Chapter Twelve.
It took more than a moment for Buffy to comprehend what it was that she was seeing. Every other feeling that she had been seeking to repress, every other problem which had been ripping at the tattered frays of her unravelling mind; here. There. Before her on the screen. Doing nothing to relieve her tension, nothing to stop the electricity prickling at every inch of skin which covered every inch of straining muscle. Stretched taut and tight, tense with desire.
Angel.
And what the hell?
Had she not told him, had she not explicitly warned him about journeying back into her space? Had her eyes not shone dark enough, had he not felt the sharpness of her pointed words? Obviously not. Because if he had, then surely he wouldn’t be downstairs now.
That tone of placation echoing with the turning of the volume knob, the slow steadiness of his words which sought to soothe even the deepest of cuts. Which caused the deepest of cuts. Offering comfort to Faith, when all he had done for Buffy, was to take her comfort away.
The warrior within wanted to rise up and strike out her vengeance. Wanted to inflict the same level of hurting that she was right now experiencing, wanted to destroy the chance of ever again suffering any further hurt. The warrior was strong and single minded. The warrior was still feeling the call of the bloodlust. The scythe residing with ease in her grasp, the breaths that flowed with deep determination from her lips.
And if everything about Buffy had been exposed in the personification of the warrior, then the morning would have welcomed a basement decorated in blood, lust and dust. But Buffy Summers was so much more than the sum of her parts, she was so much more than what destiny had determined her to be. She had control of a different kind; discipline and restraint. Years spent learning her craft, years spent learning the ways to silence the urging. The mantra that had always held her in good stead.
No.
That one word denial of everything that screamed inside for release, every dark desire that would creep unbidden to throw her from her path. Buffy Summers was not a small insignificant slice of the slayer though, the slayer was that small slice of Buffy. Some would argue the most important part; the part which held and wielded the power, the part which had saved the world on umpteen occasions. Those that knew her though, those that had crept close enough to learn of the woman inside; they would argue that the most important part was the part that wasn’t hidden from the view of the outside world during the hours of daylight. The exact opposite.
None of her friends would have been surprised as she had sat down composed in front of the screen. None of them would have been taken aback by the ease with which she had pushed the scythe away from her body, across the desk, out of striking distance.
Buffy Summers was indeed one hell of a slayer. More importantly, in the words of a past observer; Buffy Summers was one hell of a woman.
As the time ticked by, it was hard for Buffy to steady her hands. At first counting off the minutes, and then - as the minutes had stretched into long past an hour- simply fussing at a hang nail which had been caused somewhere in amongst the slayage of the last two evenings. Just another war wound. Her ears not fussing on anything except the words that they had been hearing. So many words to hear.
The hurtful and hateful kind. The kind which could break a heart.
Buffy had believed that somewhere beneath all of the layers of Faith, existed the girl who had held her hands in freedom, who had met her smile with a smile as they danced carefree and unbound under the lights of the Bronze. The unrestrained force that had made her believe in so much more than just the solitude of duty.
Over the last three days her opinion had swung steadily back and forth - one minute believing that the girl still resided inside, and then in the next, wanting nothing more than to break down the barriers and destroy all that had sought to destroy the girl.
And now..?
Now she just wanted Angel to speed his long dead ass up the stairs and give her the answers that she demanded. Reaching forward to quiet the screen, ignoring the hangnail as something else had demanded the attention of the mind that wanted to fuss.
“Buffy.”
Oh yes. Turning to meet and to greet. “Angel.” Eyes emotionless. “What are you doing here?”
“Last I checked, this was still my building.”
“Last I checked, I told you to stay out of my way. Which part of that do you need me to clarify?”
She silently repeated the resounding no, as her fingers itched to reach out and regain the scythe. Perfect for dusting vamps, perfect for performing her duty. Trying to focus on the reality behind the present situation; that Angel had always meant much more to her than just fragments of dust.
“I only came to see Faith.”
“I got that. You’re quite the conversationalist, aren’t you?”
“You were listening?”
“Hard not to, I always was a sucker for the deep and meaningful. I think my favourite part was where you told her that her rage was justified… I mean, there was me trying to get her to quit the rage, then you come along and make it all A-OK to wanna carve me up into tiny little pieces. Kinda crazy, huh?”
“It wasn’t like that…”
“Or maybe my favourite part was where you told her that she really doesn’t belong in a cage - oh wait, no, that surely loses out to the soul soaring moment where you told her that you could help make her life better. Seriously Angel, were you always this full of crap?”
Buffy couldn’t help but feel justified in the vilification of her former love. She had sat and she had listened to every uttering that he had offered to Faith; had sunk down in the chair as she had witnessed Faith rising, and she had seethed inside as she witnessed their connection.
“You don’t understand what she’s going through.”
“Sure I do. Faith’s woken up and realised that every bad thing she has ever done is still waiting here to haunt her. Now she wants an easy way out, she wants her payback… how am I doing?”
Angel offering no answer as Buffy stalked her way closer to his position. Rounding the counter, minimising the distance.
“She wants to play the fantasy where it’s all my fault that her life is still severely of the lacking. What is it she said - she won’t be happy until she sees me ‘flayed, splayed and kissing her ass in hell.’ - Kinda touching, right?”
“She’s angry.”
“Join the club.”
Because Buffy had anger. Just looking for a target, somewhere to find some release.
“You locked her in a cage Buffy, did you really expect that you’d get different results - that she wouldn’t crave her revenge?”
“She was trying to smash my skull in! What did you want me to do; offer her cookies?”
It brought about a standoff, a moment when neither could find any other words to say - her eyes trying to understand why he hadn’t taken her side, his eyes only wondering how to make it better. How to regain what he had lost.
“You know that she wants to come with me?”
“Of course she does Angel - you’re head of Evil Incorporated - what wouldn’t appeal to her?”
“It’s not like that. She just wants a chance, the opportunity to start over…”
“She wants the easy option! She wants a room with a view and a Playstation 2! God, I can’t believe this. Please tell me you didn’t fall for her crap, that you didn’t buy into her whole, redemption will be my mission, nonsense.”
“She said that she wants to try - is that really so hard to believe?”
Yes. It really was. Because Buffy had seen. And Buffy knew. There was no way to dismiss the stares that had intruded upon her soul in those moments down below with Faith. No way for Buffy to believe that everything Faith desired was anything other than her own demise. The eyes that had always looked to seduce her with something that felt so dangerous and wrong. Every one of the words that she had just eavesdropped upon seeming dangerous and wrong.
“Faith doesn’t want to try. She wants revenge. You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”
“Then I’m a fool, Buffy. I’ve been where Faith’s been, I’ve walked the same path…”
“And just look at you now! Hardly a glowing reference, is it?” She couldn’t care for the sadness that flashed through his eyes at her words. She meant every single one of them. “You may have chosen the path to all evil, Angel, but I’ll be damned if you think I’m letting Faith go with you.”
“It isn’t your choice.”
“And you think that it’s yours?”
“No. It’s Faith’s choice, her decision. Whatever you choose to believe Buffy; we are doing good here, we’re making a difference. We can help Faith, we can offer her what she needs.”
“Oh really?” Her skin instantly prickling, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Imagining the worst. Remembering the image. Him and her. Her and him. No matter that it had only been a ruse, a double crossing tactic - the unbearable ache had always remained the same. “And what exactly would that be?”
“Space. Distance. A chance to clear her head.”
Okay. Maybe not what she was expecting. Confusing the thought process, missing the obvious. “Distance from what?”
“From you.”
“From me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t know?”
Skin prickling in a different way. Thoughts confused in a different way. “Don’t mess with me Angel, I’m not in the mood to be messed with right now.”
Grabbing for anger instead. Not prepared to examine his words in the cold light of a dawning day, to state the obvious in the starkness of the hotel lobby.
And if only he would cooperate.
“You can’t pretend to me Buffy that you don’t know what this is all about? Surely you’ve realised…”
“I told you already what this is about! She wants revenge and she wants payback. She wants me dead, she wants me buried, and she wants to dance a jig on top of my grave! Don’t try twisting this, don’t pretend I didn’t hear all of her pretty little words…”
So close to the violence that her soul craved. Grabbing so tight to that anger. “…she’s the one that’s psycho! This has nothing to do with me!”
“It has everything to do with you.”
Release.
Her fist flying as if of its own volition. Connecting hard and true. Denying the sound of the truth.
And sometimes it was so damn hard - being the one hell of a woman. Perhaps it was the hardest fight of all. The absolute control needed as she breathed in a breath to urge the anger away. As she looked down on Angel with a need to destroy everything that she knew he could seek to say.
Another breath taken. Another battle won.
“Sorry.” Stepping down. Offering out a hand, pulling him back to his feet. “I forget my own strength sometimes.”
“I might take longer to forget.”
“Sorry.” Anger replaced with exhaustion. With a slump to the shoulders that was accompanied by a soulful sigh. Not caring in the moment if Angel had set up shop with the devil himself. “I didn’t mean to do that. I just… I…“
Just ready to break. Lost at sea and looking for a light; for her beacon in the dark. His arms offered easily, his shoulders still so perfect to rest her weight upon.
“Come on, it’s okay. It didn’t even hurt.”
An unexpected break from the turmoil.
“You’re just saying that.”
“Maybe. But then you are drooling on my shoulder - I’ll say anything to stem the flow.”
“You sure know how to perk up a girl.”
“You called me evil.”
“I didn’t call you evil, I called you head of Evil Incorporated - there is a difference, right?”
“I hope that you know that.”
Ending the respite she had found in his arms. Pulling her head back, pulling herself back. “I hope it’s the truth.”
“You used to trust me Buffy. You can’t trust me now?”
Recalling in a second every moment spent, every minute when she had felt assured that he was her champion. That he would always be at her side. “I want to Angel, I do - it’s just hard. Everything about this seems so wrong, it doesn’t make sense to me. They’re evil - why would you work with them?”
“We’re not working with them.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“We’re not.”
“You’re not? So what? It’s a double cross, a Trojan horse?”
“Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. What better way to bring down a beast, than from inside its own belly?”
And without anger tainting her view, it did make more sense than Angel turning evil and the whole of the LA crew selling out to the underworld. A lot more sense. And if only she had been prepared to listen sooner… to quiet her rage and give him the chance to explain.
If she had been asked in that moment, Buffy Summers would have probably ascertained that she could be one hell of an ass.
“Do you really think you can do it though? You don’t think that they’ll be expecting a betrayal? - that this is their way of keeping their own enemies closer?”
“Probably. But that’s the fun part; outsmarting them. Taking them down when they least expect it. We know it won’t be easy but we’re willing to give it a shot. We’re still the good guys Buffy, we’re still fighting on your side.”
She accepted the silence that he offered to digest the information; mapping out the floor with heavy pacing, re-finding that place where things were often painted in greys, where nothing was ever quite as easy as good versus evil. Maybe not believing that this was such a good plan, that they could make it work - but finding herself believing in his intentions. Finally producing a smile.
“Okay - I still think you’re all crazy for going through with this; but I’m much less with the wanting to stake you now.”
“There’s a relief.” She followed his direction as he pointed to the scythe laying easy on the counter. As he raised his eyebrow in memory of Caleb. “I remember what you can do with that thing when you’re feeling frisky.”
“Hey! I was never gonna use that on you!”
“Not even a little?”
And now the eyebrows raised to tease her into another smile.
“Maybe just a little. But I never would’ve, you know - between the legs.” A smile that she kept as they made their way to sit down, as they approached the subject that was Angel’s sole reason for being there. Faith. Gradually dampening down, gradually losing the sparkle. Knowing that he was waiting for her to speak the words - but still not knowing the words.
“What do you expect me to say, Angel?”
“I don’t expect anything from you. I want you to say that you’ll let her come with me - with us. She needs to get away from this Buffy - not just you - all of this. Everything that she remembers as bad.”
“And that’ll help? That’ll make a difference?”
“I can’t promise anything, but I believe so, yes. It’s too much for her here; locked up by you, kept prisoner by you. There’s going to be no chance for Faith to see past her anger when it’s staring her straight in the face every day.”
She wouldn’t have had the energy left to argue with him even if she hadn’t found renewed trust in what it was that he was saying. Only having the energy left to sigh out acceptance - to meet his eyes with a slight nod. To signal agreement.
“Where would you take her? When?”
“Tonight at sunset. We’ll take her to my place. It’s not perfect, but for now it will do. Wes can have the Shamen perform a binding spell, confine her to my quarters. We’ll assess her from there, decide what happens next…”
“And she’ll be safe?”
“Of course she’ll be safe Buffy.”
“Right. Of course she will.” Wishing she could think of an objection, still feeling the need to not let go. To not give in. “What about visits? Will I be able to see her?”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Well it’s not terrible. I can keep her up to date on what she’s missing, remind her of the fun we used to have before she went crazy…”
She caught his look. Wanted to ignore it. “What? There was fun! Maybe hidden beneath a constant need to kill each other, but there was still fun…”
Trailing off as his look never changed.
“I know you want to help her Buffy - I do understand - but this time you can’t help. These aren’t your demons to slay.”
“I can’t do anything?”
“You can stay away. If you really want to help, if you really want Faith to have a chance, then stay away.”
“But…”
But what?
Her throat aching with the need to give the truth a voice. To finally free the reasons that were never spoken out loud - to at last accept the one reality which kept her bound and tied to the bond of a chosen two. Only the words would not come. She was still not brave enough to lay herself bare in the starkness of a hotel lobby. The feelings were still enough to scare her.
“No buts Buffy, at least not for now.”
Another sigh. Another nod.
One hell of a slayer. One hell of a woman. One hell of an ass.
As Buffy bid farewell to Angel and made her way up the stairs to the safety of her bedroom, the only thing that she felt like was one hell of a coward. Agreeing to let go of Faith - just like that. No word of protest, no hint of a fight.
And she hated being a coward. She refused.
Below Buffy, in the bowels of the building, there was another refusal being made. Another slayer inert with exhaustion, another mind wrapped up and held prisoner by the words of the last few hours. So many words. All words that she absolutely refused to have any belief in.
Why would she believe?
Her inbuilt fears only confounded as Angel had made his silent walk down the stairs to her cage; reeling back in fear as she had realised how vulnerable she was - a sitting duck. An immobile target.
“It’s okay Faith, I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Get the fuck away from me.”
Forgetting the bars as he had stepped closer, hugging the walls with a desperate need to flee. To escape.
“I’m here to help.”
It had been priceless. The angles of her prison remaining the same yet the angle for her escape changing within that second. She had still hugged her body close to the walls, had still kept up a charade of panic; but inside she had stilled. Had begun a slow count to infinity as his voice had launched itself into one of his soothing monologues.
Darkness, darkness, evil, evil. Rage, pain, death and destruction.
Very soothing.
Her smirk only growing as he had filled her in on what it was that was happening with her. As he had shared his great understanding of what she was forced to go through, to live with. Imitating the call of the darkness, dulcet tones deepened as he had dropped his voice to talk about demons.
And Faith’s demons had howled. Had ridiculed heartily the half-breed stood before them. Taunting him with hated words about his precious Buffy - detailing with sick delight all the nasty little things that she wanted to do to his girl. So many nasty little things.
All met by silence.
The confidence slowly seeping away as he had forced her to fill all of the voids alone, as he had found an even better way to return her taunting. Just watching. Just waiting. Vampire eyes not needing to blink out an ofference of even a second where she wasn’t confined by his gaze.
No nasty things left. Every sadistic twist spoken, every dark desire painted with the colourful words of her venom soaked vocabulary. And then silence. No comebacks. No slurs. No pointed fingers and accusations of guilt.
It had left nothing for Faith to rile against. Had left her only confused by the lack of rage, by the lack of screaming that was filling her head. Leaving it empty.
“I understand Faith. Let me help you?”
And then that. His words. And how could she believe?
No matter in that moment that her spirit had calmed, that she was experiencing a moment of almost peace - how could she believe?
This was Angel. Not her saviour, not her hero. Buffy’s. And that was why she wouldn’t believe, and that was when the silence had ended. Remembering angles, remembering the changing shape of her prison.
Faith had done the only thing she knew how. She had gotten back in the game. Had sucked it up, breathed it out. Back in the saddle and ready to roll.
“Can you get me out of here?”
Spoken like a pro.
Freedom finally in sight as he had nodded an affirmative, as he had settled closer to the bars and offered the hand of friendship. Forcing herself to listen to his words, forcing her eyes to mimic regret as he had walked her through all of the things which she had to repent for, that she had to face up to.
“Anything Angel… I just need to get out of here. I can’t… fuck, you don’t know what it’s like having to see Buffy all the time. I try and get myself chilled out, get my fucking head straight - but all I see is her. All I fucking hear, is her.”
She had even mimicked tear drenched eyes as she had whispered to him the deceit of her dream. Twisting the sequence so she could tell a tale of how Buffy had dragged her down into hell - pleading with him to help her find a way out. Something different.
Redemption.
Even now as she sat reviewing the outcome of the evening therapy session, she couldn’t believe how soft a target he had been. How gullible he had seemed as she had spoken her need for salvation. It was adding more ticks to the unbelievable column. Those parts of her that wanted to believe in his words being forced down and conquered by the years of mistrust and enforced survival.
There was no fucking way he was on the level. No fucking way that this wasn’t some new ploy by Buffy to have her on her knees and begging to play second string again.
No. Fucking. Way.
She refused to believe it. Easier instead to settle her mind with thoughts of escape. Planning her tastes of freedom as methodically as she wished to plan her taste of Buffy. Those nasty little things again. The taste of her fear, the taste of her pain.
Faith wanted to drown in it.
A smirk settling as daylight had started to dawn. Eyes closing. Her breaths steadying and deepening as sleep had consumed her as easily as all of her thoughts of Buffy. Dreams intruding. Peace beckoning.
Drowning in it.
