This Is How It Goes

They reached her house and Buffy stepped over the threshold, turning back to smile gently at Angel.

"Thanks. I ... I'm really glad you're here, Angel. This would be -" she stopped abruptly, hearing voices in the kitchen. One of them sounded like ... but, no, that couldn't be. Angel looked at her, concerned.

Buffy moved towards the kitchen, Angel following her. She froze as she saw who her mother was talking to.

"Spike?!" she said incredulously.

"Spike," Angel growled behind her.

"Oh, balls," Spike said, rolling his eyes.

~ — ~ — ~

Buffy moved quickly to her mother, grasping her arm and pulling her behind her. Joyce looked utterly lost.

"Exactly which part of 'never come back' was unclear?" Buffy asked angrily, taking the stake out she had stashed in the back of her pants. Of course, she thought. Because her life wasn't complicated enough.

"The 'never' part was a little vague," Spike said, taking a drink from the mug in front of him.

"Did you just — is that -" Buffy whipped around to face her mother. "Did you make him hot chocolate?" she asked, her voice reaching a high, slightly hysterical register.

"He was having relationship problems," Joyce said uncertainly. "He just looked so ... pathetic."

Spike adopted a mock-pouting expression, fluttering his eyes at Buffy and Angel.

Buffy strode forward and grabbed him by the lapels of his leather coat, lifting him and knocking over the mug in the process.

"Oi! I wasn't finished with that!" Spike protested loudly, before Buffy slammed him up against the kitchen wall. Roughly moving her forearm to his throat, she whipped out Mr. Pointy with her other arm and cocked it back.

"Willow!" Spike gasped out.

Buffy froze, her eyes narrowing. "Unless you've completely forgotten my name ..."

"She and the boy are my, what do you call it," he croaked, waving his hand weakly, "hostages."

"You have Willow and Xander," she stated, her stomach clenching. Of course. Spike wasn't stupid. Correction: Spike wasn't that stupid. He wouldn't show up without some leverage.

"Well, can certainly see why you're the boss-lady," Spike said in an infuriatingly smart-ass tone. "Nothing gets past you."

Buffy repressed an urge to hit him repeatedly and backed off, allowing Spike to readjust the collar of his jacket and smooth his hair back.

"Where?" she asked shortly.

Spike snorted, amused. "Got them shoved in your closet, Slayer. Go upstairs and fetch." He gave her a withering, contemptuous look. "Any more idiotic questions?"

Buffy glared at him, crossing her arms.

"What do you want, Spike?" she asked tightly.

"Right," Spike said, standing up straighter and jutting out his jaw arrogantly. "I need some supplies because your little witch is gonna do a spell for me. You and Nancy killjoy here," he jerked his head at Angel, "can tag along." He glanced coolly at her, cocking his head. "You stay out of my way and maybe your pathetic sidekicks don't end up as mangled, rotting corpses."

Buffy felt a hot swoop of anger in her gut. "Gee, Spikey, what do you think would happen to you if my friends got hurt?"

Spike shrugged apathetically. "Not really looking to find out. But neither are you, pet."

Buffy took a moment to convince herself that ripping Spike's head off his shoulders wouldn't be the smartest course of action. She glanced back at Angel, who was shooting Spike a death glare. Their eyes met and Angel nodded imperceptibly.

"Fine," she gritted out. "Let's go."

Spike grinned smugly at her and strode out the door, Angel close behind him.

"And when I get back," Buffy said, looking pointedly at her mother, "we're going to have a little chat about using up the last of the mini-marshmallows on the evil undead."

Joyce smiled sheepishly. "Have fun, sweetie," she called out after their retreating backs.

Chapter 29: A Beautiful Lie

Author's Notes:

Buffy was quietly seething as they walked downtown. Spike was walking ahead of them, looking slightly more subdued than usual. At least his arrogant swagger wasn't quite as swaggerful as it typically was. Angel was silent, but his annoyance was almost palpable. This was officially the worst-timed hostage situation ever. The Mayor had probably already performed whatever ritual he had to do and they desperately needed to be researching it. Buffy shot a furious glance at Spike, who turned his head and graced her with a shit-eating grin. Buffy growled.

They reached Main Street and Spike froze. Buffy screeched to a stop before she collided with his back.

"What are you doing?" she snapped.

Spike was staring at a building across the street with a pained expression. "That store," he said, quietly sighing. "Me and Drusilla, we broke in 'cause she said the dolls were singing to her. And when all we found was this fucking ghastly Shag-Me-Elmo toy," he growled, mimed crushing something emphatically, "she was devastated. Had to drive 14 sodding hours before we found a dolly that was the right soprano." He let out a half-laugh, half-sob and then stared at the ground for several moments. "I would've done anything for her," he finished in a hoarse, cracked voice.

Buffy and Angel stared at him. "Spike," she said flatly. "This little jaunt would go much faster with less reminiscing about the 'good ol' days' of insanity and horror."

Spike sniffed heartily and straightened up. "Bugger reminiscing. I'm getting her back." He began walking again. Buffy and Angel exchanged an exasperated glance and followed him.

"The Magic Shop's at the corner," Buffy said after several more minutes down the street, gesturing at it. "Let's get your stupid -" she stopped abruptly, feeling that distinct and distinctly unwelcome sensation up her spine. "Son of a bitch," she finished with a growl. Spike raised an eyebrow at her less than logical sentence, and then they all spun around as footsteps echoed in the street.

"Spike," a voice said. Skinner appeared out of the shadows behind them, cutting them off, that insufferable smirk attached firmly to his face. A group of vampires flanked him. Buffy felt her stomach plummet.

"I know you, mate?" Spike asked casually. Buffy saw Spike slide his eyes quickly over the 15 or so vampires positioning themselves around their group. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up.

"Florence, 1932," Skinner responded. Spike cocked his head, frowning. "La Bella Bugia Opera House?" Skinner prompted.

Spike's eyes widened while Buffy felt an acute urge towards homicidal actions. "That was you?" Spike asked incredulously. He snorted. "Oh, that was a bloody brilliant work of art, that was."

Skinner bowed graciously.

"I don't want to know," Buffy mumbled irately. Spike twisted his head to look at her.

"The audience thought he was supposed to be there. For the first 20 seconds at least. This wanker," he jerked a thumb at Skinner, grinning widely, "strolling onto the set of La Buona Figliuola like he was part of the show."

"Until I ripped out the lead's small intestine," Skinner said.

"Dru went up and asked for it in place of her pearl necklace," Spike said. His expression transformed from wistful nostalgia to crushing sadness in the space of two seconds. Buffy blinked at the abrupt change. "She was fickle about her damn jewelry, I'll tell you," he said, sniffing and looking absolutely pitiful. "Used to wear these enormous, honking broaches all over the place. Once, I brought her a liver and she pinned it to her chest for a week and a half."

There were several moments of awkward, uncertain silence as everyone wondered how exactly to respond. "That's fucked up," one of Skinner's vampires said eventually. Skinner growled at him.

"Seems like you're having woman trouble," Skinner said, turning his attention back. "It's going around. You and the Slayer should start a club, bond over shitty girlfriends."

Spike raised his chin, jutting his jaw forward. "It's temporary. She'll be crawling back once I -" he stopped abruptly, fully registering what the other vampire had just said. His face scrunched up in disbelief. "Wait, what? The Slayer has a who now?"

"Oh, she's a pistol, Willy. Hits like she was born for it. Hot little thing, too," Skinner continued, leering at Buffy. Buffy felt a hot drop of fury slip into her stomach. Her hands were shaking.

Spike whipped around to stare at Buffy. "You picked yourself up a woman?" He shook his head violently, looking disgusted. "This is just sodding fantastic. Drusilla drops me like yesterday's homeless man and here you are, frolicking in carpet-munching land." He sighed, his face falling. "You should've just staked me."

Buffy stepped forward and pulled out her stake, gripping it so hard she felt it crack. "Get in line," she spat out, eyes flicking between Skinner and Spike.

Angel moved quickly in front of her, frowning sternly. "Buffy," he said quietly. He shook his head in a slow, communicative gesture.

Buffy slowly lowered the stake, feeling undiluted rage still coursing through her. Spike's attention slid over to Angel and a wicked grin began blossoming on his face.

"But he's still here." He cocked his head, still grinning. "Did he finally decide to embrace his inner poofter like you did, Slayer? Bag himself a proper boyfriend?"

"Spike," Buffy said, dangerously quiet. "Find a different topic."

"I second that," Skinner contributed casually, strolling forward until he was a foot away from Buffy. He smiled at her. "How about we focus on your imminent deaths?"

"I could work with that," Buffy said sweetly, and kicked Skinner in the chest.

Angel and Spike followed her lead, Angel backhanding a vamp to his right and Spike wildly catapulting himself into a group of four snarling vampires. Buffy acknowledged that they were seriously outnumbered, and she could feel that unnerving sensation of being hemmed in as several more vampires circled her. She forced herself to focus only on her immediate surroundings, avoiding a brutal right hook from Skinner and executing a spinning kick to one of them behind her. She ducked into the Espresso Pump, breaking a leg off one of the chairs and plunging it into the vampire nearest to her, who was unfortunately not Skinner. After minutes of furious fighting, Angel, Buffy and Spike began instinctively moving towards the Magic Shop, searching for a more defendable position. The remaining vampires circled them, growling and smiling in anticipation.

"Why do I feel like we're losing?" Buffy muttered, flicking her eyes around for possible escapes.

"Because there are 12 of them and three of us and we're about to die," Angel answered, panting slightly.

"Oh," Buffy mumbled. "Right."

They turned as one, busted open the Magic Shop door and piled inside as the other vampires swarmed. Buffy and Angel put their backs to the door and planted their feet, grimacing as it shuddered. Spike strode quickly around the shop, his leather coat swirling around him as he searched for weapons. He flipped over the table, breaking off the legs and tossing them over to Buffy and Angel.

"Uh, Spike? Need something a little heftier," Buffy gasped out.

"That door's gonna go, love," Spike responded, eyeing it warily. "Best let it happen and enjoy the violence."

Buffy glared at him, but she and Angel stepped back, gripping stakes. "Have I recently mentioned what a psychopathic prick you are?" Buffy ground out. Spike grinned.

The door shuddered once more and then collapsed completely. Two vampires stampeded through, the others trying to slip through the entrance and getting jammed. There was a furious crash and the window at the front of the shop broke. Vampires poured through. Buffy realized it was distinctly possible that they might die. She grabbed the first vampire she could and threw him up against the bookshelf, slamming a stake into him. She was grabbed around the middle and tossed into one of the glass cases, protecting her face with her arms and feeling them sliced open. Buffy vaulted up, ignoring the small rivulets of blood cascading down her arm and kicking one of them in the kneecap. He went down with a cry and she spun around, smashing the back of her foot into his head. He went flying.

Buffy looked around wildly at the fight. She saw Skinner leaning nonchalantly against the window frame, surveying the fight confidently. Buffy suddenly realized that there were much fewer vampires than she had thought. She leaned her head forward as she picked up sounds of struggling outside of the store. There was a cry, a grunt, and a figure strode through the front door, wielding a stake.

"Faith?" she said disbelievingly.

The figure froze. And then Buffy went crashing to the ground as a vampire backhanded her. Faith moved quickly, pulling him off of Buffy and elbowing him in the face. Buffy stared at her incredulously, feeling a multitude of feelings at seeing her again. Guilt, relief, and simultaneous urges to touch her and (with a hot burst of shame) recoil. She continued to watch her and realized that there was something ... different about the way she was fighting. It looked almost wrong. Her movements were too controlled, too restrained. None of the fluid violence that Buffy was accustomed to. She caught a glimpse of Faith and the other Slayer's face was contorted in revulsion. It was more than holding back — it was painfully obvious repugnance at what she was doing.

Faith's presence tipped the odds in their favor quickly. Buffy saw Skinner growl in frustration, take a quick sweeping glance of the situation, saw he was losing, and spun around and ran.

"Gutless weasel," Spike sneered, watching the other vampire scamper.

Angel let loose with a right hook to the face of the last vampire and he stumbled towards Faith's outstretched stake. There was a long, pregnant silence as the four of them stood after the vamp exploded into dust, breathing heavily. Buffy was alternating between glances at Faith and looking intently at the floor. She chanced a fleeting look at Spike and saw him flicking his eyes around the group, a horribly and ominously nefarious smile beginning to form.

"So," Spike said, his voice sounding unusually loud. "You must be the Slayer's brush with lesbianism."

Faith looked at him, her face taut and smooth. She didn't say anything, but glanced warily at Angel and he nodded at her. His eyes were soft and reassuring.

"Faith," he said.

"Angel," she responded. And then, without another word or glance, she turned around and strode quickly out of the shop.

"But — wha — goddamit, Faith," Buffy sputtered. "Wait!" she said loudly, and ran after her. She caught up to her easily down the street, stopping several feet away. "Faith," she called out.

Faith stopped. Buffy saw her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath. The other Slayer turned around slowly, her expression an unreadable mask. The light from the streetlamps illuminated her for the first time and Buffy felt a sick twisting in her stomach. Faith's face was pale and strained, her normally soft lines jagged and sharp. She looked like she hadn't eaten or slept in days, dark circles framing her eyes. And her eyes ... there was no spark in them, no bright glinting they usually held after a fight. She wasn't looking directly at Buffy, gaze pointed towards the ground.