Five by five?

Spike had been staring so hard at the still features of the girl on the sand in front of him, burning into his mind that it was not Buffy he had killed again, that it took him a moment to realize that his Slayer had given up. She had been trying to revive the girl for a few minutes that had seemed like hours, talking to her, pressing ever harder on her chest, even slapping her at one point. Now she was just sobbing, mumbling over and over again that she was sorry.

An immense rage took hold of him, and he couldn’t prevent his demon face coming forward. She was not supposed to die, and she would not! With a cry that sounded almost like a roar, he started the resuscitation moves again. He had, of course, never been trained to do CPR, but years of watching soap operas seemed to prove useful at last. After a minute or so, Buffy’s sobs stopped and she joined his efforts, doing the heart massage as he continued to breathe for the dead Slayer, careful not to let his fangs scrape her lips.

Two vampires trying to bring a Slayer back to life. What was the world coming to? The irony of the situation was just incommensurable. He, the Slayer of Slayers, who had taken the lives of three – no, four now – of them, was now doing his best to revive the last one. If he hadn’t been so busy, he didn’t know whether he would have laughed or wept.

And at last…

Beat.

So faint!

Another one.

Slightly stronger.

The girl convulsed and expelled the water from her lungs in a gasping rush. One of them helped her to roll to her side and Spike had no idea whether it was him or Buffy. All he could think of was how marvelous the music filling his ears was, almost obliterating his other senses. Heartbeats. Breathing. And then her voice, rasping, pain-filled, but alive.

“Fuck! That hurts! What the hell did you do to me…?”

Spike couldn’t help it then. He let himself fall back in the sand, and he laughed. Hard. And cried. Just as hard. Though if anyone had asked him why, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

“You’re sure you’re OK?” Buffy asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I’m five by five, B,” Faith answered, a little impatient.

To tell the truth, she was freezing, her whole chest hurt, she was almost certain one of her ribs, if not more, was broken, her hair was full of sand and itchy, and Buffy’s concern was annoying her so much that she felt the beginnings of a headache. But other than that, she was just fine for someone who had just been drowned and resuscitated.

They had thought of bringing a towel along, and she dried herself as well as she could, before putting on her dry and warm clothes. She felt like she could have eaten a five course meal, yet a simple cup of very hot coffee would have been heaven.

As Buffy continued to fuss over her, the other vamp was just sitting on a rock by the end of the small beach, chain-smoking and staring out at the ocean. He was in full vamp face, and that had been the first thing she had seen when she regained consciousness. Strangely, that had not scared her. He hadn’t said a word, just laughed hysterically for a while before putting his shirt and leather duster back on and walking away, his boots in his hands.

“Where do you want us to drive you to?” Buffy asked suddenly, tearing Faith’s attention and eyes away from the creature who had taken her life before giving it back to her.

Seeing Buffy’s still red and puffy eyes was a shock again. Had the blonde really cried because she was afraid Faith was dead for good?

“I’m not going with you,” she said quietly. “My new life starts right here, right now. You two can just leave and I’ll find my own way back to the civilization.”

Buffy shook her head, frowning.

“We’re not leaving you here alone,” she protested. “You almost died…”

“I did die,” Faith interrupted. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? And now I’m just fine, what with Slayer strength and all. So you and blondie just go, you’re done here.”

Buffy’s mouth opened, probably for more protests and then closed again without a word. She looked at Faith for a long moment, then, finally, gave her a hesitant smile.

“In your bag… there’s some money. A little from Angel, a little from us. It’s not much, but it might help you. In the beginning at least.”

Faith’s jaw tightened and she forced herself to smile. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be seeing Buffy again, because a few more days and she might have begun to like her. Just a little.

“Thanks,” was all she could say.

Suddenly, surprisingly, Buffy hugged her. For a second, Faith was frozen and then she hugged her back tentatively.

“Good luck,” the blonde whispered, before pulling away and walking toward her boyfriend.

Faith watched them climb back to their car and then they were gone and she was alone in the middle of nowhere. Spreading the towel on the sand, she sat down on it, arms around her legs and chin resting on her knees. As she watched the moon slowly plunge into the ocean where her old life had ended, she began thinking about where she would start her new one.

Buffy was a little uncomfortable leaving Faith alone on that beach so far away from everything, even if she had few doubts that the girl could take care of herself. It was just that after getting so close to killing her definitively, she felt somewhat responsible for her, almost like she felt about Dawn. Which was ridiculous, of course.

Spike hadn’t said a word since Faith had started breathing again, and even now as he drove them back toward LA he was quiet. And still in game face. His fiery eyes were locked straight ahead, on the patch of road visible through the scrapped paint. His hands were gripping the wheel tightly. His jaw was set firmly, almost angrily. Yet the most disturbing of all was that he was shaking, so imperceptibly that it had taken a while for Buffy to notice it.

For a long moment, she respected his silence, not sure what was the problem and how to solve it. In the end, she just had to know.

“Spike, stop the car please,” she requested.

He gave her a quick glance but did not say a word and parked the car on the side of the road. When they had stopped, Buffy freed herself from her seatbelt and climbed on his lap, one knee on each side of his legs, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. He raised a scared eyebrow questioningly and his arms encircled her waist, but still he was silent.

“You’re shaking,” Buffy said quietly, half question, half statement.

Spike shrugged, his lips curving in his trademark smirk. “Just cold, pet. Bloody jeans are drenched.”

Buffy frowned at this answer. He was a vampire, and so was she. Did he really expect her to believe he felt the cold? But she didn’t voice her surprise. Her fingers traveled up to his face, tracing softly the ridges of his demon face. His eyes closed then, and she could see his concentration as his human mask came forward. When his eyelids fluttered open, they revealed dark blue irises, so dark they seemed black.

“Tell me,” she whispered, still stroking his cheek lightly.

One of his hands came up to her face, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before caressing her as she was caressing him. His mouth opened slightly and then closed again on a self-deprecating smile.

“There’s nothing to tell, luv,” he said as he shook his head.

“Liar.”

He watched her for an instant, hesitating, then said. “And a bad liar at that, I know.”

“Tell me. Please. What’s wrong?”

His arm around her tightened, bringing her closer to him, and he pressed his face against her neck.

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

She felt him change against her skin, and without further warning his fangs tore into her skin. She let out a small cry, partly in surprise, partly in pain at the uncharacteristically hard bite. For a few seconds, he remained still, his fangs still in her flesh, not drawing out any blood. At last, he pulled out, yet still didn’t drink from her, instead gently lapping at the twin punctures. The quiet whisper he let out then sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m sorry.”

“Spike…love…talk to me.”

His face nuzzled her neck again, but he didn’t answer. Buffy was confused. She had no idea what could be troubling him so, why he hadn’t taken any blood after biting her, what he was sorry about. She only knew the man she loved was clinging to her like a frightened child to his mother. But he had no reason to be frightened, had he? And whatever was wrong, it didn’t look like he was going to tell her. All she could do was hold him, whisper sweet comforting nothings, and hope it would be enough.