A/N:

Summary: Faith broke up with Spike because he beat on Wes for being a bad Watcher to her. Spike has plans to make things right again. So do Wes and Robin Wood.

Rating: R

Pairings: (mentioned) Faith/Spike, Faith/Wood, Wes/Fred

Note: Yes, this is part of a series, but I try to have them make sense as a stand alone. Oddly this chapter centers around some characters that don’t actually appear in it.

Warnings: You’ll be seeing darkness in our beloved boys. Mentions of sexual abuse. Some blood and guts—“Reservoir Dog” Style.

333 To Dutch who has been kicking ass with her own fic and still making time for me!

333 To all the peeps that are still with me and giving me feed back on my baby here.

All for her

Spike needed to do this, and he was in fine shape for it. He'd been drinking every day for about two weeks straight, going Greyhound at night towards the west coast. He hadn't eaten anything in days, but he hadn't wanted to. He often did that before a big kill, and this would be the biggest of them.

Spike was the killer, and being a killer wasn't about art, it was about need. He wasn't a rich hero. He'd never want to be that. Maybe that's how you became the sort of tosser that has the gall to kick a man when he's down. No, that wasn't Spike. Truth, justice, and soccer moms weren't his thing. He didn't leave his own people behind, locking himself up in an ivory tower while all the vines he'd used to climb up there strangled things. Spike liked to get down in it--to be a part of the rush and slice open the vines that grew around the towers of his own.

Spike walked along the uneven cobblestone passing all the Victorian houses and red brick churches or churches turned into trendy clothing-shops. The cold air would have nipped at his face if he hadn't had fangs to bite back. The college kids didn't seem to care about the cold either. Some walked around in heavy knit hippy sweaters, others in puffy coats; some were clones of Spike and walked around in long black leather. They had to be cold.

Spike was following one college girl in particular, along with a man that seemed to be her dear old dad. The girl was a puffy coat wearer. It was the most practical choice. It made her blend in just like her rosy colored make up and scarf. She was that sort. She had the misfortune of being a stunning classic brunette in the wrong place at the wrong time. It made sense that she would want to blend in, not put up a fuss. It seemed sensible, but it actually was right stupid. Spike wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her and tell her to be more like the girl who'd gone before her. Make a bloody fuss. Scream. Run away. Wear loud clothes. Sure, it would hurt, but she would get out alive.

"Spare somethin'? An extra cig?" a girl grinned as she sprung out between him and his prey.

Another dark haired girl growing out a purple dye job. A niblet. Her doc martins were too big for her and her black flasher's coat was ripped up from dragging on the ground. She had her eye brow pierced. Spike had little to spare of what she really needed, so he gave her what she asked for--a fag. He noticed her raw ungloved fingers.

"You have love and hate," he said to her.

"Um," she was bewildered and seemed to look at him with contempt, "Yeah, so do you."

"I mean on your fingers. You did that old hat love and hate tattoo on them," he said.

He looked above her and through her as he didn't want to lose full sight of his prey. The girl was probably used to it--preferred it to people commenting on her body. She looked at her own hands as if they were something new to her.

"Well, they're really the only two forces in the universe. Everything else is just some sick combo," she said.

He must have looked at her in a way he hadn't meant to. It was probably because he was so damned hungry. Spike knew he had to have shown his hunger or something like it because she shifted her whole body. The dancer changing into the first position of the required dance.

"You want to hang out? If you do, that's cool. I just need twenty bucks, forty if you want to do a little more than the regular," she said.

"Do you know that place on Main St? The old hotel that looks like a big haunted house?" he asked.

"The Kendall? A guy like you is at The Kendall?" Her little pointy face scrunched up.

"No," Spike told her, "I suppose a bloke like me would have to kill to stay there, but you don't. Just make sure you wash, and say you're getting a room to look at some schools and you're meeting your uncle."

Boston, Cambridge hadn't changed much at all. It was a pseudo-intellectual place where the rich kiddies talked up their ideals while the poor ones knew their real place.

"So, what's your name?" the girl asked, as she seemed to be bothered that he was looking through her now.

The brunette he was following, the one with the puffy coat and the fuller body, had walked into one of the shoe stores with the man that seemed like her father.

"She's pretty, but I think she's outta your league. You can tell she's a rich girl that goes to Harvard and her Pop is taking her shopping for the weekend. Girls like that won't meet you at a hotel and call you 'Uncle'," the girl said to Spike as she put the little hand that read "hate" on his arm.

"That isn't really her father. She doesn't go to Harvard. She's from here. Did her best to go away, but they called her back, and you'd be surprised what a girl like that will do. What she's made to do," Spike said as he looked into the store window.

"You've got it bad, man," the girl laughed, "So, are we gonna hang out? You gonna make me say 'uncle?'"

"No," Spike said as he handed her two hundred dollars, "I just know a girl like you could get a room there if you cleaned up enough to pass for a girl like her, saying that she has some man in charge coming. People like to think there's some great big man in charge, but there doesn't have to be one. Better for you if there isn't. Just make sure you hide your love and hate."

Spike slipped a way from the girl before she could say anything else. He had an urge to tell her how lucky she was. Lucky that he was on a very strict diet and very clear mission. She was also lucky because she could never be in the place of the girl he was following. She didn't have full enough lips. She never would have been picked, even if she had been orphaned around the age of blossoming.

Blossoming, what are you? Somebody's Grandmother. You mean right before we girls go on the rag. When we have little gum drop boobs, that's when Sugar Daddy came in his candy truck. What are you doing here? This is over--finito. Let it lie. Faith's voice was in his head, and he was thankful. It lessoned the pain of missing her. He almost wanted to argue back. But he didn't because he wasn't mad, in fact he never felt saner. He wasn't anyone's Gran. He was William the Bloody, and he got the job done. He never rested--never stopped until it was over, and it wasn't over. Spike loved Faith, and he always would, just like he'd always love Buffy, but unlike Buffy there were living, breathing things that haunted Faith. Spike could kill those things, make them pay.

Spike had done his homework on the big bad he was taking on. He'd gone back to Wolfram and Hart and did what he had to do to get to the right files. Of course, the files just had the bare facts. They didn't say that John Devero liked to adopt smart little girls with dark hair and big doe eyes because he liked to own them. It just said he had adopted three girls who'd had those characteristics. The file reported how two of the little girls had come to a bad end. One had died of an overdose when she was seventeen.

The second little piggy was the prettiest and the brightest of them all. Ol' Johnny boy used a lot of his rich wife's money trying to turn her around. None of the fancy schools wanted her because she was so very bad. She'd run away and he would always work so very hard to find her. The state even offered to put her in a home for naughty girls when she cut him one night, but ol' Johnny was such a saint, he wanted to keep her. Finally, when she was just shy of sixteen she ran away for good. She seemed to come to a worse end than the first girl. She somehow ended up in California, a crazed killer, and even spent a year in a coma. She became a jail bird, but somehow busted out and it was believed she had died in the riots in Los Angeles when the sun decided to burn out there a few years ago. Poor girl, but who could blame the Deveros. They had given the girl everything, every chance.

It was like Johnny's wife said: "By the time they get to us they are so damaged. There's only so much we can do. Sometimes I think showing them a normal life made them feel worse, but John always keeps up hope."

At least that was what Mrs. Devero said when she was a character witness for her husband after he had strangled a man who was trying to mug him. He couldn't help himself. The man went to attack him and all of his 'Nam war training took over. He was a war hero after all, at least that was the defense his Wolfram and Hart attorneys in Boston gave him. And they had to have been right, because Johnny was acquitted. Now he had his third one, and it looked like this time was the charm because she was the perfect little girl. She did everything little girls were supposed to do.

Of course there were addendums to these files which went into more detail. But Spike didn't care much about them. There was a small addendum on the first dead little girl he didn't care about. There was more information on the present perfect little girl that he knew was probably boring. Then there was a massive file on Johnny himself which went into great detail about just all the things he had done for God and country. Spike thought some bits of that were okay, but the file said nothing about the other things Spike knew Johnny had been up to. However, the biggest file was the one on the second little girl, the one that everyone said died in LA. Spike already knew all about her, and he made sure no one else would. He took that file and destroyed it, as it was no one's business.

Spike had been following his prey for sometime, but now he finally got close enough to hear his prey speak.

"All I care about is you," Johnny said as he leaned in and kissed his perfect little girl goodbye.

The perfect little girl stiffened as Johnny told her this. She was such a good girl after all, and good girls could be embarrassed by public affection. She was about to get on the train to New York to go to school. Funny how she decided to go away to school, as there were so many here.

"Goodbye, Daddy," the little girl said. Not really a little girl anymore, but always Johnny's little girl.

Johnny grabbed her arm hard as she slightly jerked her body towards the train. Spike found himself stiffening. The voice, that voice. So, Johnny had a preference about that too. He liked the sweet deep whisky voice. Spike supposed when you went shopping for niblets they already had budding sultry voices, as well as budding everything else. He almost laughed aloud. Spike felt like a poor excuse for a big bad. He had always just been into veal for the rush, the energy of them. He never stepped back and studied what body type he liked, what voice tenor, what skin tone. Spike liked them all. Still, this was mastery.

Spike found he had to get closer. Exactly how much did she look like the wicked girl who'd come before her? Was it even more than Spike could see from a distance? Did she have the same tiny dark freckles on her chin? Did she smell like cloves mixed with ripe honeydew and salt too?

Spike knew she couldn't be a clone, and not because the files and records had said she wasn't, or because cloning was supposedly impossible. Spike knew this girl that belonged to Johnny Devero could not be a true copy of the woman he loved because no copy of her would look so broken. Spike didn't have to get close to see the brokenness in this girl, to feel it. A true copy of Faith, even if she had chosen to stay with Johnny would never break in such a quiet fragile way. Faith, and anyone truly like her, would only break with the loud thunder that could shatter anything else along with it.

Faith was like Spike, she didn't do anything in halves. She had tossed Spike out fully. As much as some said

Faith gave mixed messages; she really gave none where it counted. Spike briefly thought of Buffy, and how she would disapprove of this, but if she knew the story in full she wouldn't pull out the big guns to stop him either. He was still a bit worried about Buffy, but he knew Giles would care for her before she came back to care for the world.

There were no breaks or half-ways for the wicked. Everything counted now, as Spike would show her he really did nothing in halves either. He knew now Faith was right. Beating on her old Watcher was wrong, but not for the reasons she thought. Spike should have gone to the root of the vine from the beginning. He should have ripped out all of the men that tried to half-kill her, to break her, and then she would be whole again. Faith would be whole, even if she had no more Slayer power thanks to Spike. She would be whole without him even if Spike was a shell of himself.

That was all that mattered. Faith's wholeness, the Zen balance she truly wanted, and continuously persued with all her talk about the mission and living in the moment. How could she live in the moment with a past haunting her like this? Angel had warned Spike, with all the self righteousness he could muster, not to go back to his past self. Angel had told Spike that he knew better than anyone that going dark brought no comfort. What the Git failed to realize was that it wasn't about sodding comfort or peace. It never would be for them, and that's why Angel wouldn't find inner peace in Rome or Bulgaria or Sunnydale or wherever else he ran off to in order to save the world. Maybe Angel and Spike were horrible monsters, but Angel was wrong to think that gave them the most haunting past. In their past, they'd had the luxury of control. All luxuries had a price, and peace was theirs. Spike fully accepted that. It wasn't about him. It was about setting things right for people, even if you couldn't save them, so they could have some peace for a change.

Spike got close enough to the girl who'd taken Faith's place and he saw that she indeed was not a true copy. She was pretty enough, but bland. Her nose was a little too long. Johnny might not have seen that coming, as it might have gotten bigger after she fully blossomed. Her doe eyes didn't flicker and flutter around as much and her full lips just seemed to stay set where they were unless she spoke. This gave her about two expressions in total, both of which didn't convey much.

"I'll call you when I get back to the dorm," she said to Johnny.

The voice was deep, but clearly feminine. In a better life she could have been a piano bar singer, but maybe not. It lacked any of the sweet undertones that let you know what a powerful range she had. It was merely full-toned, but could never be sultry. It was not Faith's voice in the least. She only seemed to say what she had to, not what she should or needed to. The most interesting thing about her was her smell. It wasn't as pleasant as cloves or honey dew. There was saltiness. A very subtle hint of fear, or something that used to be fear and gave way to something else. It was hard to say, because it seemed most of her own smell was overpowered by the smell of the other person she had on her.

"You make sure you do, honey. You don't want Mom to worry," Johnny boy said.

Spike felt his whole face tighten, and he felt ol' Johnny in all his middle aged eyes on him. He may have seen Spike sniffing what he thought was his, and of course he thought Spike wanted to take it. He glowered at Spike for a second because he knew Spike would have more of a right in the eyes of the world to take his girl than Johnny ever had. But Spike and Johnny were both men of the world and knew its eyes had no affect on them. The world was blind to them, and the unspeakable things they did, or at least it tried its best to be.

The girl got on the train. Spike's stalking had led him right back where he started; the modern looking South Station with its marble floors and chain shops and cash machines everywhere. It was only a few stops on the T to get here from Cambridge, but it wasn't nearly as modest as the station there to hide all its demands that one should buy, buy, buy what it was selling. Starbucks and McDonalds were out in the open here, literally. You could look in and see all the people and not have to open the steeple.

Faith would say she preferred South Station to Cambridge. All the stuff right there and easy to get to. Starbucks doesn't deny it's trying to take over the world and you gotta respect that. But she would have taken him to Cambridge after stuffing some fries into her full lips and Frappuccino down her sweet throat. She would have taken him to Cambridge or Roxbury, where there were many little corners or alleys to be alone. Can't wait to get you back to Sunnydale. We have to christen our favorite patrolling places. Then she'd have pulled them out of the corner and pointed to all the little 'bits with their skateboards and homemade tattoos and said how screwed they all were, and then laid out a plan for them to be protected. 'Course we gotta still actually patrol. The Hellmouth's open and word will get around the Slayer is down on power. Little do they know about my secret weapons.

There was a bar in South Station that was off to the right of all the coming and going. It didn't fit in at all, or at least it was trying its hardest not to. It was closed in, with tinted windows and a door. You couldn't just wander in by accident and order a beer with your cheeseburger; you had to be determined to go in. It was doing its best to pretend it had class with its dim and frosty outside and inside and bartenders in uniforms. No surprise, this was straight where Johnny had led them. Johnny ordered the most expensive bourbon and sighed as he looked dully at the game on the telly. If one weren't careful they might think he was a harmless middle-aged loser with a bit of a drinking habit.

But Spike could be careful, when he had a clear idea of what he wanted anyway. Spike was careful and Johnny boy wasn't what he seemed. He was a man that knew he was being followed, and he was used to it. Johnny liked to put himself in situations where a lesser man might be anxious. He liked to show he was anything but; he liked to think he was bulletproof. Well, it wasn't bullets he was going to have to worry about.

Johnny slickly ordered Spike a drink and had the uniformed bar girl bring it over. Good. They could finally stop this cloak and dagger business. Spike had been doing it for the sake of the girl, but it was getting incredibly boring. Spike advanced over to the ol' boy.

"You weren't at all what I expected, Johnny," he hissed into John's ear.

"What did you expect?" John asked as he slowly sipped his bourbon.

He was as cool as New England smog.

"Don't know. Maybe a Rutger Hauer look-alike. A man on the edge of the long end of middle age, but who still has that menacing quality. Certainly not the pathetic fat old sod I see before me, but of course I realize now that's what I should've expected all along."

"I should tell you I wasn't expecting you to be a Brit. Most of the kids my colleagues send to tail me are police academy rejects. Did you come here so you could carry a gun? Some people say I look like Elliott Gould, by the way," Johnny sighed.

"You'll look like that guy in 'Silence of the Lambs' when I'm done, you know the one that was flayed and strung up on the prison bars? Cutting angel wings out of your back skin won't help you get out of Hell, though," Spike said.

"So, you're supposed to intimidate me out of it? You think Peterson would have picked someone a little bigger after last time. I'll save you time and tell you I'm not fucking Peterson's wife, and I still have no intention of giving back that money. He has a paranoid personality, and so do I," Johnny smiled.

He made a point not to flinch and to look Spike in the eye, which was far from just looking Spike in the eye without making a point of it. That 'Silence of the Lambs' comment got to him. He was right, whoever was hired to rough him up before had been a lightweight, but they had apparently been hired to rough him up about some lighter manner. It seemed Johnny liked to take other things that weren't his besides little girls, so he was always in a bit of trouble with this one or that. He could always handle the trouble. Johnny liked to fight battles he could win all too easily. At least that was what the files from Wolfram and Hart said. Spike was a little disappointed. He expected a bit of a challenge, at least a mental one before he got physical.

"I'm not what I seem, kid. Maybe to you I look like some doughy loser who tells you to stay away from his daughter, but I could kill you in seven seconds. All I have to do is wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze in a certain way and it'll take your neck apart. It'll take those remaining six seconds for your brain to realize the show is over, but I promise they'll feel like an eternity," Johnny said quietly and pleasantly.

Now Spike did flinch, and Johnny smiled. Of course, Spike hadn't been flinching for the reasons Johnny thought. He could care less what this man said to him, as Johnny's fate would be the same no matter what. However, Spike did care about what the man had said to other people in the past, and that sounded like a well-oiled speech.

"Well, well, well," Spike said, "It turns out this is going to be a bit interesting as you're a talker. Good. Need something to keep the ol' blood in the brain flowing while I work. Not that there won't be lots of blood and other fluids flowing."

Johnny grabbed Spike's windpipe. Spike let him do it of course. Fast for an old man. Scary, if he hadn't been a super-being who didn't need to breathe, let alone a little girl. Spike let him do it because he wanted to see more of Johnny's dance, his evil. He got what he wanted.

"I could do anything to you right now with my hold on your windpipe like this. You can't hold your breath forever, and you don't fool me with this fearless act. Everything wants to live; no matter how low it is. And I could make you scream or I could make you die, but I won't. I'll just give you a little advice. Number one: stop doing whatever drugs it is you're on. I can't even find a pulse. Number two: if rich paranoids are going to hire you to dig up dirt on each other you want to blend in with them. Stop dressing like a teenager, and get a real hair cut," he said, and then turned to go.

"Funny, I think you wouldn't complain about anyone looking like a teen. You seem to fancy them so," he said.

"What are you talking about?" Johnny turned to him his whole body tensing.

"Oh, I think you know," Spike laughed as he circled Johnny.

"No, I don't," Johnny snarled at him.

"Right," Spike said, "Well, let's talk about something you do know about. Let's talk about fear. Seems like you know all about it, even from an insider's perspective since the smell has not so mysteriously appeared on you since I mentioned your love of little girls."

"You're in---" Johnny spoke as he went to grab Spike's neck again, when Spike grabbed his.

"Do you like breaking the fearless ones best of all? I think I did, but not quite like you. For me it was about the rush. The rush of breaking something so alive, but I never much thought about them beyond that. Maybe that's because they were dead, since I killed them and all. But not you. You leave them alive. It seems you like the fear, the control. Me, I'm not a control kind of guy. "

Spike was in luck as they were by the door and the few sad saps in the bar were looking at the telly. He'd hate to have to subdue them. Spike squeezed Johnny's throat, and a funny memory came to his mind. One of Dru. When he was evil he learned how to choke people just enough to make them pass out. It was a handy skill, because he often liked to bring Dru back live food after all. The thing was Dru was so nutty she got it into her head that Spike could do the little trick on her even though she didn't need to breathe. She often asked him to do it for sex play, but it came in handy when he had to control her for her own good.

Johnny was out cold.

"Wake up, Johnny!" Spike said to the big round middle-aged man.

He didn't look much like Elliott Gould in the light of this abandoned railroad shack. It was funny how all the cities left the old-fashioned telegraph stations just up and rotting. Were they paying homage, or did they just not care enough to take them all down? Not everything had changed though; they still had locomotives, so people still left railroad spikes lying about.

Spike pricked Johnny in the ear with one. That woke him up.

"There you are," Spike smiled in game face, "I just wanted to let you know you really are one of the best. She never thought there were others, you know? And I wouldn't have placed you as some kind of mastermind either. You really do a great job looking like the dowdy middle aged Dad. I would just think your daughter was going through a little sullen stage, if I couldn't smell your stench on her."

The man looked at him wide-eyed and silent from the ground. Spike knew it wasn't the torture, and maybe it wasn't even the game face, it was that someone had found out what he was up to. Someone who could do something about it.

"See, you may be good, but I am the best. I loved veal for years. Maybe the things I've done to little girls are worse, maybe they're a little less bad. Both are debatable. See, I always went for the kill not the pain," Spike said as he tore off Johnny' s ear and the man howled in pain just like any other man.

"We both pretend to be something we're not. Well, maybe not so much me. I'd pretend to be a bohemian, a greaser, a mod, a punk…what have you… A bad bad boy and I suppose that's what I am. You'd do anything to get your hands on them, am I right?" Spike said as he held up Johnny's ear.

"Hello," he said into the loose ear as Johnny said nothing, well nothing but pain grunts, "…and you so chatty in the bar. I know what's wrong. You think I'm ripping off that bloody movie where the bloke ripped the ear off that other bloke. Faith would be so cross with me. First I rip off her work on the Watcher and now this. What she doesn't know is I did it first, well okay, second, learned from the best. My Yoda taught me to cut off anything that they have to offer, and to start at the top. But don't do hands arms or legs 'cause then they'll up and die on you too bloody soon. "

"What? Who?...God!" the man yelled out, as if it all became real to him.

Spike hated when they went into shock.

"What? Who? God…All very good questions. What: is the nasty bit of business you did, are still doing. The who: Faith. I am guessing you had to be very forthright with Faith, go straight to the 'I can kill you. I can make you scream,' because she just wouldn't have bought the loving Daddy routine."

"What? Who?"

The man looked up at him with eyes that had themselves seen fear like this in other eyes. The sods could sort of hypnotize themselves out of what was being done to them, or what they did to others. Spike could do it too. When he was being tortured all he thought of was Buffy, but when he was the doer, the torturer, he never denied it. He was here, now. He was paying attention. There was no temporary insanity, no 'I'm-cursed-and-lost-the-soul' bollocks for him.

"Stay with me, Johnny. I already answered those questions. The only thing I didn't answer was the thing about God. God isn't here; it's just me, and we're gonna talk about Faith. Not the kind of faith that people in your situation seem to get real fast, but the kind I'm interested in. Big eyes, smart mouth, hell of a right cross, but sadly probably not when she lived with you. Go on tell me you don't remember her."

"I--I…I remember her. I remember. I--I never hurt her. She came to us a very troubled girl, whatever she told you was--"

"It was what she didn't tell me. It's what you're going to tell me, right now, or you lose the tongue," Spike said, sticking the railroad spike down Johnny's throat and then removing it so he could talk.

"I--She--- You don't understand. I loved Faith, and she loved me. I was the father she always wanted. These kids--they aren't like other kids. They need to be guided--molded. Sometimes Faith, she would get out of hand, so I had to show her who was boss. I had to show her sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do. You have to follow through. To teach them that actions have consequences," he said.

It never ceased to amaze Spike how people with missing appendages and various wounds could get out a mountain of words, even though he knew he could when he was in the same situation.

"I agree with that last part. You aren't going to say you're sorry for any of it, are you? You think I'd somehow respect that, but no," Spike tisked.

Spike grabbed and snapped back John's hand. Spike jerked his own head to the side. He felt a sudden smile come to his lips. It was something about being in the killing fields that made his movements become more animalistic.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry Faith didn't understand, I thought she did. She acted like it was a game…a test of wills, and I thought she…She liked it," Johnny said and then shut his eyes.

Spike laughed and lit a cigarette, "Oh, I know this game. I know it. It's 'say the worst thing possible and make Spike really really mad so that he gets on with it and kills me already.' I told you I'm the best. Torture really wasn't something I did every night, but when I did do it I made sure it was a thing of beauty, and you aren't going to ruin what I want to do for her."

Spike approached the man's eye with his cigarette.

"Please," Johnny said, and Spike noticed something in the man switched. "I have another daughter now, two actually, but with Reese--- it's not the same she's not-- with her it is all about love. She lets me--- She even wants-- She's all I care about. I love her. Do whatever you want. I'll beg. I'll say what you want. I won't press any charges. I just have to live, because of her. She can't live without me."

"Oh, I think she knows she is far better off without you," Spike found he was frowning, "A thing like you doesn't know how to love right."

"And you do? You're a monster!" Johnny sobbed.

Johnny knew he was going to die; that he wouldn't see his girl anymore. That was all he really cared about. Spike could tell. He wished he couldn't tell. He wished this fucking tosser saw how twisted he was, how much he deserved this. Spike didn't like all this frowning. He smiled again when he thought of something clever to say, and how Faith's torturer would suffer.

"I guess I shouldn't throw the first stone, but I will. I'll throw the second and the third and the fourth too," Spike said as he picked up four railroad spikes.

It was ironic. Spike had spent the last night drinking and having the best time that was possible in this great Boston Brewery. He had discovered it after he got rid of what was left of 'family man' Johnny's body. Now he was outside an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and no, it wasn't because he "realized he had a problem." He knew he had a problem. These men. They had hurt Faith, and made it so she would always push him away, even if he did nothing to hurt her. He had hurt Buffy, but not Faith. The problem was Faith had already been hurt.

There were a few more of them to be killed. Some of them just beaten, tortured a little, but there were the rest of the men that had wronged Faith, hurt her in some way or another. Johnny had been the worst of them, of course, and now there was the pimp. He'd changed his style here; Spike usually saved the best for last. Oh, who was he kidding; he didn't. He'd wanted to get his hands on the man that first violated Faith so badly it made him shake. He had, but he was still chomping at the bit and the pimp was next.

There wasn't much information about the pimp at old Wolfram and Hart. He had never done any important evil like Johnny had. There was just some petty theft, drugs, and a short account of his relationship with Faith. He had been the one to teach her how to steal, how to con, how to live on the street. She'd learned fast and had done a good job of it without him until the Council found her. That was where the W&H files seemed to lose interest in the pimp. All it said of him now was that he was "an unlikely candidate" for them. Whatever that meant. Too bad he was also a sodding wanker. There was the tale of how he'd tried to sell Faith to some suburban kid, and it didn't quite work the way he had hoped.

Spike saw the pimp walking out of his little gathering. He looked smaller in person somehow. Maybe that was because he had been talking to some girl that weighed twice as much as him for a while. He had the whole current Beatles retro-hair, and the pretty-boy young face with the dreamy brown puppy eyes. He was also built like an Olympic swimmer, and God help him if he made a crack about Spike being shorter than him. Still, there was something about the boy that made Spike unsure that it was the pimp. It wasn't like it had been with Johnny-boy. Spike thought the man had looked pathetic, but he never doubted it was him. This boy didn't look pathetic for someone who was outside an AA meeting.

"You are Ron Schilling, aren't you?" Spike sauntered up and asked.

"Not if this is another subpoena, I'm not," he muttered.

Not giving Spike any of the friendliness he had given to the big girl he had been talking to. Spike's eyes narrowed. He knew the type now. This was a boy who got the girls to do whatever he wanted, even sell themselves.

"Hey Ronnie," Spike said, "Remember Faith? And if you start going on about how you found it in AA, I'll gut you."

He already had the kid up against the brick wall by his cute little bad-boy denim jacket. The wall had chalk drawings of flowers and smiling stick figures. Why did AA hold their meetings at sodding primary schools? At least it wasn't a bloody church.

"Faith? Did you just…never mind…Say whatever it is you have to say," the boy answered dully.

Why was it the men in Faith's past weren't surprised when they were about to get roughed up? It didn't matter, Spike could make them surprised.

"Yeah, asshole," Spike said, "This is about Faith and what you did to her!"

"Is this Faith who is totally hot Faith? With the big eyes and the big mouth and the voice? ...because she's the only one I remember. If it's some other 'Faith'; I'm sorry, I can't remember," the boy said.

He tried to get out of Spike's grasp and Spike pushed him back into the wall.

"That's all you have to say? After all you put her through?" Spike demanded.

"Look, I did the rounds. I made amends to everyone I could think of. She was the one I wanted to talk to the most, but I couldn't find her. People said she was dead or in jail or crazy; I never believed any of it. Is she back in town?" he sighed, a too-charming sigh of regret.

"'Is she back in town?'" Spike repeated in outrage, "Like you can just waltz over and make everything all right. I'm--"

The boy tried to push away from Spike, and it just got him another slam into the wall.

"I never said that," the boy sighed, "You are really wiry, by the way. So, where is she? This isn't like her. I'd think if she wanted to see me again ---"

"You think she ever wants to see you again?" Spike roared.

This kid really did have balls thinking that, when Faith didn't even want to see Spike again.

"You'll never hurt her again. Is this the part where you're going to tell me you never really hurt her, that you loved her so? That the prostitution idea was all to teach her about actions and consequences? How you have some other lil' girl just like her now so---"

"Yeah. Like there's another girl like Faith," he laughed, "Sorry, I'm just having the weirdest acid flashback right now, and you look like you have big teeth, and this really fucked up face and-- I did love her, as much as a Meth-head can love anyone, which wasn't enough."

"Yeah well it wasn't--- I don't care how much you say you loved her! You don't sell out someone you love to the highest bidder," Spike said.

He felt his teeth go back in. He wasn't planning on putting his game face away, but if the kid was going to think it was all in his chemically altered brain, it didn't matter.

"The highest bidder? We couldn't wait that long. We were starving; I was withdrawing. She wanted to go back to her foster home and steal some money, but I said 'no'. That guy was like some military expert who could strangle you, and I was afraid if he didn't strangle us he'd convince her it wasn't so bad, and she'd go back. She said something about how it was too bad she couldn't just screw him for the money, and the brilliant scheme was born," the kid laughed bitterly.

"It was her idea?" Spike asked.

"Dude, I don't remember. I think it was hers, but I took it over. I wanted to make sure it went down okay. Faith, she had a way about her. She acted like she was the one in charge, but then when it was all said and done she handed all the hard stuff over to me ," he said.

"Well, great job, wanker," Spike said

"Dude, tell me about it. It was like that movie 'Indecent Proposal.' If that movie had been about two sixteen year olds instead of Demi Moore and that Cheers guy, and they never really got the money. After that the shit hit the fan. We'd fight. I'd call her a 'ho'; she'd try to stab me--"

"You what?"

"Dude, I was a sixteen year old Meth-head who tried to sell his girlfriend for money. I wasn't the best guy. She wasn't the best chick either, but--"

"Say that again!" Spike growled back to angry.

"Wow, you must have it as bad as I did. It never mattered what she did to me either, or what I did to her. She almost set me on fire once, and all my friends were like, 'Dude!" and I was, like, 'I love her, man.'"

The boy sighed.

Why wasn't he afraid? Maybe because Spike had not yet done any actual hitting. With Johnny it had all gone so smoothly with fists and windpipes and bone crunching. This was turning out to be much harder.

"Well, she's not like that anymore. She doesn't try to set you on fire, at least not on purpose. She got better," Spike said.

"I'd love to believe that. But if she's so better-- she doesn't know you're here, does she!" the kid smiled, like he won a prize.

"Shut up! It doesn't matter!" Spike let go of the boy and turned away from his smile, only to turn back a grab him again, "None of it bloody matters! She's all that matters. You hurt her, and you have to--have to be punished."

"She dumped you didn't she? She said you were just as bad as the last guy, and how did my name come up, because I KNOW I couldn't have been the last guy," the kid laughed.

Finally, Spike socked him in the face. It wasn't as hard as he wanted. The boy probably moved or something.

"I didn't mean it like that! Jesus Christ! You know how long it's been since I've had my nose broken," the kid put his hand over his nose and laughed painfully.

"Talk a little more about yourself and I'll rip your tongue out. I don't care about your sad tale. I only care about her, and you have to die for her," Spike threatened.

Now he was finally getting his show on. He had to remember what his goal was, and not lose site of it. This was all for the woman he loved, Faith.

"Dude, none of this is about her; it's all about you. You and your sad tale--that's all you really care about," the boy said looking down at him with pained brown eyes.

"What?"

"She isn't here. She doesn't want you to do this. Not if she's really changed like you say, anyway. This is all because of issues you have coz she kicked you to the curb. It was like when me an' her broke up and I tracked down the guy that didn't pay us. I tore into him like a bottle of hard to open pills," he said.

"You did?"

"Yeah, and then of course the cops got me, and I went to Juvey and I blamed him and Faith and everyone else in the world. It didn't make me feel any better," he said.

Bloody boy! Could he talk anymore about himself? Spike was starting to miss the other fellow, who only wanted to talk about how it was Faith's fault.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," Spike said.

"I kinda have some idea. A really pissed-off guy who just got dumped by Faith and wants to blame her for all his anger problems by beating up her ancient history boyfriends," the kid said and Spike pushed him back into the wall again, "…He's also wicked strong."

"Listen, I don't have bloody anger---I'm certainly not blaming Faith; I'm helping her!" Spike grumbled as he shook the boy until he ralphed on Spike.

Great.

"How is my booting on your shoes helping her? If you really want to do this--do it, but don't say it's for her," the kid coughed.

"Oh, like I'm going to listen to the guy I want to beat to a bloody pulp. He'll have a sensible argument as to why I shouldn't do it," Spike rolled his eyes.

"Do what you want. I'm just sayin', you can't blame other people for your own actions. Every choice you make---"

"Shut the hell up with that twelve step crap! I'm not blaming anyone for anything. I never blamed my girl for anything. Well, there was the whole throwing Buffy out incident, but that was before we were--No one has to blame Faith for anything; she blames herself for all of it. She thinks she brings out the worst in everyone, when it's just that people unload their worst on her."

"Yeah, I bet she goes back and forth blaming herself for everything, then blaming you. It's classic co-dependent behavior."

"Don't you talk that drivel about her. She--" Spike was about to give the kid what-for until he heard something.

"Spike!" a man's voice hissed.

"Dude, you're name is 'Spike?' Kind of eighties," the boy said as Spike turned.

"Oh bugger. This is just a great cherry on top of the day. What are you doing here?" Spike demanded.

This was ridiculous. He needed a cigarette to figure this out. Robin Wood was standing there. He looked all indignant and righteous. Well, that was his look, wasn't it? Still, he wouldn't be here, unless…

"Is it Faith? Is she all right? Does she need me?" Spike asked.

"I'm here to get you. Not for Faith. She's great without you. Faith isn't the one who needs you," Wood said in an even more righteous way than usual.

"Well, what then? Is it Buffy?" Spike sighed.

"Buffy? She's not even here. I guess any Slayer will do, huh?"

"Oh, sod off and get to the point!" Spike grumbled.

He'd been so surprised and worried about why Wood showed up that he'd forgotten how the bloody righteousness of the man annoyed him.

"Why wouldn't Faith be okay? I thought you said she was off the street. Who's Buffy? What's a Slayer? Is that a code word? You guys aren't, like, some high class pimps, are you?" the kid asked.

"No!" Spike shouted and Wood seemed to agree.

"I love Faith," Spike said to the boy, "I wouldn't use her no matter how bad off I was, I'm not like you. "

"No, you're not like me. I didn't go after my girl friend's exes when she dumped me," the boy said.

Bloody hell! Now he was being all holier than thou. Talk about a bloody hypocrite.

"Who is this?" Wood asked.

"It's Faith's ex. He did her more wrong to her than you or I. He was her pimp, kind of. I was going to let him off with these bruises, but if he keeps squawking at me I might---"

Spike stopped dead as Wood went over and zapped the boy with a tazer. God, Spike hated those things.

"Bloody Hell!" Spike scoffed. "He was mine, Wood. You oughta be careful with those things, by the way. You could kill a person if you're not careful. I don't think you killed him, but you should get him to a hospital or some place they can make him right again. "

"Great idea," Robin smiled.

Spike didn't know if hospitals could help people who'd been hit by tazers. Could it fry a regular human person to death? Spike didn't know. He just knew they had two kinds. The kind that zapped you paralyzed so you could still talk, and the kind that zapped you unconscious. Spike really preferred to avoid both kinds. Both types of tazers seemed to be the products of old Captain Cardboard's Initiative and now Wood had one as well as Faith's old Watcher. Faith's old Watcher who happened to appear next to Wood now with his pissy Watcher expression.

"Call an ambulance," he said into his little cell phone, like he really enjoyed using it.

"Do you have to be an annoying pompous bastard to get one of those zappers? Is there some kind of personality test? What the bloody hell are you two doing? The sight of the two of you together doesn't bring back the most pleasant of memories. Because if I remember correctly the last time the two of you played James Bond, Faith almost died and the Hellmouth opened," Spike said.

"We're stopping you, Spike," Wesley told Spike.

Wesley prayed they were here in time to save the boy. The boy's face looked bloody.. This was right. It was the right thing to do. There would be complications. Working with the New Watchers was going to be nothing like he had dreamed. Especially with Alistair Crowley at the wheel, but it was still what was best.

"Stopping me from what exactly? Being miserable without Faith? The two of you should love it. She left me over you," Spike said.

"Yes, it's all about you, isn't it?" Wood sneered and then his whole demeanor softened, "Wait, Faith left you for me?"

The black man with his large frame, so similar to Angel's, looked over at him in boyish hurt for a second. Wesley liked Robin Wood. He reminded him a lot of Bernard Crowley, but when it came to Faith he lost all sensibility.

"Not you, Mr. Pumped Principal," Spike scoffed, "The Watcher. She couldn't stand the fact that I gave him the beating he rightfully deserved for wanting to use black magic on her a second time."

"Black magic was the only safe way to get that shadow demon out of Faith. You're so…That wasn't the first time you used black magic on Faith?" Wood turned to Wesley.

Yes, Spike was clearly not the only one whom Faith had thinking with their balls instead of their brains. Spike was smart enough to use that to his advantage, to try and turn Wood and Wesley against each other. Wesley had to watch out for that. He had to watch everyone, all the time now, he realized.

"Wood, please," Wesley tried to keep patient, "Can we stay focused on the task at hand and not get caught up in past happenings or relationships. We have to get to the bottom of this so everyone can be safe."

"So, you're here because you're worried about my welfare. That's sweet," Spike smirked.

"We're stopping you from killing people. You're not going to get another soul," Wes said as he looked down at the unconscious bloody boy.

It was starting to mist here in Boston, and it made Wesley remember London rain. New England indeed.

"Great," Spike rolled his eyes, "because getting the one was a bloody bitch. What are you going on about, Watcher? Killing people? I'm not---Oh, right Johnny boy. That's one for our side, mate, believe me."

And how often in Old England had Wesley faced down a vampire with a confident smirk. Well, not often. Never. He'd been bookish and awkward in London, but that was where he had learned all about Spike after all.

"Why should I believe you?" Wesley asked.

Spike liked questions. He liked dares. His downfall was usually distraction, and if they could distract him long enough they could capture him and get the chip back in his head. Then Wesley would have one less danger to worry about. He could continue to work with the New Council to attempt to control all demons. One had to think in terms of preemptive strikes these days. Wesley was right to change his mind about this.

"Yeah, how do we even know what side you're on? You could have lost the soul when you--you screwed Faith. Isn't that how it works?" Wood sneered.

Oh that was ridiculous. If things worked like that almost every man in Sunnydale, between Faith and Buffy, would have lost their souls. Wesley was glad that he hadn't said that out loud as the vampire and Wood argued on pointlessly. These two men loved Faith, didn't they?

Wesley knew how it was to be locked in competition for the affections of a woman one truly loved. It could bring out one's worst. Not to mention one's worst, most careless mistakes. Vigilance that was what was needed to keep everyone alive. It was better if the woman you loved was alive, and your hopes to be with her sacrificed, than having her dead.

Wesley watched as the ambulance came and Wood somehow seemed eager to deal with the ambulance crew for the young man. He knew Wood would do a good job of creating a cover story, as he wasn't about to sacrifice Spike to some bumbling police squad. Yes, Robin Wood seemed very eager to have Spike get that chip back in his brain. It was understandable, with all he had gone through with the vampire. However, Wesley did wonder whether personal grievances were sufficient motives to do this sort of thing. Then, Wesley reminded himself of the beating and torture he took from Spike over Faith.

Yes, the vampire had his reasons for doing that, but what if Spike one day thought he had reason to torture Fred? Indeed Fred had things people wanted. However, none of this mattered; Spike was killing again. Wesley vowed to himself that he was going to be as vigilant as possible to protect Fred-- and anyone else--against all possible evil. Fred was surrounded by evils at Wolfram and Hart. Constant vigilance was the only way…

"Hello?" the vampire Wesley had come to capture was calling to him as he tried to light a cigarette in the cold damp night . Wood was busy with the ambulance crew.

"I'm askin' you if you think I lost my soul. I can understand why you think I had perfect happiness with Faith, I did, but where you lose me is where you think I'm like your boss. If you're looking for another wayward Daddy to take down you're gonna be disappointed, Percy," the vampire said as he lit his fag successfully.

"I have to say both theories that you lost your soul or that you are anything like Angel are highly dubious, but you're killing people and I can't afford to live in the gray anymore," Wes said evenly.

Percy? Where had he gotten that one? Wesley liked Ex-Watcher far better, but he wasn't going to be baited. Not anymore.

"Can't afford to live in that kind of gray?" Spike laughed, "So, you left Cali and came to the soupy skies of New England to slap me on the wrist? Oh, Percy, Percy, you have to tell Angel Daddy Boss to start taking you on business trips with him."

"You don't know me at all, Spike. What I'm capable of. What I can do. You were the one that needed Angel to teach you about killing and evil. I've done my best work alone," Wesley said.

"What happened, Watcher, did you kill a man? Got some blood on your nice clean knickers," Spike tilted his head like a curious but amused teen looking at a dirty magazine he had seen many times before.

"As a matter of fact, I did just kill a man and it wasn't thanks to Angel. I owe it all to Dawn Summers. Yes, I owe the life of the only person that matters to an eighteen year old girl nosing around in my files because she's obsessed with finding information on her inter-dimensionally misplaced sister," Wesley laughed.

He didn't know why. His head hurt as he did it, but it felt good. Maybe it was because he realized how ridiculous and true what he had just said was. Maybe it was because he was relieved to say it rather than to get into some verbal cockfight about which of them relied on Angel more. That was what Wes expected. They always said to expect the unexpected with Spike.

"What? I knew Dawn interning at that fascist corporate hell would lead to no good! What have you done to her? I'll kill you," Spike held Wesley by the shirt as he threatened him more quietly and more sincerely than one would have thought.

More unexpectedness. Wasn't this vampire only supposed to be obsessed with one woman at a time?

"It's not what I've done to her, it's what she's done for me. She discovered that one of our employees was planning on using Fred's body as a host for some kind of Goddess," Wesley still laughed.

Oddly, he stopped when the vampire let go of him and sat next to him. Getting hit was one thing he was prepared for. It would match the psychic beatings he had been taking lately.

"You don't say. Good for Dawnie then. So, you killed the tosser, of course," Spike sighed.

"Of course," Wes answered.

"Torture?" Spike asked as he offered Wes a fag.

Wes shook his head." No, it was more of a passion killing," Wes told him, "When we confronted him he started making a grand speech about how Fred was so beautiful and pure. That was why she apparently deserved the honor of being the host, and I shot him rather than listen to another bloody word."

"Like you shot your robot Dad?" the vampire asked.

Wesley was sure he was gaping as he hadn't ever expected to have to answer a question like that from Spike.

"Connor told me," the vampire shrugged, "You do like your fire arms, and that cute Fred."

"She's the only woman I've ever really loved," Wesley said.

He said it much more strongly than he meant to. He was sure he'd have to endure teasing from Spike for being a love-sick wanker with a small Johnson or some such. He was glad they would inevitably find a way to subdue Spike, and get that chip in his head and be done with it.

"So, now you're off playing Captain America AKA Captain Stick my nose in another man's vengeance. Why aren't you with her?" Spike asked.

Wesley wished that Spike would stick to hostility instead of asking insightfully probing questions.

"I was, for a few days. We hadn't even…I wanted to do things right, slow," Wesley tried to explain to Spike's raised eyebrow.

"Thank God I never thought of--- Wait, did she die anyway or something?" he gasped.

"No, she's alive, thank God, but she's furious with me. We're through. She said she didn't agree with my decision to kill Knox. She doesn't understand. There was no decision; if you hurt her, if you threaten her like that, you have to die," Wesley said.

"Women!" Spike scoffed, "Why can't they just understand? Do you think it goes back to their maternal instincts?"

"That's a theory. Maybe they see that every man, no matter how foul, was once someone's son."

"What does that tell about us killing our parents and all?"

"I never---I'm nothing like you!" Wesley rose with the tazer in his hand now, "You're killing people. Innocent random people, or ones that just happen to brass you off or turn you on, and I can't have that. You, Spike, are a shade of gray, and I can't allow any of that anymore. Don't you see? It was my turning a blind eye to the ambiguities of the demon world that almost made me lose---The reason that I somewhat did lose Fred!"

"You sodding selfish hypocrite! You think you were blind before, well, now you're in Miracle Worker territory. Do you know who that man was I killed?"

"Yes, Spike. That man you killed was John Devero, one of Boston's greatest philanthropists. Though he uses his status as a war hero a bit obviously. What happened Spike? Did he step on your toes? Challenge your manhood? Same as this one, who you beat unconscious? " Wesley demanded.

This felt better. This felt right. Yes, the vampire was holding him by his coat and he had no way of getting the physical advantage, but he should be yelling at this man--this demon--for what he had done.

"I didn't beat the boy unconscious Wood came along and---"

"Were you going to torture him with a railroad spike too? Burn his eyes out with cigarettes? All because your girlfriend left you? Do you really think I wouldn't watch you after what I knew you were capable of? Do you really think I would let you?"

"I think you should let me have a second chance at you for not doing this for me! If you were any kind of a Watcher, if you were any kind of a man, you would at least know who these men really are that I'm after! You don't really give a toss about her! You really are just as bad as---"

Wesley heard a familiar buzzing sound and he felt Spike's grip loosen as he fell unconscious. Wood was standing there tazer in hand.

"I love these babies," he smiled, "There are days I'd love them for the classroom, but I think people would complain."

"Thank you," Wesley said to Wood evenly, "But I wish you hadn't done that in a way. He was going to tell me why he had done it, in his ever so charming way."

"Yeah, and just when he got to the part where we all realized he had a heart of gold you would have looked like that first guy we didn't get to save," Wood said.

"I was handling it," Wesley said.

"Yeah, that's the idea. We're handling it now," Wood said.

Wesley nodded, a little relieved. Had he been expecting a Gunn-like joke: Yeah, you were hand ling it real well with that face turning blue plan. You were trying to scare him away with that, right?

Spike looked smaller, unconscious. Wesley realized he wasn't very big at all, as Wood grabbed one of Spike's arms to put him in the van and Wood's arm looked so large next to it. Wood was like Angel though. He made Faith look positively tiny when she went near him. Wesley knew Faith had had an obvious falling out with the vampire, but still he was sure she wouldn't like this. Neither would Angel, but Angel would listen to reason. Besides, who said it was their decision? They were both too close to the situation to see it clearly. Spike was dangerous and he had to be controlled in some way. It wasn't as if Wesley was entrusting Spike into someone else's care. He would be overseeing what happened. He planned to do a lot more of that at Wolfram and Hart and everywhere else. He was going to be looking through the walls wherever he was to spot imminent danger.

TBC...

“Another chance to fight. Another way to make it right

So forget all of your chances

It's up to you to follow through

Forget the way she was

Cause it's the things she does the make me

Sing about her

She knows I care about her

She said: 'Be gentle boy

You show lack of character

Let me work this out

Before I come back to you.'

I know you sometimes hate the stupid things I do”

New Found Glory: All for her