REPOST! Fic: Delicate Cruelty (6/?)

[Erin <erin@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

My apologies if I've broken any reposting rules. I figured since it's
been so long between parts, some people would appreciate a refresher.

ARCHIVERS: This is a repost; chances are you already have chapter 6
on your site. Thanks.

Ok, here we go...

<Giles voice> Last time, on "Delicate Cruelty"...

Giles looked over at his bookshelf, his brow furrowed in thought. "I
believe the one she took was a translation of the early teachings of
Simon Magus. Yes, that was the title, _The Teachings of Simon
Magus_."

Tara looked back and forth between Willow and Giles. "Who's Simon
Magus?"

. . .

Angel sighed as he turned to regard Faith, seeing more than just her
outward appearance. The fire, the energy that always shone in her
eyes just beyond mortal ken had seemingly been extinguished. She
seldom bothered to respond when people spoke to her anymore; after
that night Angel found her, she had flat-out refused to talk about the
past. Faith just lay there, day after day, eating whatever they put
in front of her, her flat brown eyes staring at the television.

. . .

Buffy nodded sharply in acknowledgement. "Ok, you guys keep looking,
let me know if you find anything." She scribbled out Riley's phone
number on a piece of paper. "If you do, call me. I'll keep an eye
out tonight when I go on patrol, and see if I can get anyone to talk.
Someone has to have seen her. And don't worry, guys," Buffy said,
giving them her most confident smile. "Once I find her, she'll be
dust. No problem." Giving her friends a small wave, Buffy left.

Willow smiled to herself, and started flipping through her book again.
She knew she could count on Buffy, they all could; she was the Slayer,
and now, she was on the job.

. . .

"Oh yes," Trinity said smoothly, "the Father is here as well. Which
is part of the reason why I came to talk to you, you see, he's very
interested in your help, William. If you can delay some of your big
plans, that is."

He nodded reluctantly. "Ah, sure. And...call me Spike. Everyone
else around here does, anyway."

Trinity smiled. "Certainly. Follow me, Spike."

<Buffy voice> And now, an all new "Delicate Cruelty"...

TITLE: Delicate Cruelty
AUTHOR: Erin (erin@xxxxxxxxxxx)
SPOILERS: Through Season 4 BtVS and Angel
RATING: R, because of some language, violence and adult situations.
It is a Buffy/Faith fic, so if that bothers you, or it's illegal to
even think of two Slayers getting it on, then just don't read it. Or
move.
DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters (except mine)
belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox. I'm just borrowing them
for a bit. I'll put them back when I'm done, no worse for wear (but
maybe a little happier).
ARCHIVE: Anyone who wants to archive my stories is welcome to, just
let me know so I can add you to my website links. Thanks.
FEEDBACK: Constructive comments are encouraged.
WARNING: Contains some character death, character undeath, and
torture. Reader discretion is advised.
SUMMARY: (Buffy/Faith) A sadistic vampire's plan for domination
forces Buffy and Faith to join forces.

Chapter 6

Faith's booted heels rapped a staccato rhythm on the surface of the
gravestone she was sitting on, a sound which echoed hollowly through
the desolate cemetery. Looking around, the dark Slayer noticed that
it was Restfield cemetery, one of the dozen or so graveyards within
the Sunnydale city limits. She didn't think to question why she'd be
sitting in a graveyard at midnight so far away, but that's the way
dreams are. Some things, you just accept.

Faith leaned her head back, the cool night air washing over her face;
she still swung her legs as if she were a small child sitting in a
grown-up chair for the first time, her heels beating a cadence on the
hard stone.

"Has anyone ever told you that that's really annoying?"

Faith sighed resignedly and looked at the speaker without surprise.
"Maybe that's why I'm doing it, B."

Buffy stood a few feet away, the moonlight turning her hair a paler
shade of gold. Faith winced at the sight, being reminded not for the
first time exactly how much she had lost. No, not lost; of exactly
how much she had ripped apart with her bare hands and stomped on until
there was nothing left.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked calmly. "Waiting to die?"

"Maybe." Faith shrugged, unable to summon up any of the old passion,
either the love or the hatred, it didn't matter which. Ever since
Angel had taken her in, all she had was pain and remorse, it
overwhelmed everything else -- her fire, her passion, her excitement.
Probably for the best, Faith thought. After all, everyone saw where
those got me.

But the remorse...that was too painful; she had found that she
couldn't handle it for very long. So she blocked it out, pushing it
down so far that she didn't have to think about it. Day after day,
she focused on the television, letting it consume her consciousness
until she finally fell into fitful sleep. If Cordelia were the type
to keep drugs or alcohol around the apartment, Faith probably would
have started using. But even without chemical assistance, the routine
she'd established at least allowed her to fight down the regrets, to
banish them from her conscious mind, leaving her with--

"Nothing," Buffy finished, voicing Faith's thoughts aloud. "You have
nothing, you feel nothing. Isn't that right?"

Faith looked at Buffy sharply, surprised at the Slayer's astute
comments. She snorted. "You're not B."

"Why are you avoiding this, Faith? Why are you denying what you are?"

"What am I?" Faith asked wearily. "I'm a murderer. A killer. While
I'm alive, no one is really safe around me."

"No one is really safe without you," Buffy retorted angrily. "Have
you forgotten? You're a Slayer, Faith. Start acting like one."

Faith gritted her teeth, the stirrings of anger coloring her words.
"I'm _unnecessary_. You're the Slayer. I'm just a fuck-up. An
accident. A mistake. Just like I was from birth."

"You're still a Slayer. People need you, need your strength. _I_
need you," Buffy added quietly.

Faith looked at Buffy, searching her eyes for something unfamiliar.
"Now I know you're not B. She's not exactly the type to forgive and
forget. Who are you?"

The Buffy clone grimaced, her little ruse exposed. "I'm not Buffy,
no, but that doesn't make what I said any less true. You're letting
yourself die, Faith, slowly. Fading away, bit by bit."

Faith shrugged, slipping back into her accustomed apathy.
"Everyone'll be better off."

Buffy, or rather the thing wearing Buffy's body, shook her head
emphatically. "No, they wouldn't. That's what I'm here to tell you.
You think that because you weren't able to go to prison, you can't
serve your punishment, and you can't be redeemed. That's bullshit,
Faith. Prison would have been an easy way out for you -- with your
strength, you wouldn't have to worry about anything; people tell you
where to go and what to do; and when it's all over, you pop out the
other side feeling as if you'd actually accomplished something. While
in the meantime, everyone you know is out here, fighting a war.
They're sacrificing and they're dying, and you'd be in there getting
three squares a day."

Faith opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Buffy continued
relentlessly. "And now you think that because you can't go to jail,
there isn't anything else you can do to pay for what you did. Well,
how about what you were chosen to do in the first place? How many
people do you think you saved when you were hunting vampires? What did
you tell Buffy, thousands?"

The dark Slayer watched as Buffy walked toward her, stopping only
inches from Faith's face. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't care
about what you did. What I am saying is that the best way to make
amends for it, the _only_ way, is for you to take up your mantle as
Slayer again. Because people need you."

Faith dropped her head, unable to meet the impostor Buffy's hazel
eyes, unwilling to see the perfect understanding in that face...that
she could never hope to see from the real thing. "If I...do this, if
I come back...what's to say that I won't go psycho again?"

"You." The simplicity of it astonished Faith. "Your memory. Your
knowledge of what you are capable of, and how it feels to live with
the consequences of your actions. It won't be easy, Faith; only death
is easy, for yourself if not for the ones you leave behind."

The dark Slayer looked up at Buffy, meeting her eyes with her own.
For the first time since she was sitting in that prison cell, she felt
hope. "And I can help people, I can help...Buffy."

The blonde looked at her sadly. "Unless you come back, Buffy will
die."

* * *

Just bloody marvelous, Spike thought with disgust as he followed
Trinity through the access tunnels and sewer systems under the city.
Exactly how am I supposed to get out of this one with all my limbs
intact?

He stared at the back of the deceptively young-looking woman walking
ahead of him, her shoes making very little sound as she crossed the
wet concrete ahead of him. Every so often she'd look back, as if to
reassure herself that he was still following. All the interest she
was exhibiting in the vampire didn't please him one bit.

"So, what do you and the Father want with me, anyway?" Spike asked in
what he hoped was a casual tone, breaking the uncomfortable silence
which had built up between the two of them. He was itching to smoke a
cigarette, to do something to dispel his nervousness; but he knew that
an open flame probably wouldn't be the best idea in a sewer. Still,
it would solve his current problem...

Trinity turned and smiled, showing her teeth. Maybe she meant it to
be reassuring, but Spike just thought it looked predatory. "I'll let
him fill you in on the details. Relax, William; it won't be like last
time."

Spike wasn't particularly comforted by her statement. He cocked an
eyebrow skeptically. "Does that mean you won't try to kill me?"

The woman's eyes flicked to his face and then back to the tunnel
ahead. "Should I be trying?" Spike met the question with silence, and
after a moment she relented. "As far as I know, no, we have no such
plans. The Father isn't at all upset about your previous abandonment
of us, William. In fact, he admires you so much, he's willing to
grant you a key role this time."

"Oh, bloody good for me," Spike muttered under his breath. If the
Father was behind it, then this plan had to be mad beyond words; and a
certain cyber-demon had already insured that Spike had reached his
quota of mad plans for the year. Unfortunately, the Father wasn't the
type to take no for an answer. Which is why last time, Spike's answer
had consisted of his sudden absence, and nothing else.

"We're here," Trinity said suddenly, interrupting his musings. Spike
looked up and saw her standing next to a rough-hewn hole in the tunnel
wall. The brunette motioned him inside, and Spike took a hesitant
step forward.

He found himself inside a church, or at least the remains of one. It
was a Catholic church, judging from the crucifix behind the altar, and
the crumbling statues of saints lining the walls. The place looked to
be almost a hundred years old, but what a church was doing buried
underground, he had no idea. "What is this place?"

Trinity smiled thinly. "When the so-called 'Master' tried to open the
Hellmouth seventy years ago, a great earthquake buried parts of the
city, including this church. It's quite lovely, don't you think?"

Spike grimaced, wondering exactly what the brunette found 'lovely',
the skittering rats, the noxious smells, or the skeletal, desiccated
corpses of the church's last parishioners. "Quite."  

Trinity led Spike up the center aisleway, toward a sizable group
meeting at the front of the church; about ten vampires stood around
the altar, each receiving instruction from a black-clad figure who
seemed to blend into the deep shadows so completely that only his
bone-white hands and face were visible. The Father.  

As they walked up the aisle, Spike noticed that there were other
vampires stationed around the church, acting as protection; obviously
the Father didn't want anyone stumbling across this place who wasn't
expressly invited. One such vampire stood in the center walkway, and
as Trinity approached, he bowed and stepped back hurriedly. The
vampire stood over six and a half feet tall, and was nearly that broad
across the shoulders. He waited there quietly, his hands clasped
behind his back. "This is Diablo," Trinity told Spike with a smile.
"An amusing conceit, don't you think? He is one of our most capable
assistants."

Spike walked up to the large vampire, assuming a cocksure attitude.
"Diablo, eh," he said with a sneer, "I've seen you around before,
haven't I? Pretty pathetic group you used to head up." The vampire's
nostrils flared, but he set his jaw and said nothing, refusing to
respond to Spike's taunts. "What's the matter," Spike mocked. "Cat
got your tongue?"

"No," Trinity interjected quietly. "I do."

Spike lost his smile instantly, taking an involuntary step backward
from the unfortunate vampire. Covering his surprised reaction, he
pretended to brush dust off the sleeve of his jacket. "Oh. Ah, good
work, that."

Trinity pursed her lips wryly, and continued walking toward the front
of the church, Spike following hurriedly, and with only the briefest
of glances back at the large enforcer. The brunette walked up the
dais and stopped a few feet away from the father, head bowed
submissively.

The more things change, the more they bloody well stay the same, Spike
thought uncomfortably. That old priest was like her god, her father,
her king, and her confessor all rolled into one. No vampire really
knew why the priest and Trinity were they way they are, but there were
rumors, some of which Trinity had confirmed for him herself. Oh yes,
at one time, she and Spike had been close. Too close.

"Stay away from them!" his sire Angelus had warned him
with a snarl. "She's beautiful, yes, but she's lethal, 
and if that priest told her to, would cheerfully cut off 
your balls and nail them to a church door!"
	
"This 'parental concern' you have for me is touching," Spike 
sneered. Behind the bluster, he thought he could detect 
a sliver of fear in his sire, which compelled him to 
continue. "Does this have anything to do with the fact 
that she kicked your arse from here to the German border?" 	
He snickered before Angelus wiped away his grin with a 
strong backhand, sending the fledgling crashing to the 
floor. In the background, Spike could hear the sing-song 
tone of Drusilla's laughter.

"If you want to live through the night, you'll shut your 
hole," Angelus growled, looming over his bruised childe.  
"Heed me, and don't see her again; to do so will only mean 	
your destruction. You're playing with fire, you little fool."

And he did stop, at least for awhile. Soon after that, he and Dru
left Angelus, cutting their own swath through the population of
Europe. Until Prague.

"Ah, Trinity, I see you've brought our friend."

Spike raised his head and looked at the Father, who was striding
toward them, his arms held out in a warm, welcoming gesture. "Hello,"
Spike responded with a forced smile. "Trin said you wanted me for
something."

The Father glanced at Trinity reproachfully. "Did she not tell you
what plans we had in store?"

"I thought I would leave that to you, Father," the girl responded
apologetically.

Father Sedona shook his head. "No matter. All will be made clear.
But where is dear Drusilla? Where you are, I would have expected that
she would be close behind."

Spike shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, she's gone off to do her
own thing, and I had plans in the works, so..."

"Ah." The Father nodded as if he understood. "Probably for the best.
She always seemed a bit...moon-mad anyway. As for why you're here,"
he paused, smiling winningly in a way that set off alarms in Spike's
head, "I'm building an army, William. And I need generals."

Spike raised a skeptical eyebrow. "An army? For what?"

"Conquest, of course. What if I told you we could shape human
history, bend it to our will, just through our combined strength? Take
our places as the proper rulers of the Earth."

"I'd probably ask what you needed me for," came the cynical reply.

The Father chuckled. "Straightforward as always. You've got power,
William, and the qualities of leadership. Once our army is assembled,
none shall be able to stand against us."

"What about the Slayer?" a hesitant voice asked, and Spike looked over
at one of the vampires standing around the altar. He recognized him
as an old-timer in Sunnydale, by which he meant a vampire that had
been around for at least a year. Because of the Slayer, vampires in
town had a rather high attrition rate, and anyone that survived for
very long had to be strong, cunning, and practical.

The Father waved a hand dismissively. "The Slayer is of no
consequence. By the time she learns of our plans, it will be too late
to stop us. The key, my friends, is community." The old priest
seemed to warm to his subject, and spoke in a charismatic way that
tugged at Spike's memory. He gathered his followers with both threats
and promises, and it was impossible to tell which had the better
effect. "We will bring our fledglings back here to be reborn, rather
than allowing them to be buried as has been our custom. The Slayer
will not see them until they have been properly trained, and forged
into a single unit -- not alone, and weak, clawing their way out of
the earth."

Spike cocked his head to the side, considering. He had to admit, the
Father had a good idea. "And where are all these fledglings going to
come from?"

Father Sedona smiled, a predatory grin that did nothing to dispel the
ice in his eyes. "That is the best part. Each night, every one of us
will go out and create a childe, taking them from the streets, the
parks, their very homes if possible, and bring them back here.
Obviously this step is the most important, and failure will not be
tolerated." The Father fixed his followers with a flat stare which
caused them to shift uncomfortably.

Spike blinked, his butcher-store blood roaring in his ears.
Fledglings...fledglings require feeding, and feeding requires hurting,
and hurting...

Is impossible with this blasted chip!

Spike ran a trembling hand through his hair, and swallowed nervously.
His gaze darted around, and he caught Trinity watching him closely,
puzzlement etched on her smooth features. He quickly schooled his
expression into one of indifference, and tried to concentrate on what
the Father was saying.

"...be chained, his blood drained to feed the hungry until he is
nothing but a shriveled husk of pain and hunger. And then, when his
agony is at its greatest, he will be buried and forgotten for
millennia. Does anyone else have any questions about my punishment
for failure?"

Oh, bloody Hell! Spike thought wildly, his eyes widening. I'm a dead
man! Er, vampire. They get an inkling of the fact that I can't bite,
and they won't need me anymore. Even worse than that, they won't need
me, _and_ I'll be a security risk.

"Wow, all right, sounds like a solid plan to me," Spike said, giving
the Father a half-hearted thumbs-up and backing towards the door.
"Sounds like we need to go out and make some fledglings, eh?"

"Not quite," the Father replied, causing Spike to freeze in mid-step.
"There is one more thing." The priest walked behind the altar, to
where a large book lay open on the dusty marble. "During the day is
when the kin are at our weakest. The very sun burns the flesh from
our bones, as if we were an affront to the purity of God. And while I
can do nothing about God for the moment," he smiled enigmatically, "I
can do something about the dawn.

"The sun has risen for its last time on the town of Sunnydale."

* * *

The Father stood behind the candlelit altar, his hands raised high in
the air. His followers, Trinity and William included, stood at
regular intervals around him; he could feel their mystic power,
probably far more than they could feel it themselves.

This town, even this church in which they all stood were specifically
chosen because of the mystical energies prevalent here; the kin called
it "The Hellmouth", and the Father knew it would be the perfect place
to work his magicks and carry out his plan.

One thing which the book had taught him was that all creatures,
mortal, demonic, and beatific alike, held a strong connection to the
force of life, a link that could be used to mould and shape creation
according to the mystic's will. Five hundred years ago or so, Father
Sedona would likely have burned this book for its rankest heresy; but
now, he had seen and done enough that he recognized a deeper truth
when he heard it.

"I call on the spirit of Aleph," he began, pulling on the mystic force
of his followers as if they were threads which he could weave.
"Absolutely one, whole and perfect; infinite and eternal; indivisible
and changeless. The source of all which exists and the ultimate of
all that has passed from existence."

He could see them, in his mind's eye -- the blood-red threads that he
was drawing from his followers. William's was a little duller than
the rest, and the Father spared a brief thought of disgust as he
realized the cause was ingesting animal blood instead of human.
Regardless, he joined them together with his own, sending the
life-force upwards through the stone and dirt into the sky; for
barriers of matter were as nothing to forces such as these.

"For nothing _is_ that does not live, and nothing lives that does not
have a source. You are the source, the pure knowledge from whence all
things flow. From you the universe hath its beginning, and to you the
universe returns." With an act of finely honed will, he fashioned the
threads of sanguine energy into a vast lacework which he flung wide
across the sky. Supported by the power drawn from his Disciples, he
bent the natural forces of wind and water to his purpose, forcing
clouds to coalesce from empty air, gathering them together in defiance
of the natural order of seasons. He couldn't see it happening, but he
_knew_, and because he knew, it transpired.

"For you are the virgin snow on mountain heights; the howling wind on
storm-tossed seas; the driving rain on fruitful plains; the tortured
thunder in threatening skies." He felt, rather than heard, loud
thunderclaps as cloud piled on cloud, creating a thick, dark layer
over the doomed city.

"Aleph! Very source of exhaustless power, I call on you to see my will
fulfilled." The Father lowered his arms, satisfied; far above, the
brightening sky, anticipating dawn, went unseen as stormclouds muffled
the city like a thick blanket.

Eleven vampires shifted their weight uneasily and looked around as if
they expected to see evidence of the Father's spellcasting; only
Trinity stayed calm and patient, with perfect love and trust reflected
in her gaze. Father Sedona looked at her and smiled.  

Picking up the book, he held his arm out for her to take. "Remember,"
he said to the other vampires, favoring William with a pointed stare,
"we meet here tonight, all of us, with your newest fledglings. I know
you won't disappoint me." Turning to Trinity, he said, "Shall we go,
my dear? It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day."

* * *

Far across town, Buffy lay sleeping, her head pillowed awkwardly on
Riley's chest. Awkwardly, because she had moved about quite a bit in
her sleep, as if in the throes of some nightmare she could not recall.
The bedroom window was open, allowing a mild pre-dawn breeze to cool
the sleepers.

A sharp clap of thunder jolted Buffy awake, and she sat up, with a
muffled protest from her boyfriend. She looked back at him
apologetically, but he had already drifted back into slumber. The
young woman blinked tiredly, wiping a hand across her eyes.

Another clap of thunder convinced Buffy that it wasn't a dream, and
the intermittent sound of raindrops caught her complete attention.
She climbed out of bed and headed for the window, noticing that the
sill was already slightly damp from the rainstorm. The Slayer frowned
at the unusual weather; having lived her whole life in Southern
California, she tried to think of the last time it had rained during
the height of summer, and couldn't. It was unusual enough to receive
rain during the winter, getting it during the summer was almost
unheard of.

She closed the window, muffling the sound of another thunderclap, and
climbed wearily back into bed. There wouldn't be much the Slayer
could do until she could consult with Giles in the morning, so she
decided to make the most of the time she had. Drifting off, she fell
into an uneasy sleep.

END Chapter 6
-- 
Giles: "We just need to arrange the candles. Also, we should 
continue to pretend we heard none of the disturbing sex talk."
Willow: "Check. Candles and pretense."
*email: erin@xxxxxxxxxxx
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