Can’t Make Her
As they passed the Sunnydale sign – which, she noticed, looked like it
had been run over by a car – Faith sighed tiredly. What felt like a
lifetime ago, she had left this same town thinking that she was done
with the part of her life that had started the day she was called. It
hadn’t been easy, to start from scratch, to get a new name, ID papers,
a job, an apartment, friends. Not easy at all. But she had done it. By
herself. For herself. And now she couldn’t help this feeling that she
was losing everything she had worked so hard for. That she was letting
herself be dragged back to hell.
She had hesitated about telling her husband why she was leaving
exactly, and who were these people who had knocked on their door in the
middle of the night. But Tom deserved the truth, she had finally
decided. She couldn’t lie to him about something that important. Not if
her life, and their child’s, were in danger. So she had told him
everything. About being a Slayer. About Mayor Wilkins. About jail.
About the deal she had gotten to free herself from powers and
responsibilities she couldn’t bear anymore. And about how she had been
screwed by supposedly supreme beings. Everything about this past she
had always asked him not to ask questions about.
For a long while, he had looked at her as if she had suddenly gone
nuts. Then he had pretended – just pretended, it was too clear that he
was just trying to reason her – that he believed her, and had tried to
convince her that he could protect her, that they could go to the
police, leave town to go to his sister’s house, even. Anything but go
with these people whom she hadn’t wanted to talk to just the night
before, but whom she was ready to follow now. In the end, he had only
started to really believe her when Angel and Buffy had come back right
after nightfall. Without inviting her to come inside, she had asked
Buffy to vamp out in front of Tom. That had pretty much convinced him
that yes, there were such things as vampires. He couldn’t leave town
and his business like that, but he had promised to join them as soon as
possible, within a couple of days. She only hoped it would all be over
before he did. He was part of her normal life. She didn’t want him to
be exposed to any abnormal stuff. Ever.
When they finally arrived there, the Summers’ house was quiet and almost empty. Too quiet and too empty.
“Didn’t you say a bunch of doomed girls and tweedy guys were supposed to be here?”
Buffy looked as surprised as she felt. The answer came from a blonde
vampire – Buffy had explained in the car the how and why of her
vampyness and Spike’s – coming down the steps with, of all things, a
laundry basket filled with linens.
“I sent them all to the Mansion,” he said matter of factly. “’M not running a bloody hotel.”
He paused for the briefest instant to share a chaste kiss with Buffy,
gave her and Sandra a weird look, and continued toward the basement
with a “Be right back” thrown over his shoulder. Faith faced Angel and
Buffy, her face closed.
“I am not living at the Mansion,” she said resolutely. “It’s bad enough that I’m here at all, I’m not…”
Buffy raised her hands in a peaceful gesture. “Alright, don’t get excited. We’re not running a hotel, but we can have a guest.”
Her gaze fell to Sandra, who was sleeping in Faith’s arms, and she had a small grin as she added: “Or even two.”
There were footsteps coming up from the basement, and Buffy’s grin
disappeared. She grabbed Faith’s suitcase and the baby’s bag that Angel
had been carrying, giving him a pointed look as she did so, and
literally fled up the stairs, calling for Faith to follow her. Faith
looked at her, at Angel, at Spike who was now back, and decided that
she really didn’t want to know what was going on between those three.
Even if it looked like it was ready to explode.
“I could use a drink.”
Spike shifted his gaze from the top of the staircase where the two
women had disappeared back to his Sire. If he needed a drink to tell
what he had refused to say over the phone, it might be more serious
than Spike had thought. He suppressed the urge to start questioning –
and accusing – and led the way to the dining room.
“Scotch or whiskey?”
“I don’t care. And make it double.”
With a frown at Angel, Spike ignored the last part. The brunette would
need to drive back to LA – and hopefully he would be there before he
noticed the dent on the front bumper – and Spike didn’t really know how
much his tolerance to alcohol had changed since he had become human
again. For himself, however, he filled the glass, having this
foreboding feeling that he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.
Angel didn’t comment, didn’t even seem to notice as he just accepted
the glass and took a sip. Spike sat down, expecting Angel to do the
same, but he remained standing, and actually turned his back to Spike
to look at the framed drawing on the wall. The vampire began to lose
patience.
“Yes, we all agreed that you bloody well can draw. Can we get on with the show? What the hell happened?”
Angel’s glass was once more brought to his lips, and when it came back
down it was empty. He sat down across from Spike, the palms of his
hands pressed to the wood of the table.
“She vamped out,” he said without preamble, his eyes looking straight
at Spike. “Without meaning to, without realizing she had. And she
couldn’t bring the human mask back down.”
Spike blinked slowly, and his grip tightened on his glass, until he had
to make the conscious effort to release it before he broke it. He had
known something like this would happen. Had known she would lose
control. Had warned her about it. And it had to happen when he wasn’t
even around.
“Did she attack you?” he asked blankly. “Or anyone?”
Angel shook his head. “No. She wasn’t aggressive, just panicked. I had
her drink the blood you had packed and she managed to shift out of it.
You are aware that she hadn’t fed in two days?”
There was reprobation, behind the words, and it stung. This wasn’t an
innocent talk. This was a Sire chastising a Childe for not taking good
care of his own Childe. Humiliating, even if Angel was showing
considerable restraint in the matter. Angelus wouldn’t have hesitated
beating him for this same thing. In front of Buffy, probably.
“I told her to feed. She doesn’t listen to me.”
If hearing Angel’s reprobation was bad, admitting to his own failures
was even worse, and Spike couldn’t look at the brunette as he did so.
He threw his head back and closed his eyes, only to be startled by
Angel’s closed fist falling on the table between them.
“What is that supposed to mean, she doesn’t listen?” Angel snarled.
“She’s your Childe, for God’s sake! If she doesn’t listen, make her…”
“Coming from the guy who once said he’d stake me if I used Sire’s commands with her, that’s almost hilarious.”
“Oh, please, don’t play with words! You really think I’d say anything if it was for her own good?”
Spike didn’t answer, but no, he didn’t really think so. He was
searching for excuses, and he knew it. The fact was, he hated to force
her to do anything, had always hated it, always done it only when he
felt like there was no other choice, except for that one time on their
mating’s anniversary. That one time, he had used his power on her for
really no other reason than to show her he could. And since then, the
idea of doing it again was nauseating, even if he knew he had to do
something to make her feed.
Eyes still closed, he could hear, and feel, Angel move around the
table, walk behind him to the cabinet, help himself with another glass.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered.
“Why not?”
All the fire was gone from Angel’s voice, there was only concern left, and that helped Spike explain what he felt.
“I did it, not that long ago. Totally lost control. You know what it
made me feel like? Like I was… him. Angelus. When he was a complete
bastard and fucking with my mind just because he could. I can’t make
her hate me.”
A hand closing on his shoulder startled him, and he closed his eyes
even more tightly shut. He didn’t need, didn’t want to see the pain on
his Sire’s face right now.
“It’s different,” Angel said in a choked voice. “You’re doing it for her, not to play with her.”
“Thing is, my demon wants to play that game. When I get so mad at her,
all I can think of is to show her what her place is, show her that I
have power over her and…”
The pressure on his shoulder accentuated, and Spike’s voice broke.
“I know.”
And then the hand was gone, and Angel was moving away. Spike risked an
eye open, and found that his Sire was once more looking at the drawing
of him and Buffy on the wall.
“I just thought of something,” he said after a few seconds, finally
turning back to Spike. “You don’t have any other Childe, do you?”
Spike huffed. “Of course not.”
“Then you and Buffy are basically the last members of the Order of
Aurelius, except maybe for a few odd minions who don’t count anyway.
And you are the leader of the Order. You realize that, don’t you?”
“What does that has to do with anything?” Spike questioned with a shrug.
“It means,” Angel explained a little impatiently, “that your demon
knows it’s in charge of the line, but you’re not letting it do
anything. No hunting, no turning, no controlling of your one and only
Childe, you’re not even teaching her the lore, are you? So of course
it’s getting more angry than usual about being restrained. And when you
let it come forward, it lashes out and you feel like you’re losing
control.”
In a very twisted way, it made some kind of sense. But Spike still couldn’t see how that helped.
“Alright, so I’m screwed. Whatever. I’ll deal. But again, how is that linked to Buffy? We’re talking about her, remember?”
“Think, boy,” the brunette snapped. “She needs you to play your role so
that she can know what her own is. And since you’re not being a Sire to
her, since you’re controlling that part of you, she thinks that she can
do the same and control her demon. But she doesn’t have a hundred plus
years of experience behind her. And what you can do without a second
thought, she can’t do without hurting herself.”
Spike’s eyes widened as he stared at Angel as understanding dawned on him.
“So it’s my fault?”
Angel sighed. “I didn’t say that. We still don’t know why she decided
that she had to control her vampire self to begin with. But the way you
react to the problem, or rather the way you don’t react, is making
things worse. At least, that’s what I think.”
He had felt her approach even before she appeared by the dining room’s
entrance. His eyes sought hers immediately, but she was looking at
Angel, and frowning.
“So, how is he supposed to react?” she asked Angel quietly, even as her gaze finally slid to her Sire.
Spike could see that she was uneasy. Almost afraid, even. Afraid of
what? Of whom? Of him? Had they come so far that she now feared him?
Was it why she had been anxious, earlier, when they arrived?
Instinctively, he got to his feet and walked to her. He could see her
nervousness in the way she nibbled her lower lip, but when he wrapped
his arms around her she melted against him, and he sighed.
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The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.