Chapter Nine: Fallen
LovesBitch91
We all begin with good intent
Love was raw and young
We believed that we could change ourselves
The past could be undone

In the two weeks since Buffy had come out to her friends about her time in Heaven and subsequent affair with Spike, the blonde vampire had noted some distinct differences in the activity around the Hellmouth. The first - a plummeting decrease in demonic activity, raised more questions about the second - Buffy’s lack of participation in slaying the local baddies. Instead, she seemed to spend most of her nights sprawled on the sheets of his bed in the cool, quiet underground of his crypt, or else locked away in her own bedroom. When she was with him, the candlelight cast shadows over the bare ridges of her protruding ribs and into the sunken hollow of her belly. She languished in easy silence, sharing soft whispers and sad, secret smiles as he took her for his, night after night.

Since the incident at the Bronze, and following confrontation at the Magic Box, she had found herself ostracized by her friends. Even Giles, so steadfast and forgiving, had become distant and unknown to her, despite his initial acceptance of Buffy’s decision. The rare moments when the new Slayer would be mentioned between them, she grew snappish and withdrawn. Spike could see the feelings of betrayal and seeming abandonment she felt so acutely, and which she harbored against her former Watcher. It seemed Dawn was her only support; but as Buffy withdrew away from her friends even the understanding of her sister, and the only family she had, wavered and was extinguished. She had totally and completely delivered herself into Spike’s hands – for, as she said, only he could understand her.

And yet, though he had attained that which he held so close to his heart, she was but a fragile shell in his arms- a molded figure that looked like, smelt like, tasted like, but wasn’t Buffy. She seemed at times more hollow than the facsimile of a joke that had been the Bot.

But then she smiled. She opened her arms and called him to her by name, clutching at him for comfort and offering more back than what she had to give. And it was okay, for a little while.
******
Adia had become a skillful warrior, a sculpted hybrid of the two Slayers who lived and shared her calling. She had the grace, speed and talent of Buffy, as well as the cunning edge and driving motivation to kill or be killed that had both glorified and damned Faith. All of this from a nervous, blond Northerner who’d nearly died her first night out.

Yet Giles was impressed; she was both eager to please and easily pleased in return, triumphing in every battle. She took on the common vamps with ease, and fearlessly took on demons more than twice her size. She researched in her spare time, to Giles’ delight. It was something neither Faith nor Buffy had held much regard for. Giles gave her access to his most coveted Watcher Diaries, and she had soaked them up in mere days.
It wasn’t uncommon to walk in on the girl curled up in the large, red and white plaid reading chair, legs thrown over one of the large arms and head pillowed against the other with a book held open in her hands. She would pore over the detailed depictions of famous Slayers and Vampires, all etched carefully by hand in ink.

Before long, an older Diary fell into the young Slayer’s hands, giving an account of one of the more famous Blood Lines among vampires. It told of four devilish vampires who wrecked chaos and mayhem across Europe for almost two decades. It was the Scourge of Europe.
******
The cell was small, plain and dank the way most jail cells usually were. A cot here, toilet there. A sink, too, but one was lucky if it worked- and when it did it gushed forth foul-smelling yellow water. Out the small, barred window there was no view, only space for the rain to enter when the wind slanted it through the bars. Two more empty walls of grey stone, and an impregnable lattice of thick, cylindrical steel bars sealed the convict in.

During the daylight hours she walked circles in the jail-cell, stopping now and again to kick out in frustration at the walls – only to be rebuffed back onto the floor. Nothing exceptional ever happened, nothing out of the ordinary to divert her attention. Until they came for her.

She’d been dozing on the hard cot, its thin mattress proffering no comfort, listening to the sounds of far-off traffic. She was jerked awake by the screech of sliding bars, and straightened up quickly to see the rotund, hairy-lipped guard sneering at her. She curled her lip, scowling as she tossed the inmate a bundle of clothes and a small, unmarked envelope.

“Get dressed, Lehane. You’re out of here.”
******

She waited until Tara had drifted into sleep before sliding the covers down and slipping out of the bed. She paused at Dawn’s door, reassuring herself that the teenager was fast asleep. There was no reason to check Buffy’s door, however- the Slayer was rarely home at night. She peeked once more into her own bedroom, content with Tara’s soft snores before tip-toeing down the stairs. Hidden in the hallway closet was a wicker basket, full of candles and herbs, and she grabbed this up and headed for the basement.

Locking the door behind her, she made her way slowly down the stairs. Here is where she would set up the circle, light the candles, and perform the spell. It was nothing big, nothing she couldn’t handle. A simple forgetting spell that would turn Buffy from what they all knew to be no good for her. No longer would she pine for Spike’s attention, and she would return to her friends, the ones that really loved her. It was for her own good, really.
******


She awoke with a start, wide hazel eyes flashing around in blind confusion. Spike opened his eyes drowsily, roused by the absence of her warmth. He reached a hand to touch her back softly, and her head whipped around to face him.

“Buffy, luv. You alright?” he whispered quietly, concern knitting his brows close. She let out a tiny shriek, wrapping the satin sheets around herself and scrambling off of the bed. “Bloody hell, pet. What is it?”
But she was backing away from him slowly, stumbling over her own discarded clothing. He pulled himself up, swishing a hand down to grab up his rumpled jeans. The bed was now firmly between them, and he began to wonder if she’d finally flipped a switch and decided he was a horrible accident all along. Which he really hoped wasn’t the case. But the scared, confounded look in her eyes told of something much graver.

“Wh-who are you?” she croaked weakly, looking around at the crypt. She stilled, suddenly, without waiting for his response, to peer at her hands. A slight, fearful wonderment began to dawn on her features as she met his eyes.

“Who am I?”

******

Just another hour and she’d be back in Sunny-fucking-hell.

Faith had never been one to question good luck – especially when it got her out of jail with a free trip to the local Hellmouth. Of course, she wasn’t too sure how her recent luck would fair in the Sunnydale- she’d always run into a bad streak there. But hey, no more communal showers. No more grope-y, tough-as-shit lesbo-inmates. And no more damned Lifetime movies.

Just the sweet, sweet taste of freedom.
******

There was an hour of smooth-talking and soothing before Spike managed to get the amnesiac Slayer dressed and cooperative. He was wary of clueing her in just yet, afraid of what her reaction would be. So he dressed her, led her upstairs and out of the crypt. After her initial freak-out she had become quiet and listless, staring about herself with wide, uncomprehending eyes. His own hand was shaking as he led her by the elbow, deciding to stop beneath a glaring street-lamp and light a cigarette as he wracked his brain for a plausible course of action.

“My parents,” she mumbled, shaking him from his troubled thoughts. He turned his eyes to her.

“What?”

“I have parents, don’t I? Take me to them.” Her voice was quiet, and he felt a pang of loss as he remembered her mother.

Suddenly resolute, he grabbed her arm and led her down a side street. “I’ve got the next best thing.”

******

Adia had studied the pictures, fingers tracing and retracing the sketches of his face. A blind fury had risen in her, accompanied by an overwhelming disgust. William the Bloody. Slayer of Slayers.

And Buffy was fucking him.

Of course Buffy must know about his history- she’d assumed that much as simple fact. And then she let him into her bed. She had screwed an undead, soulless, evil killer. And it was wrong. Adia almost felt physically sick from the thought. She’d been confused, at first, at the playful banter between the two her first night patrolling, and later on when Buffy had professed to be “sleeping with Spike” at the Magic Box. But she hadn’t so fully understood the implications until now. Filled with a renewed purpose and a burning hatred, she gathered her stakes and set off to find the Slayer of Slayers.

******

Giles, when he finally opened the door, wore a confounded expression and hastily tied bathrobe. Eyes darting from Slayer to vampire, and recognizing the distress in Spike’s eyes, he quickly ushered them both in. Buffy was holding her arms close around herself as she looked up at Giles. She was worrying her lower lip with her teeth, fumbling with her words.
“Are you my father?” she asked quietly. Giles’ eyes grew large, and he sputtered something that sounded like ‘Dear, Lord’.

“No, Buffy, I’m not,” he said softly, leading her to one of the couches. “Stay here a moment, would you, while I have a word with Spike?” She nodded uncertainly, drawing her knees up and pillowing her troubled face against them.

Spike was dragged by the elbow into the closed off kitchen. Giles closed the door softly behind him before whirling around to face Spike.

“What in the bloody hell is that all about?” Spike’s own eyes were dark in confusion and worry as he shook his head.

“No bleedin’ idea, mate. Woke up and she didn’t know who she was. Thought she was off her soddin’ rocker at first, way she was scramblin’ away. But this… bloody well tastes like magic, s’what I think. ” Giles shook his head, fingers flying upwards to rub his temples.

“Leave her with me. And go… try to find any information you can. I’ll call Willow and Tara.” Spike nodded, turning to go before he paused, and looked back at the Watcher. Giles’ eyes were weary; a thousand times older and wiser, but tired. Their eyes locked, and Giles forced a sad smile. “It was right, to bring her here.”

Spike shook his head, turning to go. “I hope so.”

******

Three women showed up a half-hour later. Or, really, two and a half women - the one girl looked barely sixteen. At once the younger one threw herself around Buffy’s shoulders, squeezing her tightly. When she drew away, the brunette’s eyes were wet and full of tears. The other two, a redhead and a doe-eyed blonde, spoke in hushed tones with Giles, the man whose house she’d been brought to. Their eyes flicked over to her occasionally, all tinged with worry.

“You don’t know me, do you?” the brunette was talking quietly to her, and Buffy shook her head. “I’m Dawn, I’m your sister.”

“And I’m Buffy?” She made a face, the name sounding funny and foreign on her tongue. “Who named me that?”

“Mom. She was funny like that.” Dawn’s tone had become hushed and reminiscent, and Buffy turned to more fully face her.

“Where are they? Our parents? I asked that one man, Spike, but he brought me here.”

“Mom’s dead. Our dad… no one really knows where he’s at…” Dawn said quietly, looking anywhere but at Buffy. “It’s just us. And Willow and Tara.” She nodded to the two women, the redhead and blonde. “They live with us.”

“And they can help me remember? Who I am?”

“I hope so.”

******


The night was cool, sky littered with thousands of stars. The old Greyhound bus had finally reached its destination, and Faith was ready to get right back into slaying. She had no baggage but what she wore, and it took only a quick look in the alley to locate a hefty shard of wood with a ragged, wicked sharp tip.
Her dark eyes glittering, nostrils flaring to breathe in the sweet night air, she headed off into the night.

******


A few pit stops at the local demon bars yielded no information about agendas against the Slayer, and Spike was becoming agitated. Figuring the witches would be more than capable at sorting out the current lapse of memory Buffy was experiencing, he set off towards the nearest cemetery, full of bloodlust and the strong desire to rip some meaty demon apart with his bare hands.

******

Her blonde hair fell across her face, and she irritably pushed it back, crouched low on the old stone mausoleum as she watched the blonde vampire strut through the cemetery, dark leather duster billowing out behind him. She’d been following him for the better part of an hour, always just out of earshot, eyes narrowed in a predatory fashion as she stalked him through alleys and tombstones. He was preoccupied with something, she could tell, for he hadn’t once turned in her direction. She’d been sure, a few times, that he would when the wind rose up behind her and carried forth her scent. But he’d simply kept his pace, lighting a cigarette as he marched onwards.

A smile crept into her features. There, a group of vamps sucked desperately against a writhing female they’d snatched. Four of them altogether, mouths red as they clawed at her, searching her soft flesh for a new, unmarked place to dig in their fangs. Spike had smelt the overpowering scent of blood, she could tell. He slipped into his demon visage and snarled, rushing the four unsuspecting vamps.
She watched a moment longer, the way he fought without abandon, and she itched to join in, work her muscles against him in true combat.
As the last vampire’s dust drifted off onto the wind she smiled and leapt down from her perch to face Spike.

******


Faith was getting pissed. Almost an hour she’d been out, scourging the streets of Sunnydale and not one measly vamp to be seen. She was ready to start a brawl down at the nearest demon bar when she heard the fight in progress. A smile crept over her face as she headed across the deserted graveyard in search of a good tussle.

******


Her boot came out of nowhere, knocking him into the ground with a loud thud.
He opened his eyes, looking up into her gray ones that peered down with disgust at his prone form.

“Bloody hell, pet. What’s that for, then?” He rose cautiously, eyeing her with newfound distrust. Her fists were raised, a wooden stake clenched tightly. He eyed this warily, eyes flicking up to read the expression on her face. “What’s this? Thought we were on the same page, luv.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her eyes were steely, voice even harder as she stared at him with daggers in her eyes.

“Here for a fight then? Sorry, Slayer. I’m not here for that.” He backed away uneasily, trying to pull off the false bravado. It seemed she’d lost it then, coming after him like this when she knew full well he was on her side. She’d been following him since just after he left Giles’, though he hadn’t alerted her to this.

“Too bad.” She smirked then, her pale pink lips twisting her face. She launched herself at him, and he silently cursed that damned Slayer speed and strength. He was trying his hardest to defend himself, parried blows left and right. It wasn’t that she was so skilled as that – several times he could easily have snuck into her weak guard and taken her down, but not without a severe migraine.

So he tried his hardest to block her blows and tire her out before she struck out with that deadly stake.

******


Faith smiled at the scene before her.

Some blonde headed girl was trying to take out Spike, who simply blocked her moves without making a single blow himself. She remembered, suddenly, that Spike was helpless – couldn’t hit her if he’d wanted to, anyways. Some military chip.

So why was she fighting him? She wasn’t a vamp, no, but her strength and speed weren’t normal. And then Faith realized. Slayer.

******

Tara was curled up in the reading chair across from Willow, fearful suspicions running through her mind. The book on Willow’s lap had fallen to the side, its coded pages tilted away from her gaze. The red-head witch was chewing her lips, worry-knit eyes glancing occasionally at the sleeping Slayer, whose memory loss was still a complete mystery.
Something wasn’t right.

She noticed Giles, book open before him, staring at Willow occasionally too, his eyes darting from page to witch. It seemed a fist had clenched Tara’s heart, as she tried desperately to deny what she knew to be true. This whole situation was marked in big, red letters: Willow Did This.

******


One moment Spike’s face was leering at her, and the next she was flat on her back, staring up into the face of a dark haired woman with smiling red lips. She only had a moment to process what had just happened before a boot pressed down into her chest. She tried to pry it away without success, giving up to lie defeated beneath it.

“Need a hand?” The dark-haired woman was smiling at Spike, her eyes sparkling in amusement.

“Thanks, luv.” Spike lit up a cigarette, looking down with disdain at the restrained Slayer.

“Faith, by the way,” she offered. “Probably
don’t remember me all that well.” But his eyes were smiling as the name triggered a long forgotten memory and he smirked at her.

“Never did get to… what was it? Make me pop like warm champagne?” Her lips twisted upwards into a smile, and she ducked her eyes down quickly.

“Speakin’ of B…” Faith’s smile melted suddenly, as she looked down at the fuming Slayer, who watched the conversation with little interest, and more confusion. “She kick it?”

Spike frowned. “Kick what?” And then his eyes fell on Adia, and he shook his head. “Only for a few months. Left her off with the Watcher. ‘Spose I should be getting’ back ‘bout now. Care to give a fellow a hand with this one?”

Two sets of arms lifted Adia up off the ground, who hung listlessly in their grasp, having made herself unnaturally heavy. They were almost sure she’d given in by then, having recognized defeat, when she threw her arms out, sending both Slayer and Vampire to the ground before bolting away.

“Bloody hell, been yammerin’ to take that bint out, ‘cept for the sodding chip.” Spike explained, watching her form disappear into the night. He looked uncertainly at Faith, eyebrows raised in question. “Don’t ‘spose you’re headin’ to see Rupes and the rest of the Scoobies?”

Faith’s dark eyes were lingering on the spot where moments before Adia had lain on the ground before flicking her smiling eyes up at him. She gave a slight shrug, her lips tightening just visibly.

“Might as well. Sure they’re gonna throw me a welcome home party.”

******


Okay, so maybe that spell had been a little bad. Or a lot bad.

Willow sat on the couch, wedged between Dawn
and the arm, biting her lips nervously as she glanced down occasionally at the book in her lap. Doing research was hard when you knew the answer already. Tara was curled up across from her, staring over at Buffy, who had drifted off to sleep.

“She seems so different,” Tara remarked softly. “So… scared and alone.” Of course she is, Willow thought. You made her forget who she was, what she was.

A sudden need to get away from the onset of claustrophobia launched Willow off the couch, stumbling over piles of yet-to-be-read books and into the kitchen, mumbling something about a drink as she went.

******

It seemed that Tara and Giles both threw themselves after Willow the moment she disappeared through the door, meeting each other there with knowing glances. They pushed open the door, Tara going first, to see Willow hunched over the counter, head in her hands. She looked up with sunken green eyes, a small frown etched into her forehead and lips turn downwards. Tara staid back, observing the witch.

“Willow…” Giles seemed to be battling with the right words to say, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

“What’ve you done?” Tara asked quietly, eyes hesitantly meeting Willow’s. At once the redhead inflated, rising up straight with a defiant look in her eyes.

“She was sick! I only tried to help her,” her face twisted, lips forming a disgusted grimace. “You guys might not care that she’s sleeping with…with that thing, but I do and Buffy’s my friend.”

“You can’t just fix people Willow!” Tara seemed on the verge of shouting, arms crossed around herself as she stared, disbelieving, at her girlfriend. “Just because she’s doing something you don’t like doesn’t mean you do a spell to change her! You can’t mess with people’s lives like this.”

“I suggest you get in there and fix this,” Giles said in a deadly quiet tone. Willow’s eyes were blotchy, on the verge of angry tears. She crossed her arms, looking from Tara to Giles.

“Fix her yourselves.” She shouldered past them, and a moment later they heard the slamming of a door.

Tara took a long moment before letting out a sigh. “I’ll try to undo the spell. I’m pretty sure I can figure out which one she used, now that we know he was her.”

“Quite right. I’ll... um, make some tea.”

******


Faith grew more nervous as they approached Giles’ flat, lingering for a long moment on the porch. Spike, hand on the door, looked back at her.

“Well, better come in. Have to face the soddin’ ponces sooner or later.” In a moment of fierce determination, Faith launched herself at the door, and in a few seconds was standing in the middle of the living room. Tara and Giles looked up from their books, eyes widening in shock.

“Dear Lord. Faith?”

******

How dare they? Willow was fuming, walking quickly away from Giles’ flat. It was for the best, really. Just a little too strong. But no, they chose to blame everything on Willow, who seemed to be the only one who really cared about Buffy. Spike was by far her worst boyfriend so far, even worse than Parker. At least Parker had never tried to eat her.
Xander’s apartment was around here, she realized. In fact, it was just around that corner. He’d be up, for sure. And hopefully he wouldn’t hate her, because he hated Spike, too. He’d understand.

******


It went better than expected. Giles listened calmly to Faith’s explanation and subsequent abashed apology, finally welcoming her with a warm - if somewhat reserved - hug. Spike stood in the background, one eye fixed on Tara as she worked on undoing Willow’s spell, and the other on the dozing Slayer. As he watched her, she roused herself from sleep, blinking sleepily around her before her face fell, and she drew her knees to her chin. At once he was at her side, crouched down in front of her and looking up with a searching gaze.

“All right, Buffy?” he whispered softly, one hand cupping her drawn up knee. She nodded silently, her hand reaching out to grasp his hand. He held it, his eyes full of adoration.

“We’re ready,” Tara called out, and the two turned towards the witch, who held a sheaf of papers - her notes. “It’ll just be really quick, the original spell was pretty simple. Will - sh-she probably wasn’t thinking anyone would find out.” The blonde witch was obviously distressed over her girlfriend’s use of magic and deception, the corners of her normally smiling mouth wilted.

“Well, come on then luv.” Spike pulled her up by their clasped hands, and she remained glued to his side as they went to sit by Tara.

******


“I mean, he’s Evil. Capital E. What does she see in him?”

Xander and Anya lay side by side in bed, hands clasped. Anya rolled her eyes at his comment, attempting to soothe him with a quick pat on the shoulder.

“It’s probably just the sex, honey. I mean, whoosh. I would - I mean, he’s very handsome.” Anya turned her face from Xander, hiding her dreamy expression. Xander looked horrified, propping himself up on his elbows to see her better.

“Anya! Eww, mental images I never want to imagine again, and he is not handsome. Sure, he might have perfect washboard abs and cheekbones you could cut – oh, my God. Shut me up, please.” Taking the cue, Anya at once pressed her lips to his, drawing him away from his disturbing – if not altogether pleasant – mental images. But he pulled away just as quick.

“I mean, Buffy’s my best friend. And I thought she had gotten the whole vampire thing out of her system after Angel, y’know? But it’s even worse, now that it’s Spike.”

“Enough about Buffy, Xander,” Anya pouted, slapping him lightly. “I mean, I’m here in your bed and I want to have sex with you and all you can do is talk about Buffy! Buffy, Buffy, Buffy!”

“Anya, you’re not being fair,” he argued pitiably. She leapt up suddenly, scrambling over him to get out of the bed. Instead of looking appropriately abashed, Xander simply gawked openmouthed at her, at a loss for what to say. Anya regarded him coldly, then turned to leave the room.

“I’m staying at a friend’s tonight, and maybe tomorrow until you find out whether you love me or Buffy!” She was jerking clothes on, digging through the open closet door until she found a pair of sandals. Xander followed her quietly to the front door, watching her throw it open and pause. She darted a dark look back at Xander and stormed out of the apartment.
Willow stood, confused yet smiling, on his doorstep.

******


With the incantation of a few Latin words and the burning of some funky-smelling incense, a thousand memories broke through Buffy’s conscience and she fell to the floor. Faces, dates and times flew past her, all scrambled up and yet perfectly clear, as her entire life flashed before her eyes. And then it all stopped with a cataclysmic whoosh, and she was staring up into Spike’s face, his dark brows knit in concern as he passed a hand soothingly through her hair.

She forced herself to take a few heaving breathes, the exhales coming out as hoarse sobs while tears filled her eyes and she reached her arms out to him. He pulled her up into his arms, cradling her like a child as her rubbed soft circles into her back.

“Shush, luv, it’s alright.”

She pulled back, meeting his eyes. When she spoke, her voice was ragged, hoarse.

“No, it’s not.”

******


This was better. Sitting cozily next to Xander, knees drawn up and a steaming mug of fresh coffee warming her hands. They sat, heads together, like they had on so many sleepovers when they were younger.

“Nobody else gets why this is such a big deal – and that’s what gets me,” Xander sighed, sipping his coffee slowly.

“I don’t know. They don’t know Buffy like we do, how bad her relationships tend to be when she goes for the undead. I mean, remember what Angel did?”

Xander grimaced at the mention of Buffy’s former love and Willow turned to him. “We have to do something, something to make Buffy realize she can’t fall for Spike.”

“I know, if it wasn’t for that stupid chip she wouldn’t have forgotten that he was evil.” Despite Xander’s sullen mood, Willow grinned. Excitement was building and she knew exactly what had to be done.

******

I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I have messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...