Chapter Nine: The Levee

Xander.

Xander and Anya.

Xander and Anya and Spike.

Nope. No matter how slowly I take it, it still sounds weird, like a really bad remake of "Three's Company."

But he's still here.

All I can do is lie back on my bed and smile. You'd think I'd be afraid Spike would be here in Sunnydale and positive that he wouldn't be. Because let's face it -- his still being here, and suddenly on good terms with the gang ... it makes me wrong. He wasn't trying to get into my pants. Well, okay, he was. But it hadn't been obsession. Obsession would have involved a sunlit walk in the park after I died, or some quality suicidal staking.

But it didn't even occur to me until now that Spike might have killed himself. That he had left town. I was afraid of it, and tried desperately to swerve around the topic.

I expected him to be here, protecting my sister. I expected him to be good, and stay good.

What I expected was for him to keep his promise to protect Dawn. And if he was sharing fridge space with Xander and Anya, of all people, then he was doing that. The only way he could be closer to her was if he'd set up shop in my basement.

He's a good man.

Oh, God, he's got me thinking he's a good man. Did you see the word "monster" in that sentence? Well, you know, without switching around letters.

I should be keeping up the Amnesia Faith act. What I should have done after Giles told me about the whole Xander-Anya-Spike combo platter deal was rant on and on about them keeping a killer in their apartment like some pet or adopted kid or something. But instead, neither one of us spoke on the way back to the house, and I hadn't said a word until I'd gotten into my bedroom.

And then I'd lain down on the bed, closed my eyes, smiled, and whispered, "Thanks."

I don't know who I was thanking. But I'm still here, lying on the bed.

And smiling. It won't seem to go away.

What do you think that means?

The sun shines through the window onto my face when I wake up, and I shoot up into a sitting position, my long dark hair hanging in front of my eyes. I sweep it away from my face with one slide of my hand through it, then glance around at the bed. The sheets wrap tightly around my legs, nearly cutting off circulation. My head's at the wrong end of the bed. I don't even know how I got this way.

This body apparently likes to sprawl in bed. And kick at the covers. And roll over constantly. I suppose I should be amazed I'm not dangling from the ceiling.

I crawl from the bed, careful not to trip over the sheets and fall onto the floor. My walk to the kitchen is interrupted by a snore from Giles in Mom's bedroom -- now his officially, I guess -- and the dead silence from Dawn's bedroom. I peek in, expecting to hear that whiffing sound she makes, and see an empty bed.

What's she doing up this early?

When I get downstairs, I find Dawn sitting on the kitchen counter, long coltish legs dangling playfully, spooning cereal from a bowl of Trix. Like yesterday, she's wearing the clothes she was wearing when I last saw her. She doesn't look up at me as I walk into the room. I perk up a little when I see her. It's just so great to see her with a pulse. Good job, me.

Morning, Dawn, I say.

"Hi." I think I should feel lucky to have gotten that out of her.

I ask, What'cha havin'?

"Food."

That narrows it down, I say, hoping for more conversation out of her. But it's not my lucky day, I guess, because she continues to stuff Trix into her mouth without looking up from them.

Well, I think as I pick up the cereal box, if she's not going to talk to me, then I'm sure the Trix Rabbit and I can have a nice, long, involved discussion about ... something. Anything. Czechoslovakian politics. Genetically-altered food. Where's the stupid prize?

I say that last one out loud as I dig. "They don't give prizes anymore," Dawn says. Then she adds, "Moron," under her breath.

I choose to ignore that as I keep peering inside the box. Yes, they do, I say. This box has stickers in it, see?

For the first time, Dawn glances over in my direction, and I lift the box just enough for her to see the "Stickers Inside!" picture on the front of the box. I know how rabid she can be when it comes to cereal prizes. I snatch the box back even before she puts her bowl to the side and swipes a hand in my direction.

"Gimme that," she orders.

No, I say. I hold the box out of reach.

She jumps down off the counter and faces me down. "Giles bought it for me."

Yeah, but I have it now. Finders keepers.

"Not if the finder's a slut," she snaps, swiping at me again. No luck. I'm amazingly good at Keep-Away.

I'm Amnesia Faith. I don't remember being a slut, so I'm just going to pretend that last comment means nothing to me. And beside, sexual history doesn't count if it's a cereal prize.

Her response to that is to reach out and grab at my side.

Okay, so I'm just as ticklish there as Buffy was. I giggle against my better judgment before backing away. Cut it out, I snap.

And then I make a run for it.

"Get back here!" Dawn yells, trailing after me. It's a mad dash to get the cereal box. We've done this with every cereal box Mom has ever bought since Dawn learned that cereal came with goodies in 'em. I'm amazed she hasn't said anything about this being a strictly Buffy-Dawn game.

I yell, Gotta catch me!, and run into the living room. She chases me around the easy chair a few times, then freezes as the two of us square off, Dawn behind the chair, and me in front of it with box in hand.

"This is so unfair!" she says. "You've got Slayer speed going for you."

I shrug and make a dash for the couch, and Dawnie pounces. I don't know where the hell the Trix box went -- I think ... oh, I just rolled over on it. She grabs past me trying to get at it.

Hey, you're pulling my hair, I shout.

"Yeah, well, you're ruining my Trix!" She finally retrieves the box, and tosses it onto the floor, where it spills open and leaves a colorful trail of cereal goodness all the way out into the hallway ...

... where Giles stands, scowling at us with his hands on his waist. Uh-oh. We're screwed.

"What in the bloody hell is going on down here?"

Dawn and I exchange a glance and struggle into sitting positions, then flash Giles a pair of friendly smiles.

Nothing, we say sweetly. Giles doesn't buy it.

But to be honest, I actually think it was a little more of something than the nothing Dawn would care to admit it was. Go, me and my lame show of sisterly bonding techniques.

It's not long before sunset when I'm in the middle of changing into slaying clothes that I hear the front open and slam shut and Xander's voice echoing up the staircase.

"Hey, Dawnie. How's life treating you?"

I finish yanking on my tank top before I crack my door open a little further so that I can listen better. Dawn answers soon enough. "Faith got the stickers out of the cereal box. And she's a slut."

"That bad, huh?"

I frown, annoyed. I've been acting nice to him. I've been trying really hard. I'm supposed to not remember how to be criminally insane. You'd think the guy'd lay off of me.

There's shuffling footsteps coming from the kitchen into the hallway. Giles must have heard Xander come in. No "hello," no "hi, how are things." Giles just jumps right into the fray. "Xander, you sure you're up for this?"

Gee, Giles. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

"Oh, sure. Babysitting a Slayer is not the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Having her jump me again, though ... that's fairly high on the list."

"Eww!"

I feel a distinct urge to yell down the stairwell and second Dawn's, "Eww!"

"Besides," Xander says, "Spike's meeting up with us in the cemetery. Said he wanted to get this over and done with 'right quick.'" He does the 'right quick' in a British accent, and I can't resist a smile.

But I suddenly realize what he just said. I'm going to see Spike again. Spike'll be in the cemetery.

He'd better lay off, or I don't care if I do think better of him than I did last week. He'll still get staked like a tomato plant.

"You will warn her, won't you?"

"That he's a Bob Barker dream pet? Yeah, sure. Wouldn't want her staking my favorite vampire. Even if he does keep leaving his mugs in the kitchen sink without washing them out. Anya hates that."

Spike? Xander's favorite bloodsucker? It sounds odd coming from the same guy who's usually always up for a little vampire dusting.

Okay, enough eavesdropping. I'm ready to kill things.

I stalk down the hallway and head down the stairs, trying for almost embarassingly friendly as I approach the guys. I'm ready, I say. Let's go do a little slay riding, shall we?

Everyone's staring at me. Well, okay ... Dawn's glaring at me, Giles is gawking at me, and Xander's just generally confused. But for the lack of a thesaurus, there's some staring going on.

I frown as I fake a laugh. Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad a pun.

But that's not what they're staring at me for. Looking at them, I'd say they're focused on the ensemble.

Oh. Right.

Faith has added color to her wardrobe.

Xander's still staring at my outfit as we walk towards Snyder Memorial Cemetery. For once, I'm not thinking about how anyone in this town would think that naming a cemetery after a mean guy who got eaten by a snake was a noble gesture. I'm thinking, what the hell is he staring at?

In all honesty, I know what Xander's staring at. Not that Faith never wore colors or anything. But I don't think any of us ever got to see Faith in anything as light as bright red track pants and a grey and white tank top. Well, except Xander. I'm guessing naked Faith was pretty light-colored.

Naked Faith. Oh, God. He's seen me naked.

Yes, these are the thoughts I have. My brain is odd.

Xander watches me curiously as we walk, as if he doesn't quite know what to make of me. He could be cautious and on guard, which he has every right to be. Or he could be chivalrous and helpful with the amnesia victim, which is also within his rights, and which he's trying really hard to do. I have to give him at least a little credit. He's at least trying to give me a chance, even if he's failing miserably at it.

Can I ask you something, Xander?

I think I startle him by asking, because his smile's too eager and his snappy comeback's too ... well, snappy. "No, amazingly enough, despite the resemblance, I am of no relation to Bruce Campbell."

Not that, I say. I go for hopeful and needy as I ask, Back before the whole amnesia thing, were you and I friends? I mean, did we even like each other at all?

"For a while. But after you received your free violent tendencies in the mail ..." He shrugs as his voice trails off, then opens the gate to the cemetery for me. I smile at him as I walk past, and thank him for doing it, but to be honest, I think he's pissed off at himself for doing something nice for Faith. He follows behind me, adding, "And you were my first ... you know."

I say, not being able to drop the "wryly," I get the impression I was a lot of people's 'first ... you know's.

"Yeah, well, you were horny, and I was the only pointy object around."

I grimace at that, something I doubt the real Faith would ever have done about anything sexual. Thanks for the mental image, I say.

He gives me a look -- his eyes practically scream "I'm sorry, I swear" -- and says, "You do act differently, though. Like the whole amnesia thing gave you a new personality or something."

I have to ask. Oh, really? Like whose?

"Buffy's, actually."

He's noticed. He's seen how much I've changed. I would jump up and hug him, but he hasn't exactly noticed how I've changed, and I feel a nice, sharp pain right about where my heart is that my best friend doesn't even recognize me.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing, I ask, curious.

Xander shrugs, staring at me thoughtfully. "Not sure yet."

I don't know why I say it, but I warn him not to strain himself. His good humor vanishes in a heartbeat, and he stops walking. I stop, too.

"Do you always have to do that?"

What?

He stares at me for a moment, then frowns and shakes his head. "Just when I think you've gone normal, the bitch comes out."

I frown right back at him. Well, what can I say? The bitch loves to play.

I don't want to get into another argument with him. I don't. Willow once said something along the lines of, out of the three of us, there's me and Xander, and then there's her. Or something like that. And it's always been true. Xander and I just ... click. I don't know why, we just do.

I don't want to fight with Xander. But this body does, and I have to mentally restrain myself from making it physical.

There's rustling not far away. Someone's heading towards us, and I tense up, ready for a fight.

"Harris? Is that her?" a voice asks from the darkness.

That voice. Oh, God ... that voice.

I hope Xander doesn't see it when I turn away, because I'm biting my bottom lip and trying not to squeal like a 14-year-old at an N' Sync concert. I know what they sound like. Personal experience with Dawn and a badly timed visit to L.A. Let's just say I'm amazed I didn't have severe rupturing of my eardrums.

But I'm rambling. I'm rambling because of Spike.

And I know. You're saying, Spike? You're acting like this over Spike, of all people?

Yes, I am. This man fell in love with me, even though I treated him like garbage. I don't think I even knew how it must have been for him until I came back to Sunnydale in the new Faith-shaped packaging. I still love these people, and they despise me. They hate me as Faith even though she's not Faith anymore.

That's what Spike went through just to be near me. And he got thrown off a building fulfilling a promise to me.

I feel like shit.

I hear him approaching off to the side, his boots rustling the grass as he walks. I toss my head a little to get the hair out of my face -- I am really going to have to start bringing scrunchies with me on patrol -- and lift my head to look at my former enemy, turned ... well, current enemy.

After all, what would Faith, the vampire slayer who's forgotten everything she's ever known, do in this situation?

Attack the vampire. Bad vampire.

My arm is in the air with a stake in it before I even realize I'm doing it, and Xander grabs onto my arm and won't let go. His grip is tight, leftover anger from our bickering session still left in him. "Stop it, Faith. He's a good guy."

I nod and shake his hand off my wrist, then glance over at Spike.

He's staring at me. His pale blue eyes bore into me, and I squirm unconsciously and look away, trying to focus on the others.

Xander looks past me at Spike and actually smiles, for crying out loud. Xander? Happy to see Spike? First, I heard everything, and now I've seen it. "Hey, Spike!" he says, a little too enthusiastically for my tastes. "You're looking hungry. Want take-out?"

He pushes me in Spike's direction. I'm still awkward enough in this body to make tripping long and involved.

I am going to kill Xander. Preferably with something lame and embarassing. Like a spork. Or a flamingo.

Spike doesn't even look at Xander. He's still staring at me as I stumble towards him. Okay, what's he know about Faith? Psychotic hell-bitch. Once tried to molest him in my body. Wants us dead. Then again, he's apparently more buddy-buddy with us than he was before the big leap of faith, no pun intended. Maybe he's gotten the backstory from Willow. Or Giles. Or Xander.

Um ... none of those sources are good.

He can't take his eyes away from me as he steps forward and catches me in his arms. I stare up through the dark curtain of my long hair, my gaze connecting with his. And I see ... what? Amazement? Shock? Confusion?

Oh, God. He's happy to see me. Is that good or bad?

"Spike? You all right?"

Spike looks over at Xander briefly, a little dazed. "Fine, Harris," he says, dragging his gaze back to mine as I get my footing again. "Never been better." His voice is soft and strained. I wonder what his problem is as I brush some dirt from my pants.

Xander cocks an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me, 'cause you're looking like you're the deer and Psycho's the headlights."

Spike ignores him. "Why don't you get back to your bed warmer, Harris? I'll bet she'll be glad to have you back. I can handle the Slayer from here."

It takes a moment, and I hear Xander mutter something under his breath about birds of a feather, but he finally leaves. I've never been so glad to get rid of him before.

I apologize for Xander's behavior reflexively, the same way I used to apologize for Spike. I'm still brushing at my jeans, my back to Spike, the silence of midnight in the graveyard driving me even more crazy than I already was, when I hear it.

"Slayer?"

It's the tone of his voice that gets me. It's strangled, weak and nervous. I don't think I've heard him like this.

I turn around slowly. I can't move any faster than that. Who expects me to?

He could very well be talking to Faith. Buffy doesn't exist anymore. Spike could be passing on the torch of his "Slayer" to Faith. Part of me tenses in pain that he didn't mean me, Buffy Anne Summers, when he said it.

But as soon as I look at him, as soon as I get a good look into those ice blue eyes, I can tell.

Oh, my God. He knows.

Spike, of all people, knows I'm me in here.

Angel didn't even bat an eyelash. Giles just thought I was acting funny because of the amnesia. Even Dawn chalked my non-Faith behavior to being good old psychotic Faith. When I had been in Faith's body the first time, the most upsetting thing had been that no one had noticed. No one had loved me to the extreme where Buffy in another body was what they'd see from the first moment on.

Spike knows.

"Buffy? You in there?" He's frozen where he stands. Dead Man Standing. Funny, when Xander says something like that, it's witty and amusing. When I think it, it sounds idiotic.

He can't believe this. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. He wants to touch me, stare me down, make me admit I'm Buffy. If he could, he'd rush over to me, run his hands over my dark hair and move for a closer look. If he's right -- I can see it in his eyes -- I'm at least getting a hug out of this revelation. Maybe an awkward, instantly regretted grope. And definitely an overjoyed, well-intentioned, but far too friendly kiss from the Big Bad.

I'm too happy. I get there first.

I've kissed him before. Once while under a spell, when Spike was the best taste in the world. Once as a thank you, when the touch of my lips to his sent shivers through us both and left the taint of blood shed in my name on my lips. Not that I would have admitted it. But how many men out there would have sacrificed themselves like that for me?

My tongue slips past his lips before he even knows what's going on. I've shocked the hell out of him, I know. But I don't care. And while a part of my brain is screaming that I don't feel the right way to be kissing him like this, the part of me that's still Faith is enjoying every minute of it.

Especially the moment where he starts kissing me back.

His arms pull me closer as the kiss deepens, and I don't even notice my hands slipping through his hair until I reluctantly pull away for air, the epitome of breathless. Damn, I forgot how good he was at this.

I rest my forehead against his, eyes still shut. Even so, I can almost feel him smile. It's okay, though. My smile won't go away, either.

I thank him, and that makes him laugh softly. "You kissed me, love," he says, "I should thank you."

It suddenly hits me, and I startle, jumping backwards. He doesn't let go, stroking my cheek to settle me down.

"What is it, love?"

I say, I wasn't supposed to tell.

His answer is simple and to the point. "You didn't. I guessed."

Chapter Ten