .”



“Fired by the Council of Wankers? Good for him.” Spike felt a modicum of respect for the Watcher. Systems needed to be bucked.



Buffy let out a small laugh before tucking it away. She was quiet for several seconds, but Spike could tell she wasn’t falling asleep because her breathing wasn’t slowing. “What happened with Faith frightens me.”



“Which part?”



“I was going along with her, breaking into shops and getting way too invested in the slaying. It’s not a game, having this much power, a-and I should have known better.”



Spike turned on his side on the wobbly cot, propping his head up even though he couldn’t see her. “Now look here. Beating yourself doesn’t do a thing other than keep you stuck in the misery. You pushed the limit. Sometimes you have to do that to figure out where you stand on things and where your boundaries are. Plenty of people are handed a boatload of power and aren’t careful with it. They don’t respect it. Sounds to me like you do.”



“How do you always know the right thing to say even though you’re a vampire?”



“Hey, I’m still half-human over here,” Spike found himself protesting.



“I know,” she admitted and breezed onward. “Losing that power for the test. . . it was scary. I never felt so scared in my life. Not just when I thought I’d lose my mom, but. . . I’ve had my powers for so long, I don’t know what it would be like to be me without them. Well, I guess I sorta do now.” She took a deep breath. “And I wonder how you feel about it. . . how you feel about whatever it is that the Mayor did to your brain.”



Spike was completely taken aback by her admission and her thoughts about his feelings. The back of his head was sore, and though he’d felt around on his scalp for signs of surgery or anything unusual, he hadn’t found anything except a bit of tenderness. Stupid vampire healing. “I don’t rightly know what they did to me or how to feel about it. But yeah, helpless sounds about right.”



“You said that when you punched Faith, you had a lot of pain?”



“Yeah.” Godawful pain so bad it had felt like his skull might crack open like an eggshell.



“So. . . hit me.”



His mouth dropped open. “What?!”



“To test it and make sure it’s true.” She huffed. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”



“I dunno, pet. You’ve got me by the short hairs. If I hit you, what’s to stop you from staking me on the spot?”



“I won’t. I promise. And do you see any wood around here?”



“Hmm. Could be a stake up your sleeve.”



“Maybe I do. Force of habit.” The sheets rustled as Buffy sat up. “Pinky swear I won’t hurt you.”



Spike matched her motion so that they sat knee to knee. He sensed how close she was, and it was almost surreal. He almost wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming. “Give me your pinky if you mean it.”



“I hope you mean not literally give me your pinky. As in tear it off or something.”



“Good god, Slayer! I’m not always thinking violent thoughts.”



“Okay. It’s out there.” She paused. “My pinky.”



Spike’s finger grazed the edge of Buffy’s soft pajama sleeve as he reached over in the darkness, and after a moment of fumbling, he found her warm fingers, which accidentally half-laced with his before his pinky looped around hers. She squeezed gently, and Spike realized that she was holding her breath. They held half a second too long, and then, he let her go, already missing the different kind of touch between them. If he had a beating heart, it would be racing.



“I’m ready,” Buffy said.



“Okay.”



Time ticked by, and then, Buffy spoke. “Spike?”



He was trying to decide where to hit her. She was here, vulnerable before him, and he couldn’t bring himself to deck her in the face. God, what was wrong with him?



Before he could talk himself out of it, he lashed out, punching her hard in the arm. Lightning pain shot through his head, and he screamed, falling forward off the cot so that it tumbled with a crash to the ground even as his knees hit the concrete. As the tidal wave of pain thrummed through him, he heard Buffy’s voice through the haze, and when the pain began to slowly fade, he felt her touching him, stroking his back the way he’d stroked hers when she thought her mum was dead.



“I’m here. Tell me when you can speak,” she said gently, repeating the message until he could make sense out of it.



When at last he felt capable of speaking, he said hoarsely, “Guess I can’t hit anyone anymore.” He slowly eased up to a sitting position. Oh god, he was pathetic. This was awful. It was true. He was going to starve if he didn’t hit up blood banks.



Buffy flicked on the flashlight and surveyed his face. “We’re going to figure this out. How to fix it.”



He gave her a half-smile. “We?”



The door to the basement opened, sending yellow light cascading around the room, and Joyce called down, “Buffy? Spike? You okay down there? I heard a crash and screaming.”



“We’re fine, Mom!” Buffy replied. “Spike just fell off the cot. He hit his head.”



“Oh, okay,” Joyce said. “Anything I can do?”



“No, thank you, Joyce!” Spike answered.



“Get some rest. Both of you. If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.” Then, Joyce closed the door again, and the kitchen light went off.



Spike and Buffy used the low light of the flashlight to set up both cots again. This time, when Spike climbed onto his, Buffy scooted her cot so close that her sheets were touching his. As she snuggled under the covers, she whispered, “They won’t fall over as easily this way.”



Spike didn’t say anything as he gathered his thoughts. Then, he said, “I’m helping because I still like the world the way it is. Like I said before.”


“With Acathla and Angelus,” she said so low he almost didn’t hear her. Did she sound disappointed? She definitely didn’t seem surprised.



“And the Mayor? His purpose for gaining power is to destroy. It’s unclear how much of the world he wants to destroy, but more than I’m comfortable with.”



“Hmmm. And he thought you just wanted to kill me to get Dru back.”



“Yeah.”



“He miscalculated your motives.” Buffy’s words were thoughtful, and Spike caught a hint of amusement.



“I’m more complicated than that, pet.”



“I know.” She yawned. “Good night.”



Spike closed his eyes. Dru was right. He was bloody well hung up on the Slayer and not in the killing her sort of way. He didn’t know what it meant, but for now, he was content to sleep on it.



* * *

From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:

I was right! Faith loved my lasagna. With the ice cream for dessert, it would seem that both of us are in a food coma. It’s the perfect time for some television. Faith was very excited about my movie collection. I’m letting her choose the film we watch. I am a bit worried about what Faith will do after the ascension, but I’m going to do my darnedest to protect her.





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