Doing the Right Thing

Chapter Three


Faith dreamed. She and Buffy were the Chosen Two, again. They were dressed alike in black leather pants and red silky tank tops. Matching shiny, dark red lipstick and fingernails. They looked fuckin’ hot.

The two of them walked through a cemetery, a Cleveland cemetery, with those big damn trees that vamps hid behind. But they were unafraid, strutting with power and confidence. They dusted vamps almost effortlessly, their moves as graceful as a dancers. They laughed and quipped, having a great time.

Suddenly a group of vamps came out of nowhere. Soon they were engaged in a heated fight, dust flew everywhere.

A vamp jumped from the top of a mausoleum, his hair gleaming white in the moonlight, and then down to the midst of the vampires, who had surrounded Buffy. Faith fought her way toward her, worried now. The new vamp began to dust Buffy’s assailants. Oh, it’s Spike, Faith realized, relieved. Where’d he come from?

Buffy, still struggling with a large, strong vamp, didn’t see Spike. But the Scoobies did. They were standing in the door of the mausoleum.. They grabbed Buffy and gestured to Faith to keep silent. Then the door of the mausoleum closed around Buffy and the Scoobies. Spike dusted the remaining vamps, leaped up onto a crypt and disappeared.

Faith woke up, her heart racing from the fight. Now, that was some weird dream. And it seemed, well, like a slayer dream. She wondered if Buffy had had the same dream, like they used to experience. But it made absolutely no sense, because Spike was dead, and she and Buffy were on different continents. Some other slayer’s dream, maybe?

And it had already happened, she thought. Spike had saved Buffy, and now she was with the Scoobies, doing the New Council crap.

Faith punched her pillow and rolled over, ready to get back to sleep. Just a dream. . . about the past. . .

But somewhere inside, she still wondered. She couldn’t sleep. She got up and headed toward the kitchen, tripping over somebody’s shoes in the dark. Damn kids, never put their stuff up after patrol. She really needed to get tougher with them.

The kitchen was huge, large enough to hold a full size table and chair set, and still have room to get around. It was a nice house, a big two story home built in the fifties. The nicest house Faith had ever lived in, thanks to the New Council. But it was a mess–dishes in the sink, spills dried on the floor, junk on the counter.

Faith found the coffee. Might as well stay up. Use her slayer strength to clean the house.

She always thought best when she was doing mindless work–found that out in prison. This Buffy dream. . . she needed to think about it

***

Spike crawled out of bed and crashed into the shower, barely opening his eyes. He knew it was morning, could feel it.

Could feel the mess he’d made of himself, too. Another one of those dreams. This time, they’d been on the beach in full sunlight, like some kind of cliche Hawaii honeymoon flick.

And it had seemed so real. Buffy’s skin had gleamed from the sweet smelling sun screen oil she was wearing, and her hair had shone so in the sun. He could remember how every move had felt, as though it had just happened. The way her hard pink nipples had felt, brushing across his chest. . . his cock trapped in her wet, tight pussy while she clenched him. . . her knees gripping him so hard he would bruise. . .

The dreams were getting more powerful as time went by. That was weird. He was weird. Probably need the help of a good vamp psychiatrist, not that he’d go to the one Wolfram and Hart kept on the payroll.

He sighed, and rested his head against the tile, letting the spray pound his back. His unlife sucked.

The water started to cool and he finally opened his eyes to find the shampoo, which was on the floor. Surrounded by sand. Fine, white gleaming sand, just like the sand in his tropical Buffy dream.

That did it. He needed professional help.

He dressed and drove to W&H, to the office he rarely used. Once at the computer he began a search of W&H resources.

Witches, he typed into the search engine. It pulled up a menu with different links: Affiliated with W&H, Black Magick, Chaos, Dead, Demon, Hollywood, Vampire, Vengeance, White Magic, Willow.

He clicked on White Magic, and soon printed out a list of contacts. He began to dial numbers.

An hour later he slammed the phone down. Figured. The witch who sounded like she could do the job he wanted lived right smack on a hell mouth. Cleveland, here I come.

***

Buffy sat in a neighborhood coffee shop and wondered what she should do. She was on a leave of absence for a while from Slayer training. She felt like getting away from London. And from Giles, Willow. Maybe a change of scenery was what she needed.

She needed to do something. Between her own urges and her sister and friends she felt like she was in a cage.

A solution occurred to her after her third cup of coffee. Faith! She’d go visit Faith. She could do some good, help with training the new slayers, dust a few vamps. She and Faith could go out on the town, and Faith wouldn’t get upset if she met some guy. . . it would be fun, free.

She hurried home to call the airlines and pack.