Message: 3 Date: Mon, 17 Dec 2001 02:29:19 -0800 From: Justine Subject: The Pretty Things Author: Justine Evans Email: justinee@shaw.ca Title: The Pretty Things Part 1 of ? Rating R Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. If they did, I'd probably have a better night life. They belong to Mutant Enemy and a very smart man named Joss Whedon. Thanks to Amy for feedback and keeping my comma addiction in check. 'The Pretty Things' Sometimes the thought is enough to push us over the edge. To lose everything in a blinding moment of passion. Afterwards, we think back and wonder how it happened. Sometimes there simply are no answers. The narratives shift with each telling. There are no absolutes. There is no good in the world, just shades of evil. **** What to do What to say What to wear on a sunny day Who to phone Who to fight Who to dance with on a Sunday night Reaching the very edge, you know Reaching the very edge Going to the other side this time Reaching the very edge **** There was an unusual silence. It hung eerily over the town like a heavy smog. Movement was limited, the air stagnant. The acrid smell of iron cloaked any breeze that may have passed. **** It should have been paradise. Could have been. It's a bloody prison. Damned monsters rule this town now. There's a blood bar on every corner. Common as bleedin' Starbucks here. I tried. Screw this, I'm hopping the pond next week. Ship leaves in six days. With no Slayer, where's the fun? **** I don't know how it happened. We won, right? We won. Wow. Glory's gone. The world is saved. We kicked her ass back to Hell. Boom! Should have been good, right? Know what? It's not. I think maybe if I tried to explain it, well...I really can't. Everything's so different, you know? It's like a big black cloud of bad landed on Sunnydale and wont go away. Without Buffy, there's just not a lot worth doing these days. Tara and I are gonna travel for a while, I think. See the world while we can. Giles said that there wasn't much we could do here anyway. **** I didn't really think she could die. She's the Buff, right? Savin' the world, 5 years and counting. This is insane. Insane end-of-the-world logic. Anya's been...well, I'd say really good about the situation, but that'd be a lie. She says she'd feel better holed up in a cave somewhere. I think we're headed to Pittsburgh instead. Pay a visit to Uncle Rory. **** It's times like this that I yearn for the days when I had the comfort of the Council behind me. They may not be a flawless organization, but the bureaucracy is somehow very soothing in the face of forces, which cannot be controlled. However, I'm no longer a Watcher and have no right to ask for their sympathy. With Buffy gone, they'll search for a new Slayer, in the hopes that they might be able to move past this whole torrid episode with some dignity intact. I suspect, however, that until Faith is killed, there will be no new Slayer. Faith herself may be in grave danger. I've sent a message to her, since the event, but I've had no word back yet. It may already be too late, but I nevertheless felt the need to warn her of what may come. I leave early tomorrow morning. I'm heading back to England. I don't quite know why, after all, this turbid little vale has been my home for years now. Nevertheless, I'm leaving it behind. Something tells me that I must do my best to forget the past few years. I shall miss Willow and Xander, and Dawn the most, I suppose. They will learn to function without my guidance, as they eventually must. I hear that they are mostly fleeing town also and that has made my decision that much simpler. I simply cannot remain here. **** Gotta message from Giles today. Whod'a thunk the stuffy old bat would have anything to say to me these days. Funny how things work out. B kicked it a few weeks ago. Some noble sacrifice or some shit like that. The Scoobs are all broken up about it and running away. I don't know, but Sunnydale looks to be royally screwed. Kinda funny, actually, when I think about it. I'm considering leaving soon. If the W.C. comes after me, I wanna fight them on the outside. On my own terms. It's not like the guards coulda kept me here if I didn't want them to, anyway. I didn't have a reason to leave. 'Till now. *** The two women moved hurriedly down the rapidly darkening streets. The smaller woman wore a heavy gray duffel coat, the other a long black knit. Both wore hoods, in an attempt to hide their hair colour and shading their eyes. They were nearly invisible against the bleak backdrop of the darkened buildings. There came a low snarl from behind a doorway. A man stepped out in front of the two -no, not a man. His grotesquely disfigured forehead and mouthful of sharp teeth were his defining features. He smiled and chuckled at his luck. The smaller woman raised her hand distractedly and muttered under her breath. "Personae" The creature raised its eyebrows and deferred to the two female vampires whose way he was barring. As he blended back into the wall, the women rushed past, allowing the temporary glamour to dissolve. Finally they reached their destination. Stepping in through the door of the shop, they removed their coats revealing blonde and red hair beneath the hoods. Willow and Tara stood in the entrance of the Magic Box, their faces visibly relaxing in the haven of light within the store. Giles sighed audibly. "You both know that this is not the time to be walking about so late. It's simply not safe and I don't see how any of us could do much if the two of you were injured." His face softened a little. The little creases around his eyes seemed to pain him as he pulled his glasses off and wiped the back of his hand against his brow. "I know. Sorry..it's just.well, sorry." Tara looked down. She felt safe with Willow around, but she knew that there were some things that even the two of them would be hard pressed to deal with these days. "Giles, it's okay. We're okay. We were just packing and lost track of time." Willow walked to the table and sat down facing Giles, Anya, and Xander. Tara sat down beside her. There were two extra chairs, which had been removed from the table and lined up behind the sales counter. The shelves of the store were nearly bare and there was evidence of newly vacated space. The dust on some of the higher shelves that still bore the imprints of heavy books, recently removed. "Well, we're all here. We should drink something. I brought Bourbon. When everyone's upset, it's best to get very drunk as soon as possible." Anya pulled a bottle out of her purse. Xander looked at her somewhat strangely. Then he picked up the bottle and looked around for some glasses. Anya proceeded to extract a small package of disposable cups from said purse and the pouring began. "While becoming intoxicated may seem terribly tempting, is this really the time for it? We must discuss what we're going to do next." "Next?" Everyone looked at Willow. "Giles, there is no next. It's over. If we don't get out of here, everything with teeth is going to come after us and spread little Scooby bits all over Sunnydale." Her voice was hollow and her expression looked to be cracking a little around the edges. "It's over." "Yes. Well." Everyone drank. *** The man crouched in the dark, empty crypt...Restless and tense. Every muscle tightened in a static pattern of stillness. He considered soliloquizing about the present ungodly state of affairs, but it would be a waste of breath. Well, not breath, exactly. He hadn't changed his clothes in days. Not that he ever really changed his clothes...Still, he just couldn't be bothered. It was silly, really. Spend the bulk of your life trying to kill someone, you feel like you know them. It wasn't that Spike missed her, he just missed the hunt. The passion. The perverted arousal of her presence. The heat. The warmth of her stupid fluffy eyes. The way she looked at him when he did something nice. Perplexed yet trusting. Dawn's eyes, looking to him for guidance. Buffy's eyes looking to him for support. Conscious or not, there'd been something there and loathe as he was to admit it, Spike hadn't slept in days and even prime blood tasted like dirt to him. He had to get out of Sunnydale. There was nothing left here for him. The town was bled dry, or would be, literally, soon. Even in the short weeks since the death of the slayer, everything that had been lurking underground, waiting for an opportunity to strike, was here. Monsters were drifting in from all down the coast now. A town like Sunnydale was an attractive prospect. Totally dependent on the protection of the Slayer. Without her, the town was ripe as a fat peach. He rocked back on his heels very slightly and then back again. This brooding was somehow comforting. He'd relived the event a thousand times. He felt himself falling, he watched her jump. He could still feel the intense heat that had crawled on his skin as the sun rose over her corpse. Burning and burning. A sort of pentance for his failure. He'd been too slow. Too soft. In one swift moment, Spike stood up. He had to hunt. Something, anything. Nothing like a little violence to get your mind off your troubles. *** The graveyard was practically swarming. Undead, totally dead, wannabe dead, everyone was out for a little prime cruising. Spike shoved through several packs of newly risen vamps and hit the streets. He wasn't looking for an easy fight. He wanted something else. A challenge. Unprepared for an attack from within their own ranks, the vamps around here were easy pickings for Spike these days. His reputation had taken a bit of a hiatus throughout the recent population explosion. Those who'd managed to survive the Slayer's reign in the town were too busy turning humans to care what he did. He staked vamps carelessly. Most were too new to know how to fight properly anyway. The fights were unsatisfactory in their abruptness. He wanted to stretch his legs a little. Get into the swing of something. Without realizing it, he was drawing closer and closer to the Magic Box. When he did finally notice, it didn't matter. He had nowhere better to be and as much as he hated to admit it, Buffy's little helpers were really the closest thing he had to comrades now. Just as he caught a glimpse of the square of light coming from the window of the Magic Box, Spike saw something else. Well, he didn't so much see it, as know it was there. He turned his head and stared across the street from the shop. There was someone in the building directly opposite. There was only the slightest shifting within the building as he passed. He pretended not to notice. Then he broke the door down. She was on him like a cat. She tossed him over her shoulder before he had a chance to turn his head. All he could make out was long, dark hair. He couldn't fight back. She had a stake. He'd never seen her before. Good thing, too. *** Spike landed on his back and she was on top of him in a heartbeat. He could only lie there, confused while she aimed the stake eerily close to his heart. He reached up immediately to try to fend her off, but pain shot through him like hot irons in his brain. Moaning weakly, he stopped struggling and his assailant relaxed a little. "Now, I could stake you right now. I'm not even really sure why I shouldn' t...something tells me you're more interesting than the last guy who showed up in here. You can't even hit me. Why is that?" "Who are you?" "No. See...I don't think we're understanding each other." She sucked on her teeth and traced the stake along Spike's tense chest, grinning. He was numb with fear. He had never intended to die like this. There was no flair. Hell, there weren't even any witnesses. He would be dust. Just like that. How pitiful. "What do you want?" "I want lots of things, little man. What do you want?" She was shifting around now. Moving, squirming, making Spike more than a little uncomfortable. He didn't like this. Her eyes were not as hard as he thought they should be. They looked vulnerable. In their vulnerability there was weakness, but more than that. There was desperation. "I want you to bloody well get offa me. Or..." She was moving down his body now, straddling his hips. She moved back and forth slowly. The denim of his pants and the leather of hers creating friction and heat. "Or what? What else would you like me to do?" Spike grimaced. He wanted to push her away. He wanted to draw her in closer. He watched her throat as she tossed her hair, obviously posing for him. He wanted to bite her, feel the tear of her soft skin beneath his teeth, the sound of her coursing through his veins, refracted in his eardrums. He sighed. "Is it me? Or are you this tame with all the girls?" She bared her throat and offered it to him, her eyes turned up in the corners with something between confidence and desperation. Was she mocking him? Was he missing something? "Stop playing me and kill me already. If that's what you're planning." He leaned back, stretching his chest in front of her. This was no game. He didn 't care. She could stake him, for all he cared. Bloody well served him right anyway. "Little pup's lost his bite. Too bad. It could have been a blast. So tell me..."She paused, still on top of him, but now she'd set the stake aside and was running her hands along the sides of his face. "Who are you?" "No one." Who was SHE? She couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty and she certainly smelled human. She reminded him of Buffy, though there were virtually no physical similarities between the two. He couldn't explain it. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter. She lit it and held it near his hair. She waited till a few strands began to hiss before she asked him again. "Spike. I'm Spike. Resident pet vampire. Who're you?" "So what's with the weak incisors? Gypsy curse get you, too?" "American science." "Uh huh. Where were you headed before your little detour?" Spike jumped a little. The lighter was still hovering dangerously close to his hair and this bitch's questions were getting a little too precise. "I was out for a walk. Just gettin' some air." "Sure. And I was out shopping for scented candles. Where were you going?" Her voice was low and ridiculously pleased. This was fun for her. It would have been fun for him too, once. "I was meeting some friends." Friends. Hah. "Friends. Hah." Spike glanced up sharply. What was she laughing at? "I'll bet a guy like you is just what they were looking for after Angel left. I always thought that useless vamps were Buffy's fetish. I know who you are, you know." She was glancing coyly down at him. He'd stiffened. He suddenly knew who this had to be. He understood her strength, her confidence. Her malice. "Faith." *** "William the Bloody. It's a pleasure. I feel like I already know you. Not that anyone ever told me any news. No one writes letters these days. A few months incarcerated and a girl's a social disaster." Her eyes closed for a moment. "Doesn't matter though. Do they usually meet in there?" She jerked her head in the direction of the Magic Box. "What do you want with them? Buffy's dead." "I know, but you know how it is. Gotta renew acquaintances while you can. So, do you work for them? The Doo to their Scooby?" "I'm a free agent." "Uh huh." Faith stood and hauled Spike up by the collar. "Let's go. You can make the introductions." "You know them." "There's a few new faces. The last time I was in town, there was a little confusion. Formal introductions were out." A memory surfaced in Spike's mind. This girl's eyes were very familiar but somehow not. Last time he saw them they were hazel, now they were brown. No, wait. Buffy's eyes were that colour. Faith. "Hey! Now I've got it. 'warm champagne...legs buckled. It's wrong." Spike chuckled bitterly at the memory. "How silly of me to have forgotten." Faith had been Buffy for a while. His face hardened as he recalled her charade. "How sweet. You remembered." Faith grinned a little. "Bitch." Remembering the frustration. Humiliation. "Let's go." She stood behind him and pushed Spike out the door and into the street. Following him, stake handy, she crossed the street. The chime rang on the Magic Box door. "So this is the new hang. Neat." *** Tara woke up a little at the sound of the bell on the door. Her head was against Willow's chest. Soft snoring surrounded her. So did empty glasses and an enormous bottle of Bourbon. Spike was at the door. Somehow, she recognized the woman who'd followed him into the store, but couldn't quite place her. It was as though the face was familiar but there was no personality attached. She sensed something wrong, something juxtaposed. Tara tapped Willow's shoulder frantically trying to wake her. "Um, hello." Tara stood, knocking over a glass. The others slept on. "Don't you remember me? Gosh, we're like sisters." The girl at the door came forward, moving like a snake, graceful and mesmerizing. She embraced Tara, giving her a hard thump against the back. Faith pressed up against tightly against Tara. The embrace was both violent and erotic. Tara fumbled and backed away. "Faith? What are you doing here?" Tara's eyes narrowed. This didn't make any sense. Why would Faith come back here of all places? Tara wished that the others hadn't had quite so much to drink. Napping was one thing, unconsciousness during major events was another. "So..." Faith took a few more steps closer to Tara, running her fingers along Willow's sleeping shoulder, her eyes working the curves and grooves of the young woman's body. Faith looked up suddenly and looked Tara right in the eye. "Is it nice?" "Wh-what?" "Having Willow all to yourself. No Buffy." Faith smiled. She picked up a lock of Tara's hair and pushed it around in her fingers. "She always did have a thing for blondes." Tara's eyes narrowed, but she maintained her silence. "Well, it doesn't matter. I can wait." Faith raised herself and sat on top of the sales counter, kicking her legs out in front of her. "You and I can sit and talk till the rest of them wake up. We can paint each others' nails. Like a slumber party." Tara looked at Spike. He looked confused and a little nervous. Tara had no idea what Faith wanted with them. She just didn't want to be the only one to find out. "Excitate." Anya, Xander, Willow and Giles all jerked their heads up suddenly. Tara flinched at their immediate confusion. An awakening spell like this was really no good since it left its subjects too disoriented to think for a minute. Giles was the first to speak. "What is it? Uh..." He adjusted his glasses. "Faith?" Squinting, now. "Giles! You're awake! I missed you. A girl gets awful lonely in the big house." Faith's tone was dangerous. Her eyes were shining with excitement. She moved to stand beside Giles. Faith took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Well Daddy, big sister's dead. How about a little love?" "What do you want from us? I didn't imagine you'd come back here. At least not so soon. They'll be after you soon." Giles pulled his arm back. Everyone was backing away from Faith like she was an angry cat, just waiting to strike. "I know. That's why I'm here. You weren't just going to let them have me, were you?" "Who's after her Giles?" Willow stood up, now. Looking around she seemed to have woken up more quickly than Xander or Anya. She glanced at Faith, "Does the Council know where you are?" Back at Giles "Should we tell them?" "Don't be silly, Willow. She's running from the Council. That's why she's here." "You mean...you think they'd try to....?" "I think they're capable of it, anyway. They may try." "Try what?" Xander was watching Faith warily. He didn't trust her. Well, no one trusted her. "The Council wants me dead. They know where I've been, but I think I lost them on the way here." "You mean they've been following you?" "Following, stalking...hunting. It's all the same." "And now you're here." Giles sighed in frustration. "You're setting us up, then?" Willow looked at Faith, surprised. "Hope you don't mind." *** She was flying.or was she swimming? The air was warm and humid. Everything around her was soft. It was like being on the inside of an orange. Everything was smooth and clear. Fragile and perfect. The air hummed with life. She began to forget. She knew that there was something missing, but gradually she was losing touch with it. The sense of disorientation was dizzying for a second but she felt her mind washed clean and pure, so she let go. The dizziness dissolved and she felt her limbs stretching impossibly, fading at their tips, till her fingers were turning to air and the world around her enveloped her like a warm hand in water. She smiled and spun what was left of her physical self around and around like a top until she could feel nothing but the pulsing orbit of the centre of the world. She embraced the air. *** The pretty things are going to hell They wore it out but they wore it well *** "The Council knows by now that I've been in contact with Faith. They'll assume that we're harboring her." Giles lifted his eyes skyward. Exhaustion was apparent on his face. Faith had left, temporarily, with Spike to find a place to sleep. She was naïve if she thought that she wasn't the topic of conversation in the Magic Box. Giles couldn't fathom why she'd leave herself so vulnerable at a time like this, but there was no time to question these things. "But, we're not harboring her! I don't want anything to do with Faith!" Willow's voice was weak and a little whiny. Giles tried not to let his annoyance show. "Indeed, and I'm sure that if you tell them that, they'll just pack up and go for a round of beers at the local pub. It's not that simple, Willow. I'm afraid that I may have made a rather grave error in alerting Faith at all." "So, will they come after us?" Xander was fingering the ticket to Pittsburgh in his pocket. "I should think so. If they think that Faith's been in contact with us, they 'll want all the information that we've got." "But can't we just turn her over to them?" Willow's eyes were bright. She was overtired and it was starting to show. "It's not like we owe her anything, anyway. She's never done one good thing for us. I say we let 'em have her." "That hardly seems honorable, Willow. I don't like this any better than you do, but what the Council is doing is nevertheless wrong. Consider if it were Buffy in this position. It could easily have been." "Honour be damned! It isn't Buffy! It's Faith. Remember Faith? Little evil minion, big evil snake? Body switching, mind messing, boyfriend stealing bitch?" Tara's arm shot out as Willow faltered a little. Willow clung to her. "Calm down. We must decide this rationally. I understand your motivation, Willow, but what about the next Slayer? If Faith dies, another will be called. She will be completely under the Council's control. At least for a few years. I honestly think we will have a better chance of surviving if we don't come into contact with the Council just now. They have good reason to want every one of us dead. Buffy was our safeguard." Giles grimaced and sat down, lost momentarily in though. With Buffy gone, there was really no reason for any of them to still be here. Meeting here, making plans.this was all so familiar and yet there was no reason for it anymore. Dawn was with her father, safe, if not happy. They had been unable to do anything about that. It didn't matter anymore. "Perhaps you're right. If we were wise, we would all just leave town now as planned and leave Faith to fight her own battle." Giles sat back down. He was so weary. The past two weeks had been a fight for mere survival. There had been little time for grieving. All of them seemed to sense the finality of the situation. There was nothing left but to accept it and move on. "Anya and I are leaving, no matter what." Everyone looked at Xander. Giles nodded. Anya held his arm and stared coolly around the table. Xander looked down at his hands. Willow and Tara looked at each other. Giles glanced searchingly at each of them. "Giles. This isn't all there is. Leaving isn't giving up. It's moving on. Nothing really ever ends." Funny that Tara, this wise, quiet, beautiful girl should be so comforting when no one else felt able. Willow was lucky to have her. Giles watched the way they looked at each other like they shared some mysterious, perfect secret. She was right. "All right then. Now, what shall we tell Faith?" Giles let it go. With that, he unchained himself from this town. Freed himself of Buffy's memory. "You don't." Spike had returned. He stood in the door, his face as unreadable as a block of salt. "Just go. Leave now. She won't find out, I swear it." *** Once there was a path and a girl with chestnut hair, and you passed the summers picking all of the berries that grew there; there were times she was a woman, oh, there were times she was just a child, and you held her in the shadows where the raspberries grow wild. And you climbed the twilight mountains and you sang about the view, and everywhere that you wandered love seemed to go along with you. That's a hard one to remember, yes it makes you clench your fist. And then the veins stand out like highways, all along your wrist. And yes it's come to this, it's come to this, and wasn't it a long way down, wasn't it a strange way down? -Leonard Cohen, Last Year's Man Faith stood in the ruins of the library. No one had bothered to clean up the mess. The destruction was nearly total. It seemed fitting that she see it once more. After all, this was partly her doing. If it hadn't been for her, none of this would have been possible. Who was she kidding? She'd been nothing but a pawn. A useful one, but a pawn nonetheless. She recalled those brief weeks of happiness. Under the wings of the Mayor was comfort. Love. Attention. False or not, it was the closest thing she had. Love was for the weak anyway. She didn't need anyone. She was strong. She knew in the back of her mind that she'd meant very little to him. He'd seen her need and responded. She'd given all of herself to him and then he'd gone and let himself get killed. Perhaps she never really believed all that Ascension crap from the beginning. Eventually, he'd get tired of it and give up. He'd buy a big house in the country and Faith would be like his daughter. He'd get her a puppy for Christmas and she'd hug him like the little girls in the movies. For a while, she'd been certain that it would all work out. Love makes the world go round, Sparky. Even after she'd let go of the fantasy, she had hoped for something else. Something other than the total desolation. Abandonment. She'd finally realized what Angel had meant when he told her about forgiveness. She'd tried to atone. Prison had been nice for a while...a terribly comforting thought, to be sitting around making up for your past. But in the end, it hadn't done any good. She was still just sitting. Accomplishing nothing. Bored. Tired. Faith stood among the rubble and reviewed the events of the last few days. She hadn't expected Buffy's gang to welcome her with open arms, but the fear she saw in their eyes was too much. She didn't care anymore if they helped her. She deserved to be hunted and killed. A lone dog is a dead dog. Faith wept. She was not quiet. She beat her hands against the remains of a bookshelf until she was bleeding. She attacked the walls, ripping the shreds into smaller shreds. Go get 'em, Killer. The dust and ash clogged her throat. The surfaces of the room peeled and crawled between her clutching hands. When she was too tired to do anymore, she lay down and slept. Her hair formed bloody mats and the blood on her hands dried to the floor. *** Faith had told him to get out as soon as they reached the library. Spike played the good pup and left. He knew what was happening here. He recognized a nervous breakdown when he saw one. For a moment, some part of him wanted to comfort her. He repressed the urge quickly. This was no time to go soft. This was a window of opportunity. Spike felt as though a great weight had lifted off of his shoulders. He'd seen the pattern. There was clarity, if not grace. He could see the justice in this. It was not right, but it was something. It was beautiful. One for one. Five by five. A sacrifice. A perfect circle. Spike ran back to the Magic Box. He was betraying Faith. They all were. By the time she'd recovered, perhaps before, they'd all have vanished. *** ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ Message: 4 Date: Mon, 17 Dec 2001 02:33:56 -0800 From: Justine Subject: The Pretty Things (2) Author: Justine Evans Email: justinee@shaw.ca Title: The Pretty Things Part 2 of ? Rating R Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. If they did, I'd probably have a better night life. They belong to Mutant Enemy and a very smart man named Joss Whedon. Thanks to Amy for feedback and keeping my comma addiction in check. Anya lifted her head wearily and looked out the window. It was still dark, but she could see the thin tendrils of light reaching out over the mountains. Almost morning. She yawned and snuggled her head back on Xander's sleepy chest. She watched the land crawl by as the bus made its way across the countryside. She was glad. Relieved even. This would be a new life for both of them. Her and Xander, starting fresh. He'd get a job building things. Anya was debating going to back to school. She could get a piece of paper that qualified her to count money all day long. That sounded nice. Boring, but nice. They'd traded their plane tickets for bus tickets that would get them out of Sunnydale well before morning. Hasty packing and quick goodbyes took place in a matter of hours. They'd send for the rest of their stuff later and Xander was working on convincing his parents to relocate as soon as possible. Hopefully not to Pittsburgh, though. Anya had seen just about enough of the Harris' for one lifetime. She glanced up at Xander's face. He looked peaceful. He wasn't wearing that worried-nightmare look that had been so common lately. She was certain that things were going to finally work out. For the first time since she lost her powers, Anya was truly happy to be human. *** Tara grabbed the last of the bags and headed for the boarding gate. The plane was scheduled to leave any minute. Willow was still working on the ticket situation, but with a little luck they'd be in their seats and learning about emergency exits in a matter of minutes. Tara felt a pang at the thought of leaving Sunnydale. So much good had come out of her stay here. She had friends. She had a home. She had a lover. For the first time in her life, she'd felt like she belonged and now they were leaving. Probably forever. Somewhere between the location and the memories, Tara felt that she'd made a place for herself in Sunnydale. It didn't matter, though. The most important thing was on her way back right now. Waving a ticket folder and grinning. They would be together. Wherever they went, they would be together. Willow picked up her things and the two women entered the gate. "Well, we're off. Goodbye Sunnydale." Willow smiled. Tara knew that it was only a matter of time before Willow realized how much of herself she was leaving behind. But for now, it was okay. "Wave Goodbye to the Hellmouth" Tara chuckled and waved, amused. "France had better watch out. We come bearing bad touristy outfits and cameras that weigh more than we do." They boarded the plane. *** His return was well received. Olivia met him at the airport and drove him to her apartment. She seemed happy to see him. Relieved. Her last visit to Sunnydale had been more than a little traumatic. Giles was sure that she had been thoroughly scared off. In fact, she had been. But it was different now. There was no slayer, no Hellmouth. Just a lonely man who'd forgotten how to live without a mission. In her arms, he began to remember. *** Spike watched the shadows in the crypt grow longer. Little snakes of light were sliding backwards along the floor. It was almost sunset. Another hour, and he'd be free to roam. He'd spent the day trying to get a little sleep but he was so restless. As usual, the day, for Spike was one long time out. It was like being punished as a small child. "You'll stay inside until I say you can leave." The dim memory of a woman's voice. His mother? A nanny? He couldn't remember. He remembered the feeling, though. Being cut off from the outside world, limited, like his arms had been tied to his side and his mouth stuffed with cotton. What he wouldn't give to go outside just now. He watched the leaves rustling and rippling through the door, the spring sunshine turning them emerald and pale gold. The last year had been the hardest. He could no longer ignore the facts of what he'd done in the past. It wasn't so much that he felt guilt. No, guilt was for Angel. It was the constant repetition in his mind. Images of people, who, like him, were limited in their existence. Humans, so weak, so vulnerable. Practically unable to fight back. The thought of torturing them now was like torturing himself. He had been rendered soft and weak. He had killed for food, once. It was the food chain. Clean, simple, and without thought. Blood was life. Blood makes you strong. It makes you hard, it makes you feel. Without it, he would have died. There were no moral ambiguities there. Now, everything was an unpleasant shade of gray. Killing was easy. The burden of one's own weakness was much harder to bear. "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it." The words rang hollow. Such sentiments were all fine and good as long as one was living. For the dead, however, things were more complicated. Life was complicated[,] but limbo was an utter abstraction. He knew now, that he had loved her. The Slayer. It was perverted, he knew. Of course it was and always had been a joke. It didn't change the fact, though. And he'd loved Dawn, too. He didn't understand their relationship. He'd never had a child, he never would. He didn't know if this was how it felt, but his drive to protect her was compelling. She was so fragile. And now she was completely alone. She'd been sent away almost immediately after Buffy's death. To live with her father. Who'd never actually met her. It was bitter to think of her now. When it was all too late. Spike's eyes focused and he realized that it was night. He wondered where Faith had holed up for the night. She must have discovered the Great Escape by now. It had been almost 24 hours since he'd first seen her. Morbidly curious, he wanted to know just how broken she really was. He also wanted to see how the Council's hunt panned out. It could get juicy. He decided to start at the high school library and track her from there. When he arrived, though, he was surprised to discover that she hadn't even left the building. The remains of the library were in even more pieces than they had been the night before. Vicious, red claw marks stood out in upon the splintered wood. Sniffing, Spike knew that the blood was human. He took in the mess around him, whistling under his breath. She'd done a lot of damage in one day. This bitch had strength. And stamina. Then he spotted her. She was curled up under a piece of the old, smashed library table. Maybe she'd felt safer with her wooden blanket. She was lying very still. Spike thought for a moment that she was already dead but, listening, he could hear her breathing. She looked so wounded. So totally lost. He crouched beside her and reached his arm out. She allowed him to touch her face. He wasn't even sure that she knew he was there. Her dark eyes were open, but mostly vacant. Something moved in them, but he couldn't identify what. Spike gently brushed her hair back. Her expression seemed so familiar, as it should. It was the same expression that Buffy had worn once. When she had been so lost that it had taken a miracle to bring her back. Well, if not a miracle, then the concern of her friends. Buffy's face and Faith's were melting into each other. A composite was beginning to form in Spike's mind. He ran his hands over Buffy's face and felt Faith turn hers towards him. She was warm and alive. So beautiful. Was this vision of Buffy a ghost? An angel? Spike wasn't sure, but his lips found hers and he held her tight in her arms. His embrace so tight that she could hardly breathe. [I am a drug] [I am a dragon] [I am the best jazz you've ever seen] [I am a dragon] [I am the sky] [I am the blood at the corner of your eye] [I found the secrets, I found gold] [I find you out before you grow old] Finally, they were together. Spike would devour her. She was so soft and smooth. Her hips were pressed hard against him, rubbing against him seductively. She squirmed and wiggled so deliciously, it was all he could do to tear her shirt off and fumble with her bra. Unaware of his movements, he found that he was on top of her. Beneath him, she heaved with anticipation. Her breast arched towards him like the breast of a swan. He nipped at her breasts and began to feel himself grow hard. Reaching down, he undid his pants and rubbed against her writhing body. He tore through her pants and underwear with his sharp teeth. Gently, he held her down while his hands moved in and out of her, warm and ripe. Finally, he entered her. Savoring the sensation of her tight flesh surrounding his, he began to pump back and forth. The resistance and friction was heavenly. In his frenzy, he felt her become suddenly, tremendously wet. He felt her shudder beneath him in her ecstasy. He hoped it would never end. He came inside her, shooting his love deep into the center of her body while she moaned beneath him. It wasn't enough. He grew hard again in a few minutes and began again. And again. Finally, she could do nothing but heave beneath him and grow still before spasming once more. So taken was she by his love. Lost in joy, he fell asleep hours later, the two of them still connected. [You're still breathing but you don't know why] [You're still breathing but you just can't tell] [Don't hold your breath but the pretty things are going to hell] Faith continued to shudder long through the night. She could feel very little anywhere in her body except her slashed, mutilated nipples and the pool of blood that had formed around her broken pelvis. It was expanding and she was getting farther and farther away from it. She stared emptily at the night sky above her, watching the cosmos rolling around like a top. A few short hours before dawn the blood and flesh fell away from her and she became the wind that rushed through the exposed library rafters. *** Spike awakened to the feel of the sun burning hot trails into his back. He turned over and cursed. The library's ceiling had been nearly obliterated. It was almost sunrise and he was completely exposed. The sun was not yet directly above him ,though. He had a few minutes, perhaps a half-hour to find someplace safe to spend the day. It was then that he noticed the body beside him. And the blood that coated much of his body as well as hers. The puddle extended for several feet around them. Crimson. Spike was hungry. A wave of uneasiness passed through him. What had happened the night before? He tipped the girl's head up. Her face was pale and encrusted with blood and salt. She was barely recognizable. This was Faith. Not Buffy, but Faith. And she was dead. Waves of fear were shaking his body now. He'd killed her. He hadn't eaten her, he'd just killed her. It wasn't like him to kill so wantonly. He dropped her head back to the floor. It landed with a soft thud as Spike examined the damage. Her pelvis was shattered and bloody. Deep gashes ran across her breasts from where he'd bitten her. Two ribs were discernible, sticking out at odd angles from her abdomen. He didn't even remember her struggling. Spike found himself feeling rather strange. He felt weak and sick. He hadn't been sickened at the sight of blood in more than a hundred years. Yet now, here he was, unable to touch the corpse of his victim. He almost vomited at the thought that only moments ago, he'd considered eating her blood from the floor around them. The sun was beginning to burn the back of his neck quite seriously now. He ducked, half-naked, beneath the shelter of an upturned bookshelf. Across the room, he spotted his long, dark jacket where he'd left it the night before. The centre of the room was barricaded by a long band of bright sunlight. He'd never make it. Spike realised that he was probably stuck in the library for the remainder of the day. He made his way up the still shaded stairs. He had to choose his steps carefully to avoid bringing down what was left of the construct. He found a well-covered spot between two cracked bookshelves. He had to shield his face from the glare of the sun as it began to rise in earnest. If he was careful and didn't fall asleep or get careless, he should be okay until sundown. Except that he could still see Faith's body. She lay completely still. The last time he'd seen a human girl looking like that had been the morning Buffy had died. A corpse was a corpse. He kept telling himself that. Slayers were really no different than other humans. They lived, they fought, they fucked, and then they died. So what if the fighting was daily. And the fucking was explosive. It wasn't supposed to be deadly though, was it? He'd been in love with a human girl. She'd been more than most humans, but she had been mortal. Painfully, horribly, dangerously mortal. Blood is life. It's hot, nourishing and tastes like a hot iron shot of espresso going down. Faith had been as strong as Buffy. As beautiful, though in a different way. Buffy died because of his failure. Faith, his grief. The blood around her hips would still be warm. His insides turned. No matter how you cut it, Spike was beginning to the see another, more gruesome symmetry shaping his fate. The Powers That Be couldn't have come up with a more disabling punishment for a century of depravity if they'd tried. So this was the way of it? He was unable to shake it off. These human emotions were crippling. He was a bird caught in a net. First they'd clipped his wings, and then they'd woven a wall around him. Spike was learning. Slowly, but surely, he was becoming more and more certain that he was being punished. [Non-text portions of this message have been removed] ________________________________________________________________________ Message: 6 Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 17:25:58 -0800 From: Justine Subject: The Pretty Things part 3 Author: Justine Evans Email: justinee@shaw.ca Title: The Pretty Things Part 3 of many Rating R Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. If they did, I'd probably have a better night life. They belong to Mutant Enemy and a very smart man named Joss Whedon. Thanks to Amy for feedback and keeping my comma addiction in check. "The Pretty Things" Travers stood in the empty store and frowned. He'd been certain that Faith would have made contact with those little twerps that had been helping the Slayer. Well, ex-Slayer. He couldn't believe that she'd been so stupid as to return here, of all places. They knew this town all too well. Buffy Summers had been a thorn in their sides for years now. She was dead, though. It was all very sad, of course but Travers couldn't be bothered with grief or sympathy. The Council wasn't one hundred percent certain that another Slayer hadn't been called after Buffy's death. It would take a few weeks of performing the appropriate tests on the candidates before they could be sure. Eventually the girls would be killed off, mostly, failing the first of their tests. If any were left standing, there would be more tests. One must be completely sure. The running theory, however, was that Buffy's death would not result in the selection of a new Slayer. Kendra had been her replacement and Faith had been hers. Still, it was not unwise to check. That's why they had to find Faith. Once she was dead, the testing could really begin. Suppose one of the girls was scheduled to replace Faith, but was killed during the testing? If she hadn't received Slayer strength yet, it would be virtually impossible for her to survive a week of intense fighting. Irritated, he tried to contain his frustration and refrain from punching the wall. A phone rang. He pulled a compact cell phone out of his pocket. "Travers here." "Sir, the new Slayer has been found. She's in Oregon. Montrose tested her this morning. There's no doubt in his mind that she's the one." Travers hung up the phone. Their theories must have been wrong. It was not unusual for a Slayer to be found several weeks after her predecessor's death. It took anywhere between minutes and months for the Essential Slayer to fix on a new host. He was surprised, though. He had been firmly of the belief that they would find nothing until Faith's death. For a moment he considered the fact that they had chased an eighteen-year old girl across the state to murder her, only to find out that it hadn't been necessary after all. What if they'd waited another hour to phone him? It might have too late for Faith by then. He shut his mind to such idiotic thoughts. The Slayer was hardly a young girl. The Essential Slayer was pure predator. A natural hunter. Her only purpose was to kill. In a way, she was worse than the vampires she killed. The Slayer didn't kill to eat, she just killed because her body screamed inside itself until she did. The girl that she'd been was irrelevant. Faith was a wild animal. She had to be controlled. But if Buffy's death had hailed the calling of a fresh Slayer, wouldn't Faith's as well? It was not too late. He was certain that they could capture her and stage some sort of accident on the return to England.Surely the Council wouldn't find fault with him. Especially if they didn't know. His phone rang again. For a moment he thought it might be Whitney again. Telling him that it was all a mistake. Instead, he heard the unusually weak voice of Valerie West, the only woman on the team at the moment. "Quentin," Infuriating woman. Using his first name like that. "We've found Faith. At the high school library.or what's left of it. You'd better get down here." He hung up again. Signaling to his men to follow, Travers walked out of the shop and into the bright Sunnydale morning. *** Val swallowed hard. This was far more than she'd ever bargained for. She turned her face away from the rest of the team. There were four of them, Travers and his three men made eight total. Eight fully armed people to take down one eighteen year old girl. Even then, the Council had warned them of the dangers of this mission. Had they been able to spare any more people they would have. Times were rough. Watchers were scarce. Nothing to be done. The girl didn't look supernatural. She looked just like any other eighteen-year old girl. She still lay in the pool of her own blood. The scene in the library was ghastly. They could all smell iron. Ashes had stuck to the mats in the girl's hair. They turned her hair a grisly shade of grey. Her face was so young. Now, she just lay there. Subject to the gaze of a lot of strangers who'd just spent the last several weeks trying to kill her. The Council had called it an assassination. Assassinate. The word had a clean, military ring to it. Political. Well, it damned well was political. The Council wanted this girl dead because she'd broken their rules. It wasn't like she'd signed up for the job. It wasn't an assassination, it was murder, pure and simple. They had come to kill this girl, who they had helped to shape, because she no longer served their purposes. Val had accepted the mission when it was presented to her. She couldn't remember why just now. She'd felt honoured to be selected to lead such a prestigious task. Her sense of pride in her work had been stroked. That was all. It was an ego boost. Now, she wondered if she hadn't made a big mistake. The moment she'd seen the girl, lying there, she'd known that the Council would never again be the object of awe for her that it once had. Her ideals seemed trivial now. Was she fighting the good fight? Or was she just wading through a load of bullshit bureaucracy to be patted on the head and told that she'd done well? Travers entered the room. All eyes rested on his as he moved closer to the prone form of the girl on the floor. "You already killed her?" He sounded like a little boy who'd missed a party. Val tried not to change her expression visibly. She had great respect for Quentin Travers. He was very, very good at his job. She also held him in the highest contempt. He only seemed truly productive when they were searching for a new Slayer. He fed off of their deaths. She called him Quentin because she knew it annoyed him. "Quentin, we didn't do it. She's been dead for half a day, we think." "What happened?" She's been raped, you blithering idiot. Can't you see anything? "Well, sir, it looks like she was raped. Quite brutally it seems. We don't know how it happened. No normal man should have been able to defeat her." Unless it wasn't a normal man. Unless she had already been defeated. Val refused to fill in any more blanks for him. She'd seen the claw marks on the wall, she'd seen the weak signs of struggle painted in the blood on the floor. She'd seen the men on the team sneaking looks at the girl's naked body. "Well, it doesn't matter who did it. It saves us much work. Clean this place up and we're headed to Oregon. A new Slayer was located just this morning. Travers stalked back outside, looking vaguely disappointed. Val ordered the men to wipe down the walls and clean up the body. She couldn't bear to look at those eyes any longer. Faith. Her name had been Faith. She had a name and now a face. She'd had a life and a mind. Everything that the council had ever told Val about Faith seemed unimportant now. That she'd killed several people, that she'd never had a real family, that she'd aided in one of the infamous Sunnydale apocalypse attempts. From what Val had gathered, the girl's family life had been abusive. She'd had no friends. Killing had been the only thing she was good at. It was past noon and Val was tired. She honestly didn't think the Council could possibly pay her enough for this job. *** Back at the hotel, Val took her shoes off and sank, exhausted, into a heavily stuffed arm chair. She was so tense. This whole trip had been a nightmare. She was seriously considering leaving the Council for good. It was an idea that had occurred to her more than once over the last few years. She knew that her parents would be outraged. All that time she'd spent trying to convince them that {the} her calling was with the Council would have been wasted. The truth was, she just wasn't cut out for this kind of work. There was too much injustice. The whole notion of a Slayer was unfair to start with. When she'd been fourteen Val had been informed that she was a Slayer candidate. She'd begun having the dreams when she was twelve. Her parents, growing concerned about her increasing insomnia and paranoia, had taken her to see a psychologist. The doctor had probed her about these dreams, and rather than trying to find out what was bothering the girl so much, sent her to the Council instead. There'd been a formal hearing, during which she'd described her dreams to them. One dream in particular had stood out. The most fearsome, the most gruesome. Val stood in an empty warehouse, facing woman with dark brown hair. Though beautiful, the woman was too thin. Her dress hung off her emaciated frame and her enormous, glassy eyes were wild. The woman and the girl were walking in wide circles, facing off. Suddenly, the woman's face changed. Her forehead crumpled in on itself, forming long ridges and lumps on her brow. Her mouth widened and filled with sharp, misshapen teeth. She smiled and launched herself at Val. Val didn't gasp. In the dream, this felt normal. They fought. Val, who had had never trained in any sort of fighting, was stunned at her own speed and agility. Something in the back of her mind suggested that Val herself was only occupying another girl's body for the dream. Then, the woman stopped fighting. Confused, Val fell back. She stared as she fell back. The woman was murmuring to herself. It sounded like gibberish. The woman stared intently into Val's eyes. The unnervingly pale eyes were mesmerizing. Unable to break the gaze, Val heard footsteps in the room around her. She could not see the woman who'd arrived, but she could hear two distinct voices now. The first woman was smiling now. "Look at what I've caught us for dinner. She's fresh and tender. She needs some flowers for her hair. To make a proper party." Her slow voice slipped and slid over Val's skin like mercury. "Oh sweetie, you shouldn't have. She'll make a wonderful hors d'oeuvre. She's too small for a meal, though." The second woman's voice was as different from the first as caramel to peppermint. Where the first had been low, hers was high. "Oh no. She's not small at all. She's large and full of light. She glows like a beacon." The woman reached down and pulled one of Val's hands to her face. Trailing the girl's fingers over her brow, the woman nipped at Val's fingertips. She picked up the other hand and tied the two together with thin metal wire. Val could feel the circulation being cut off from her hands, but she was unable to move. She knew that if she could break free from the dark haired woman's gaze, she could free herself. But it was if her whole body had been submerged in thick gelatin. She could feel her mind becoming foggy. Soon it would be too late. "Don't you see what I've caught us, Grandmother? She's very lovely." "Yes, she's pretty enough. But hardly special." The other woman, Val could see that she was blonde, was peering too at Val's face now. "She's got a spark.I see it, but what is it?" "It's the Slayer, Grandmother. She belongs to me. I'll feed her every day and take her for walks in the park. We'll make teacups out of ice and play Old Maid all night long. Would you like to play too?" "The Slayer? Are you certain? She's much tamer than I thought she'd be." "She likes me. I'm like her mummy. I can make her do anything I like. And I do so love figs." "Angelus will be very impressed." "She's not for Angelus, Grandmother. She's for us. Angelus will only take her thoughts from her and make her insides dim. I like her better this way. Play a game with us, Grandmother." "A game?" The blonde woman came closer to Val's face. She turned and threw her long cloak over the banister behind Val. Pulling both ends tight, she drew Val's arms high above her head. She tied to cloak to the metal wire and smiled. "She's ready, my darling. Where will we start? Is she going to wake up any time soon?" "Oh no. She can barely move. Her soul is already mine. Lost, lost, lost, little Alice got lost in the looking glass. The Jabberwocky is after you." Val knew it was true. Something inside her had dissipated while she'd been under the dark woman's spell. She knew that the other girl's spirit had left her body already. Val had no power over this body. She could only watch. "We must start from the top and work our way down. Look how her hair shines in the light. Like a thousand twinkling stars. But don't tell Angelus. He'll be awfully cross. Do you promise?" "It'll be our little secret, Dru." Darla smiled and ran her fingers through Val's hair. It was thick and pale. Val was aware that her own, real hair was very different. The consciousness that had shared her mind at the start of the dream was gone. That was when the dream became dimmer. Some nights, the women played with her for hours and hours. Other times it was only minutes. She was always stripped naked. Some nights they'd draw their teeth along her flesh, cutting ditches into her skin. Her blood would drip onto the floor and they would lick it from her heaving sides. Eventually, she would feel the body die around her. Other nights, they would each take a nipple into their mouths and bite down simultaneously. The sound of tearing flesh. They would suckle at her bleeding breast until she lost consciousness. Occasionally, they would lose interest with her entirely. They would draw a little blood and drink it from each other's mouth. Eventually, they would get so lost in their private passion that Val would begin to think she might survive. Then, she would move or make some sound and one of the women would get up and kill her quickly so they could continue without distraction. Val had always been under the impression that a person couldn't feel pain in her dreams. The pain in these dreams had been real. After a particularly brutal night[,] she would wake up with gashes in her side. The Council was most interested in these. No Slayer candidate had ever had dreams that extended into the physical world. Nor had a Slayer candidate dreamt alternate endings to a documented event. Val had, unknowingly, become their most precious project. She was a complete enigma to them. For a time, they suspected her of being the next Slayer. In fact, several members of the Council had suggested that she might be some kind of Super-Slayer. Quentin Travers had been one of those Council members. Back then, he'd been younger, but no less ruthless than he was now. He'd taken a special interest in Val and she'd always known that he was setting himself up to be her Watcher when she was inevitably chosen. They were all certain that she would be. They said she had extraordinary talents. Talent. Hah. Talents were being able to play the cello or being good at soccer. What talent was there in a thirteen-year-old girl who had vivid, chronic nightmares? Then the current Slayer had been killed. Val, then fifteen, was placed under constant surveillance. After seven days of constant prodding, poking, and beating at the hands of Travers himself, they'd discovered a girl in New York who had taken to lurking in alleys and rescuing people from random muggings by throwing their assailants over her head. She didn't fight vampires yet, but she would be trained. Val had been all but abandoned. Returned to her enraged parents, the information collected by the Council about her dreams had been filed. She was of little use to them after that. Travers, embittered and furious, turned in on himself for several years, frustrated that he had been wrong. He'd spent so long cultivating a relationship with this girl, setting himself up to be the logical choice for her Watcher when the time came. In the end, his attentions were wasted just because she hadn't had the sense to be Chosen. For several years, Val had tried to forget about her experiences with the Council, but the dreams didn't disappear. She would carry the nightmares with her for years. Her parents, afraid to send her to another psychologist, cut their losses and tried to make it up to her by buying her expensive presents and vacations. When she was eighteen, Val returned to the council. This time, not as a Slayer candidate, but as a supplicant. She begged them to let her become protégé to one of the Watchers. The nightmares were still plaguing her and the Council was the only place where she'd been able to openly admit to their power over her. It was as if they'd been driving her here. She thought that if she could learn more about the world of demons and vampires she might be able to vanquish the dreams once and for all. Instead, she'd come only to realize how truly inexplicable her situation was. No one had ever documented dreams like hers. No one had ever come any closer to explanations about her either, in the years of her absence. In fact, no one had tried. Travers had given up completely on her case. No one else dared to take it on. So that was it. Her dreams were a mystery. She didn't know why she had them or what they meant. But, there she was, an eighteen-year-old with intimate knowledge of the power of the supernatural. She learned avidly throughout the next few years, consuming knowledge like water. There had always been the hope in the back of her mind that she might see something that the others had missed. Something to explain her. There had been nothing so far. Val was beginning to fear that there never would. As it turned out, though, her avid research had proved to be invaluable to the Council. With her knack for remembering obscure facts, she was perfect Watcher material. They'd trained her and cossetted her and at the age of twenty-three, she'd emerged as a full member of the Council, the youngest in their long and complicated history. A twenty-three year old female Watcher, she was the object of much bitterness among many of the other aspiring Watchers. She'd had to prove herself time and time again. No one could seem to believe that this thin wisp of a woman could possibly make a decent Watcher. Of course, she knew that it was highly unlikely that she would ever have the opportunity to actually act as a Watcher to a Slayer. She was secretly glad of that. It was hard to see these girls, used up before their time, fighting a war that could never be won against monsters and other horrors that never backed down. Val had never been able to decide whether or not Travers had been on her side or against her. He resented her for what he felt had ruined his career. She hadn't lived up to his expectations and he hated her for it. On the other hand, he was always recommending her for tough assignments such as this one, that would only serve to make her appear stronger in the eyes of the Council. Perhaps he was only trying to get her killed. Sending her to deal with the most dangerous threats that the Council faced was a wise way to go about it. And now this. Everyone on the team was confused and shaken by the rape of a Slayer. Well, Quentin never seemed shaken. But it was a rare occurrence. Actually, Val was almost certain that it had never happened before. A Slayer couldn't be raped. It seemed beyond anything they'd ever imagined. These powerful girls, who could, and had, averted apocalypses were supposed to be taken down by something much bigger than a man with a hard-on. To be fair, Val was fairly sure that whoever had done it had been a vampire, not a man, but that seemed irrelevant right now. The thing that bothered her the most was the fact that Faith had not been able to fight him off. There was no reason for it. Why had she allowed this to happen? Val knew what it was like to powerless in a similar situation, but what exactly had happened to Faith? She knew that the council would brush this under the rug like so many other things. It made them look negligent. Among other things. They'd been trying to kill this girl. Someone else had done it for them. Case closed. Mission accomplished. There was a knock on the door of the hotel room. Val groaned and heaved herself from the chair. It was Travers. She was surprised. He rarely talked to her when he didn't have to. "Quentin. Come in. What is it?" Travers' brow tightened when she called him by name. Val had long ago learned to appreciate his facial expressions. She took secret delight in making him squirm. He'd not become a Watcher until he was 35. That was about average. It marked him as average. He despised what the Council referred to as "Val's genius." "The new Slayer. Her name is Bethany Smith. She lives in Oregon and she's sixteen years old. Montrose claims that she's a potentially difficult charge." "Montrose is awfully new to be taking responsibility for her. Shouldn't someone a little more.er.weathered be around?" "Yes. My thoughts exactly. Unfortunately, Bethany is rather.how do I put this?" "Bluntness can be a great virtue, Quentin. For God's sake, just spit it out." "She doesn't like men. She's resisting every one of Montrose's attempts to get close to her. There's a history, but it's complicated. She refuses to trust him even a little. She's very volatile and we can't afford another uncontrollable Slayer." "What I'm proposing is that she become your charge. You're very young but." She was no younger than Quentin had been when he'd been coveting an active Watching position in her life. That didn't matter, though. Quentin always regarded her as an unruly little girl. Too late to change that. "I think that your loyalty to the Council is enough to convince the others that you're more than capable. Of course, this is not entirely up to me. There will be a formal meeting in the next few days back at the college, but I doubt that anyone could think of anyone more qualified." Val knew that qualified meant nothing more than biologically suited. She was the only woman within the Council right now who had the seniority and skills to become an Active Watcher. And now here was Quentin bestowing upon her the greatest of honours available to him. And just moments ago, Val had been grateful that she'd never be required to live up to those honours. Then again, Val was also well aware that this girl was important to the Council. They would do anything to make sure that she did nothing inappropriate. Val felt a pang of sympathy for this Bethany. After all, she was very young. The girl had an undesirable path ahead of her. Quentin was looking at her. Val knew he had come to her before any of the others because he wanted to make certain that she'd be on board before he presented his idea formally. Looking back, she was never sure why she did it. Perhaps she wanted to get back at them for controlling so much of her own life or perhaps she just wanted to believe that Quentin had truly seen something valuable in her. Whatever the reason, she nodded. "Thank you, Quentin. It's a wonderful opportunity. I'm honoured." Quentin looked up, vaguely surprised that it had been so easy to convince her. He smiled, though. Finally his name might be cleared. Back at the Council they would thank their lucky stars that Travers had been brilliant enough to find this bright young thing who filled their need so precisely. "Good luck, Valerie. You'll meet her in the morning." *** Spike emerged from his hiding place at sunset. In their haste and shock, the Council team had failed to notice his black leather coat on the floor behind a bookshelf. He'd watched the day unfold, tensed for a fight. He had known, however, that the Council would be well armed and he'd have little chance against them. He'd found himself wishing, a little, that they'd just have done with it and stake him already. Back at his crypt, Spike was relieved to find a jar of blood still in the fridge. It tasted stale and a little off, but not bad enough to really bother him. He drank it and tried not to think of Faith. Something of huge importance had happened, but he wasn't sure what it was. Was it that he'd killed a Slayer? He thought not. He'd done it before. There was something else. Unable to harm a living creature without intense neurological pain. The line that separated demons from humans was blurring. He was little more than a man with big teeth. Faith had not been dinner. She'd not been his prey, she'd been a young woman with limits similar to his. It hurt to kill. They were the same, really. Her pain was organic, his was not. What did it matter? The source and the effect were the same. He needed to get out of Sunnydale. He suddenly felt like his old self. Not his cocky, vampire self. His really old self. He was William the Unsure once more. William the Pathetic. He had been beneath her, after all. Cecily, that is. He'd been so stupid. He'd given up his life for a moment of acceptance from some crazy bitch who'd cornered him in an alley. Drusilla had seen into him for a moment. She'd seen the insecurities lurking within and she'd taken advantage of them. More than a century later, he was finally ready to let her go. Even the old William had deserved more than her. Especially the old William. Spike realised, suddenly, a facet of the true nature of vampires. They were more than just predators. Their power was in their ability to look down on humans. Use them. Kill them. Consume their flesh and lives like air. Conscience and ethics depended upon one's own powerlessness. Humans -vulnerable, and mortal -needed something to hold them together at the seams. It was no wonder that they'd developed a sense of morality. Morality was just a fancy way of saving one's own ass. The Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. A ridiculous balance of trust and sympathy. Necessary to survive. Without it, what else was there but madness? In a moment of clarity, Spike began to pick up his most valuable possessions. He would leave, after all. It didn't matter where he went, now that he knew the rules. He had a system for survival. He felt surprisingly good. "And, has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy. -Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky *** [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]