Spike waited and watched long enough to be sure that the Slayer was going to defeat this latest of Faith’s gangs to attack her before he slipped out the door into the night. Not only did he want to be sure that she survived, but he also did not want to leave any of the vampires alive to report back to Faith with the tale of his own unusual little encounter with the Slayer. Just as she had been poised to finish off the last of the group, he had made his escape.

He had never been one to back down from a fight, almost always fully confident that he could take on any opponent that might come his way. And in the past, he had relished any opportunity he had to engage the fiery blonde Slayer in combat. Faith was quite the fighter, but he had never seen the equal of Buffy Summers in full-on slay-mode. She was the greatest challenge he had ever faced, and he fully intended to one day defeat her – something he had yet to actually accomplish.

That once in LA didn’t count, as far as he was concerned. *That* pitiful display was nothing like the Slayer he remembered, and hadn’t been a challenge in the least.

Hardly seemed right to take credit for that.

But everything about Buffy tonight – her renewed aggressive fighting style; the cold, calculated menace in her voice, the merciless look in her eyes as she had accused him of that ultimate crime against her – all worked together to tell him one thing beyond all doubt.

He would die if he tried to fight her tonight.

He had seen that furious fire of rage in Faith’s eyes from time to time – always immediately followed by the dusting of some unfortunate minion. And he had seen it once before in Buffy’s emerald gaze – that night at the church, when he had nearly killed Angel in his effort to restore Dru. That night, she had been determined that he would pay for hurting the vampire that she loved.

She had only left him alive that night because she had been certain he would die in the fire that consumed the church.

He had been getting through to her, he was sure, just before they were interrupted by the other vamps, but that did not mean that he would have gotten out of there alive, if it was left up to the Slayer. That out-of-control fury he had seen in her had just been aching for an outlet, and there was no guarantee even if she believed him, that he would not be the lucky recipient of that fury.

Especially since he had no satisfactory answer for the question she had been asking at that last moment.

He had been furious when he had heard about the murder of Buffy’s mother, though he had had no idea why at the time. He had only met the woman once, and she had seemed like a nice enough lady, polite and kind to him, despite her misgivings about the whole Slayer/vampire thing. But when Faith laughingly told him about the “retribution” her vamps had wrought on the Scoobies for attacking her headquarters, he had found himself hard-pressed not to make an attempt to rip out her throat then and there – an attempt that would have been certain to fail, due to the five or six other vampires who had been in the room at the time.

He was a vampire; over the years, he had taken the lives of many, many of them probably mothers like Joyce. But somehow, it seemed so underhanded and low to kill the Slayer’s mum in her own home, while said Slayer wasn’t even there to attempt to defend her.

It was only after he had calmed down that he wondered why he was making it about Buffy – when to Faith, it had nothing to do with the other Slayer that she assumed was long gone, and everything to do with punishing the friends she had left behind for their rebellion against her.

From that point, he had begun to think more and more about the other Slayer, the rightful Slayer of Sunnydale, and the beginnings of a new idea began to occur to him. He knew beyond all doubt that if she knew what was happening here, what had happened already, she would return from wherever she had vanished to, ready and willing to take down who or whatever was responsible for her mother’s death.

Which, ultimately, was Faith.

It was then that he had decided that he needed to somehow get the Slayer to return to Sunnydale. Once she saw for herself the devastation that Faith had caused not only for the town but for those closest to her, he knew that she would not rest until she had taken Faith out.

And while Faith was distracted by what would surely be the fight of her life, struggling to save her very life against the other Slayer, out for vengeance -- her semi-trusted second-in-command would move in behind her for the kill.

He had not, however, counted on becoming the object of the vengeful Slayer's wrath.

He had told her the truth when he said that he did not know about her mother's murder until after it was done, and even now, he did not know very much about the events of that horrible night. That was why her accusation had come as such a shock to him. But the more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder -- who *had* killed Joyce Summers?

He made his way quickly back toward the mansion, intent on having a little chat with Faith, and finding out just exactly whose place he had almost died in tonight.

He briefly considered whether or not to inform Faith of the presence of the other Slayer in Sunnydale again, and realized that the disappearance of about thirty of her minions in one night would be enough to tell her that *something* was up.

Besides, he seriously doubted that Buffy intended to lay low while she was here.

Better to tell Faith himself about Buffy's arrival, and appear to be the helpful, loyal subordinate that she *sort-of* thought he was, than to be accused later of withholding the information from her, and be dust.

He prepared himself for another exercise of his ever-improving acting skills as he entered the mansion and made his way upstairs to the section of the building that was off limits to all but him and Faith.

He stopped by his own room to get a new shirt, since the Slayer had destroyed the one he was wearing. Then, he went into the bathroom, wanting to get cleaned up a little before going to talk with Faith. It wasn’t as if he could have hidden his fight with the Slayer if he had wanted to, he realized, reaching a hand up to gingerly touch the swollen area around his eye.

There was scarcely a vampire in Sunnydale who would dare to touch him, and those fools that would couldn’t possibly actually do any damage before he could show them just what a master vampire was capable of. There was no way that anyone but a Slayer could actually injure him as Buffy had tonight.

Maybe his injuries would work in his favor, he thought suddenly, as he carefully cleaned the puncture wound in his chest with a soft, damp cloth. Perhaps it would help quell any questions Faith might have about the truth of his story of the last fight, to see how badly Buffy had apparently beaten him this time.

“What happened?” her voice suddenly asked from the doorway, uncharacteristically soft as she watched him.

She had surprised him, but he did not look up, did not give any indication of being startled. “The other Slayer happened, pet,” he replied grimly, looking up to meet her gaze, making his own serious and concerned.

“She’s here?” Faith raised her eyebrows in surprise. She paused, looking away as she considered that new turn of events, before looking back at him. “What’d she come back for?”

“Well, apparently someone sent her word about her mum, ‘cause she was all fired up about it and ready to get some revenge,” he explained, returning his attention to his injured chest. “And for some reason, she thinks I’m the one she needs to take it from.”

Faith didn’t respond for a moment, her expression pensive as she moved closer to him. “I thought no one knew where she was,” she pointed out, her voice calm and even, and even before she spoke her next words, he felt an apprehensive chill go down his spine.

“No one except us…right?”

He turned slowly to look at her, studying her expression. “As far as I knew,” he responded slowly, meeting her gaze with a challenge in his eyes. “Obviously we were wrong.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head a little, as if realizing the foolishness of her own suspicions, and as she replied softly, “Obviously,” he looked away from her again, turning his back.

Which was a mistake.

In one lightning motion, she moved up behind him, gripping his free arm and pinning it so that he couldn’t move it, her other hand snaking around him to sink cruel fingernails into his tender, bleeding flesh on his chest.

Before he could stop himself, he let out a groan of pain as she leaned in close and said in a dangerous tone, “Or maybe we *weren’t* wrong, Spike. Maybe there *were* only two people in the entire world who knew where she was. Considering that she just got a visit from one of those two people and now she’s here…I don’t think it’s that hard to figure out. Do you?” she demanded, increasing the pressure on the wound.

He fought back the cry of pain that rose to his lips and insisted in a pained but controlled voice, “It’s not that simple, love. I didn’t say a word to her about her mum. Didn’t say much at all, actually. Was too busy trying to kill her!” As she pressed yet again harder, he stifled another groan, his hand reaching up in an attempt to pull hers away, but she only dug in deeper.

How he longed to attack her right now, fight his way out of her strong hold and throw her to the floor, choke the life out of her, snap her neck, drain her dry… But her obvious suspicion of him told him that she would not be without help nearby, waiting in case of just such a scenario. Once again, he was forced to go along with her little games.

“Were you?” she asked innocently, turning her head to look him in the eye. “How hard did you try?” she demanded.

“Obviously not hard enough,” he snarled, his own anger getting the better of him. “Because she’s still alive enough to nearly kill me tonight, and then *you* think you’ve gotta finish the job!” Maybe matching her anger would cause her to back off, help to convince her that she was overreacting.

Maybe not.

“No, Baby,” she corrected him patronizingly, and quick as a flash her hand moved and returned, this time with a stake in it as she pressed it hard against his chest. “I’d need one of these to ‘finish the job’.”

In spite of himself he felt his stomach twist inside him at the surprising – and frightening – move. He swallowed hard, realizing that the situation had suddenly taken a very dark turn, and that Faith was not playing a game this time.

“And I will,” she assured him, meeting his eyes with a blazing fury in her own. “If I have to.”

He paused, waiting to see if she would say more. When she didn’t, he said in a carefully calm, quiet voice, “You *won’t* have to.”

She looked at him for a moment longer before suddenly releasing him and stepping away, smiling again. “Hope not,” she said lightly, putting the stake away. She turned to leave the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. “Can you meet me in about twenty minutes?” she asked. “We need to figure out what to do about our new problem.”

As if nothing had happened.

He nodded silently, and for the sake of his pride, waited until she had disappeared to release a furious growl of frustrated anger and pain as he clutched at his abused chest and glared at the spot where she had been.

He had to gain control of his rising rage before he went into the meeting with her. He had to keep a clear head, as there were many questions he had for her, and he had to present them in such a way as not to further arouse her already growing suspicions. He had to find out the circumstances of Joyce Summers’ death, if he was going to stand a chance of getting Buffy to help him at all.

So, he thought with a wince as he re-tended the aggravated injury, he would have to keep himself together, not giving any indication of his hatred for her, at least long enough to get the information that he needed.

“And at some point after that,” he muttered to himself with a cold, sarcastic smirk, realizing even as he said it that it would probably be a very distant “point” in the future, “I’m going to rip her bloody throat out!”


Faith returned to her room, frowning, deep in thought as she locked the door behind her and went to the phone, dialing a familiar number.

“Hello?” a deep male voice spoke after a few rings.

“What are you doing?” she purred into the phone, her voice pleasant and disarming.

“Watching Buffy, like you said,” he replied, casual and unconcerned. “Pretty boring at the moment, though.”

“Is it?” she went on innocently. “What’s she doing?”

“No clue. She hasn’t left her apartment all day.”

Faith’s tone changed in an instant. “That’s because she hasn’t been *in* it, you moron! Buffy is here!” she informed him. “In Sunnydale!” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was calmer, but still angry and threatening. “And you’d better be, too, as fast as you can. I need you here.”

And she slammed the phone down hard, sitting down on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. She had not expected the Slayer to come back to Sunnydale, and definitely not this soon. She had been wondering why several of her groups had not reported back to her on time, but she didn’t wonder now – the answer was clear.

And then there was Spike. It seemed like much more than a coincidence to her that Buffy had suddenly shown up in Sunnydale, mere days after Spike’s trip to LA. She did not know what to make of his story. The injuries he had taken from the other Slayer – and that part she believed, as no one but a Slayer could do that much damage in a fight against Spike – did not tend to back up her suspicions that they were somehow working together against her.

But then, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She and Spike had been working together for months, and she had often done worse to him than that. For all she knew, they had *planned* the fight and the injuries to help back up his story. The only thing Faith was certain of at all, as always, was that she could not trust anyone.

She let out a heavy sigh as she looked up, her mouth set in grim resignation.

This could be a problem.