No Sweeping Exits or Offstage Lines
By Amy B
“So what’s all this about a chip, Blondie?”
Spike took his eyes off the road just long enough to give her a measuring glare that would’ve cowed a lesser being into silence. Her answering stare, however, easily demonstrated that she had no intentions of backing down.
“You can just get rid of that look, vampy. You’re not scaring anybody here, and I need to know who I’m rollin’ with. You’re crippled, that’s something I got to be concerned about.”
“So you can mock me some more? Didn’t get your fill when you were strollin’ around in someone else’s skin?” he asked snidely, casting a sidelong glance at her and growing confused by the somewhat amused smirk that was shaping her lips.
“No-ooo,” she said slowly, as though she was dealing with a stubborn child. “So we can do something about it. I figure if whatever it is was enough to make you into Buffy’s pet vamp…” She was interrupted by an angry snarl that turned into a growl and put her hands up in a surrender gesture, only to slap them against the dash in an effort to hold herself steady in her seat as he veered sharply from the road, kicking up sand and gravel as he slammed the brakes and parked on the shoulder.
Spike slid across the seat in a fraction of an instant, his hand shooting out to fist tightly in her hair, holding her head back just enough so that she had to meet his gaze. She watched his flinch curiously, but it was the sheer fury in his eyes that held her immobile.
“Let’s get one thing straight, shall we, poppet?” he sneered, giving her a look that she was certain no one who’d lived to remember it had ever received. “I’m no one’s pet. Not a bloody lap dog. If that’s what you’re looking for, then you can hop that perky ass right out the door and take your luck on the next bloke who happens by. ‘s not in my plans to cater to you any more than it was to cater to Buffy—you asked for a partner in this little escapade, an’ here I am. You suddenly changin’ your mind about that?” Fury and something very close to hurt warred in his eyes, and the set of his jaw told Faith that she had gone two steps over a line she should never have approached.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Faith answered lowly, and was rewarded by the barest loosening of his grip on her hair. “I still want you ridin’ with me, and I wasn’t trying to get nasty. I just need to know what we’re up against—know the enemy, blah blah blah. And I’m thinkin’ that chip, if it could make you turn to Buffy, is an enemy.”
“You said we. What we’re up against,” Spike said, searching her gaze carefully through slitted eyes.
“I did. We’re in this together; I told you that in SunnyD. That was the deal. I don’t go back on my word, Spike. Not when it comes to something like this.”
“You went spare on the whole Slayer gig,” he pointed out, watching her face and body tense and her eyes grow cold.
“I don’t go back on things when I have a say in the matter. Didn’t get to have a damned opinion on the ‘Slayer gig,’” she repeated, sarcastic air quotes echoing her verbal derision of her sacred duty, “and there sure as hell wasn’t a line waiting to offer a boatload of assistance. It’s fucking cool to have superpowers, but the rest of it I didn’t want. So yeah, I left that in the dust. But… I wouldn’t do that to you,” she finished, taking a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself.
“Why’s that, then?”
“Because you’re helping me.” Faith stared straight at him, maintaining eye contact and hoping that he could see the honesty in her gaze, because she really didn’t know how she could run alone and have any kind of success at all. For a few tense moments he just stared at her; out of the blue, he gave a short, sharp nod, apparently intended for himself, and then his face relaxed into a half-smile.
“All right, then,” he answered, letting her go and sliding back over into the driver’s seat of the DeSoto. He shifted into drive and peeled out much the same way he’d parked—at top speed—but this time it didn’t so much alarm Faith as amuse her. He turned the radio back up, spinning the dial impatiently, and was drumming his fingers on the wheel unconsciously within moments.
The miles they’d traveled began to increase again, passing by in a blur of darkened cliffs, oceanfront, and highway. The silence that hung between them, however, had changed, was somehow more companionable. Faith had given up on having her question answered for the time being, instead giving over to her exhaustion and resting her head on the back of the seat as she felt her eyes begin to drift shut. The sound of his voice, however, urged her back into wakefulness.
“So, the chip…” he started, only to hesitate when she turned in her seat, propping herself against the door to face him. “How much do you want to know?” he asked, clearly still wary.
“I want you to tell me what they did to you,” she answered simply, stretching her legs out across the bench seat and resting her feet against his thigh.
Spike was frozen for an instant by her statement, simply because no one had ever asked—at least, not because they really wanted to know. Giles had asked repeatedly, but only because he’d been curious as to what Buffy’d be up against; he’d never been interested in what had happened outside of the insertion of the chip itself and any insight Spike’s escape could give into the Initiative’s base of operations. But Faith… she wanted to know. Just because it had happened to him; that seemed to make it worthwhile to her. Ignoring the warmth that her interest was causing, he cleared his throat and began again.
“Right. Well, government blokes picked me up when I’d gone back to Sunnyhell to get rid of Princess Kills-A-Lot once and for all. Locked me up, shoved the chip up my skull, I woke up and busted out.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked quietly, her toes having begun unconscious soothing motions against the tensed muscles in his thigh as she watched his hands wrap crushingly around the steering wheel. She knew all the signs of keeping something painful hidden—knew them better than she knew most anything. At his tight nod of agreement, she asked in the same quiet tone as before, “Keep you up nights?”
“Every now an' again,” he answered evasively, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed reflexively giving the lie to his words.
Deciding that discretion was definitely the better part of valor, at least for the moment, Faith moved on with her questions. “So during your little snit at the Bronze, you said it made you helpless and that you weren’t a threat, and you made a face when you yanked my hair a minute ago, so I’m thinkin’ it won’t let you hurt humans… right?”
“Got it in one. Demons are a go, though—still gettin’ my rough an' tumble.” His wry smile, however, wasn’t disguise enough to cover the bitterness implicit in his tone.
“But it’s not enough.” It wasn’t a question; Faith knew the answer.
“Not by half,” Spike answered soberly.
“Then we gotta do something about that,” Faith answered matter-of-factly before frowning at the silent laughter shaking her companion’s shoulders. “What’s so funny? Thought you’d be happy I was takin’ poor kitten Spikey out of the tree.”
“So, what? You’re just gonna get rid of the chip, sacred duty be damned, and head off into that good night with a vampire who kills your kind? Who makes a bloody sport of it? They told me you were crazy, hellcat, but damn.”
“You plannin’ on killing me anytime soon?” she snarked back, emphasizing her annoyance with a sharp jab of her toes into his leg.
“Not as such—'less you keep stabbin’ me, an’ then all bets are off. You’re not bad company, and a man gets bored with nobody to talk to.”
“Then that’s all I need to know. In case you weren’t paying attention, Blondie, the sacred duty gig means shit to me. B’s got it, so let her have it. Never got me anywhere but damn near dead. And the rest of humanity can fend for their own damned selves. Not been my experience that a lot of them are worth saving.”
“Can’t say as I disagree,” Spike answered thoughtfully, and Faith was momentarily stunned by the utter lack of scorn and mocking in his tone.
“So we’ve got a deal, then? We get your chip out and get the hell out of here.”
“If there’s a better plan, I haven’t hit on it yet. There’s a law firm up this way, causes Peaches worlds of trouble. I’m thinkin’ they might be of some help; don’t know if I’ve got anything to barter them, though. Might take a couple days to get a game plan.”
“They’ll be getting an unchipped master vampire and a slayer with a grudge. I think we can put together some kind of deal.”
“So we’re a package, then, are we?” Spike asked, eyebrow raised as he turned back towards her.
“No kids. And no one who looks like Buffy,” Faith blurted abruptly.
“What?”
“When the chip comes out. I don’t really care who you eat otherwise, but no kids, and no one who looks like B. Figure the kids have enough to deal with, and we’ve both had enough of B in our lives.”
“Seems fair,” he answered bemusedly, a bit surprised when she slid across the seat and put her head on his shoulder, curling her legs up beneath her.
“Then yeah, we’re a package deal.”
“Wanna catch some sleep, wildcat? Road’s long between Sunnyhell and L.A., and we can’t stop less we wanna stay the day.”
“I’ve slept enough for one lifetime,” she answered sardonically, head still resting against his shoulder. “I might close my eyes, though. But I, uh... I don’t really do quiet too well anymore.”
“Radio then?” Spike offered, hand already halfway to the dial.
“Or you could tell me about you.”
Spike’s hand froze in the air between the wheel and the radio console. “About me? You sure you wanna go openin’ up that can?”
Faith snorted and poked him in the side. “Can’s already open, Spike. So get talking. Tell me all about William the Bloody.”
“’s not really a bedtime story, pet,” he cautioned.
“Then it’s a damn good thing we’re not in bed.”
Spike had to chuckle at that—this one was all brass balls, he’d give her that. Almost without realizing he was doing so, he started talking, his words punctuated by her occasional questions. His turning; the first Slayer, the second, Buffy; England, China, Brazil, France, and a thousand points in between. A hundred years and change were told in narrative as the miles between Sunnydale and Los Angeles wound towards zero. By the time he carried a sleeping renegade slayer into a motel room just outside L.A., he realized with a start that she likely knew him better than anyone ever had. And oddly enough, that was all right with him.