Title: Such Symphony and Song
Author: Mr. Twistedwhispers
Rating: R
Pairing: Ripper/Dru, Ripper/Dru/Spike(implied)
Sumary: Ripper's got a plan to take away the Slayer's advantage
Spoilers: Up to Becoming pt. 2. Au, Faith came earlier to Sunnydale.
Feedback: twistedwhispers@mail.com
Disclaimer: All characters are not mine, they belong ot Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. Please do not sue me, I am not worth your time.

Lines in bold are from the poem "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Written for the Ripper Ficathon, for aaronlisa, who wanted Ripper gets turned by Dru after Season Two Buffy//Buffy has to deal with the thought of slaying her former Watcher, Faith has to help her get over it.

Thanks to lostgirlslair for beta-ing this piece, and helping me turn my dense-to-the-point of opaque story into a readable fic.


A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:

"Tres cervezas, por favor."

The bartender nodded sharply and stepped back to the cooler, keeping an eye on his customer all the while. There was a nervousness in his eyes, something that made the bottles clink as he held them between his fingers, and made the edges of his moustache twitch. He tried to watch his customer's every move and yet avoid ever locking eyes with him. The customer sensed it and smiled with the left half of his mouth; a sarcastic smile, and quite effective.

It is an oversimplification to divide animals into predators and prey. Many predators are the prey of others that are stronger, or faster, or simply skillful enough to get the drop on them. It is the predators who know they can feed upon those who thought themselves at the top of the food chain who need fear no other predator. He had told her his thoughts the other day and what was it she said? Something about how they were what fed on sharks and tigers.

It was that thought which had led them to chose this place. Especially on the night before they crossed the border back into the United States, back into California, a land of unfinished business. It was close enough to the popular border towns that the occasional tourist would wander in and be unable to run out in time.

"I think you've scared the barkeep," Spike said with a slight smile, "should make things interesting when it's time to settle up." The blond vampire shifted back in his chair, propping his booted feet on the table, the ends of his duster trailing the ground.

"Were you thinking of settling up? I don't like to restrict myself that way," Ripper pulled his cigarettes from the fold in the sleeve of his white shirt, "These days I find things to be a lot more clear without distractions."

"Yeah, the rain is gone and all that rot." Spike tossed the other man his lighter, and then looked up. "Ah, here she is."

Ripper turned to see Dru walking down the narrow road that led to the cantina. She alternated between looking down, picking at her teeth, and looking up at the buildings around her as if entranced like a child in a strange city. Running her hand along the faded brick, he could almost hear the click, click, click of her nails as they tapped the mortar.

"Ah, my little mirror that looks at itself!" She sat down in the third chair, rod straight, and folded her hands in her lap like a renaissance aristocrat posing for a portrait. "All silver on each side, and black in the middle. I've had a tiring night of looking into windows. All night long until I found a room where are harlot, an old man, and his son argued with each other. They were so sad and so angry, but I made them better. I told them they shouldn't scream at each other so, and then I made them one inside of me." She ran the edge of a lacquered nail from her lips, down her throat, between her breasts, and then placed her palm against her stomach, "And now they are getting along so much better."

Spike and Ripper exchanged sneering smiles and then Spike relaxed back in his chair, lighting his own cigarette.

"So, why are we going back, anyway? I thought we were doing pretty well for ourselves in Brazil."

"True, but how long can you hide? Besides, I've already sent them a letter telling them I'm coming back from," Ripper laughed slightly, "England. So no turning back now. You see, it's time we acted big instead of just talking big."

"Well, I'm all for action, but we've still got a problem."

"I've spent too long," Ripper stood, an edge coming into his voice, "worrying about problems. It's time for me to be a problem again, and it's a lot more fun. Well, time to go, let's see if our friend has the knackers to get his money from us."

****
She was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played

Daddy had been in an awful hurry that night. He must have been getting ready to go on his trip, because he wasn't paying attention to his guest. Daddy had played very rough with him and he wasn't going to be able to stay much longer. It would have been so terribly wasteful to let him go away, since they didn't always get to play with the other children.

So when Daddy was away, she went to look at the new one. He was about to leave, they told her so, and she could tell from the way he sat in the chair, the way he bled on his ropes. He was crying a little, it seemed, when she sniffed and tasted him. Behind the salt and metal, he was all tea and polished wood.

He was so shy, the way he pulled away a little, making the legs of the chair scrape horribly across the stones. She thought he must be a little embarrassed to have her see him all dirty and sweaty and bloody from playing; she in her new dress and all. So she sat on his lap and rubbed her new dress all over the cuts on his cheeks to show it was all right.

When Spike saw what she had done, she thought from the look on his face he wanted to play too, but instead he surprised her. If Daddy was to go on his voyage, then why shouldn't they go on one of their own?

So they took him with them. She wanted to say good-bye, but Daddy was busy with one of his other friends.

They were going so fast, she didn't know if they could stop to find some dirt. Maybe even the desert sand, so he could struggle his way up through sand that would pour in around him. He would be all dry then and she could reward him with something small and crying to slake his thirst. It would have been so grand!

It didn't look like they would have time to stop, they must be late, taking pocket watches from Mean Mr. Rabbit and all that and she felt a little sad for him. He deserved the struggle. He had waited so long for it.

So she lay on top of him and when it was his time, he would come up through her, come up to her. She would be his earth, his dirt, and his bed. Then what times they would have!

She thought about Daddy sometimes and didn't know when he'd come home. Sometimes when they talked to her, they let her know about Daddy's trip and from the screams, he must have been enjoying it very much indeed.

*****
Singing of Mount Abora

There was a lot to be said for waitressing, but Buffy Summers tried to avoid that sort of language. She kicked her shoes off towards the corner and let herself fall backwards onto the bed. It didn't feel nearly as good as the commercials for fabric softener made it look, but at least she was off her feet. Knowing exactly how much grease was involved in cooking, and exactly what sort of things went on in kitchens, did little except provide her with a meager paycheck and destroy her appetite. Enlightenment, she had learned a while back, was not always a pleasant experience.

She thought momentarily about how she should really get out of her uniform, take a shower, or in some way remove the restaurant from herself, but at this point sleep seemed like the only thing she'd be able to accomplish. She closed her eyes and prepared for the quivering feeling of muscles relaxing. It was at that point she heard a resounding knock at the door.

That's not good. She thought to herself. Maybe if I stay real quiet they'll just go away.

The knock came a second time, punctuated at the end by what could only be a kick.

That's not going to go away. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could make it.

Knock, knock, knock, KICK, a third time. This forced her up, out of fear of losing her damage deposit, if nothing else. What could be worse than the day she had already had?

"Slayer-gram," Faith said as soon as Buffy pulled the door open.

That could be worse.

Faith brushed past Buffy as if moving aside a curtain. She strode to the dresser, hoisted herself on top of it, locking the stiletto heels of her boots into the pull handle of one of the drawers.

"Can I help you with something?" Buffy asked, hoping Faith asked for directions to somewhere. . .anywhere. . .else.

"You know, B, when you find out someone went to L.A., you at least expect them to write a screenplay."

"Well, you know me, always the iconoclast."

"But this is just boring."

"Boringness is exactly what I'm looking for right now."

"You know, I can't believe I haven't tossed you out yet. Literally. Door open or closed".

"Sure, but think of your damage deposit."

"I have chairs, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Chairs, for sitting," Buffy moved a chair towards the dresser, hoping to get the point across.

"Oh, that's what those are for. At least you have chairs, otherwise you don't all set for company."

"You know what they say, some people want company, others have company thrust upon them. How did you find me, anyway?"

Faith laughed, "You know, of all the things I've had to track down in my time, you weren't exactly the most difficult. You're not exactly small and easily hidden."

"Why are you here, anyway?"

Faith slid off the dresser and paced, turning her back to Buffy.

"The way I look at it, B, we're two slayers about town without our Watchers. Now, I can see this leading to one of two things. First, we can go out and have a couple of wild nights while there's no one to tell us not to--he's not going to be in England forever, you know--or, we can go back to the Hellmouth and live up to our names. . . do our damn job, you know? Either way is five by five with me, so you decide."

"You're not going to give me time to think about it. . .sleep on it?"

Faith shrugged. "If you're spent, sure, but I'm crashing here."

"Why would you think I'd let you do that?" Buffy sat up as she considered forgetting about the damage deposit.

"Birds of a feather, sort of. Besides, if I take my eyes off you I'm afraid next time I track you down you'll be a secretary in Cleveland."

****
Could I revive within me
Such symphony and song,

It was Spike's turn at the wheel. Ripper watched him, glancing through the small fissures in the paint, bouncing on the seat, head bent forward as if he were riding a charging horse. All the time he sang along, or glanced behind him, his right hand constantly off the wheel in a flurry, manipulating cassette, radio and cigarette.

Ripper would have thought of nothing but the complications at one time. Blackened windows, driving like madmen, sure to attract attention, unwanted or inconvenient. Now, he had simply enspelled the car, made it so that no matter what, no one would think of it as anything worth worrying about or even noticing.

Dru sprawled across his lap, humming softly to herself and twitching like a dreaming cat. The entire situation was both strangely calming and strangely thrilling.

The first thing that he'd dismissed were the thoughts of immortality. In his time, he had seen so many vampires destroyed that he no longer thought of it as eternal existence.

The first time he'd fed, he'd felt two pairs of eyes staring at his back. Dru wanted to see her creation in motion, the effects of the storm her butterfly wings had spawned. He couldn't disappoint her. Spike watched because he had to know, had to make sure that the man he had fought was no longer, that this was a new man, one who did not coldly shun the passions of blood. He wanted to prove himself and the hunger made it easy.

He fed messily that day, on purpose. Soaking and tearing what was left of his old clothes. He roared, shredding the skin and tendons on his feast. Showing them, for both their reasons, the animal that did not fall below but rather transcended, humanity. The death so alive it transcended life. He fed so hard he drove a broken bone from the man's shoulder through his own wrist and stood calmly, locking eyes with Spike who looked on approvingly, as Dru pulled the shard out with her teeth, licking the healing wound.

Afterwards, when they brought him the clothes he'd asked for, he worried that it might have been the ravenous hunger that inspired him. He wanted to prove the same passion the next time he fed. And he did. And the next. And the next. But still, it was that night he fed alone, for the first time, with no hunger, just because he had the urge, just because he wanted to that helped him prove it to himself.

And that was what he had again. The tendency. . .no, the desire. . .no, the ability to do what he wanted because he wanted. That was what he had lost and what he had never known he had missed. That was what made him Ripper, he now knew. He could and would do what he wanted. Break. Hit. Take. Kill. Feed. Fuck. At a desire, or even at a whim.

Now he knew the truth. It was not a matter of no longer growing old, or growing older. He was born anew and younger than he had ever been. It was time to do the things he had always come so close to and then given up. He would never have to give up anything again. It was like waking and suddenly being able to see new colors.

And to think he had trained the Slayer! A foolish idea. He might as well have trained a book burner, given lessons in destroying paintings or silencing music. He had made it so easy, blind to the fact that he had trained her to destroy the future.

Silly girl. How she whined and complained. How she'd kill and kill and then flip her hair back and go about her life, all the while thinking she was so much better than the hungry vampire she had killed a step out of its temporary grave. A vampire who had not had the time to kill even once, turned to dust at the end of her stake. But oh, she was the hero.

It was the dust that did it. If she had to look at the body after she hadd killed, if it were blood that clung to the stake rather than dust that blew away in the wind, would he have been able to turn her into such an efficient, brutal little machine? No. She wouldn't soak herself in blood for her great cause the way he would just if he felt like it.

He had taught her fear instead of power. But still, she was the Slayer, an eternal danger. To make her safe, he would have to teach her something else. And, oh, but he was the one to do it. He was young again. Younger than she had ever been since the day they'd first seen each other.

Dru stirred against him and ran her razor nails lightly back and forth across his forearm, leaving streaks of red. She turned her head to lick them clean. Ripper ran his ownfingertips from the top of her neck, between her shoulder blades to the edge of the back of her dress, feeling the skin of her lithe form. She reached around and undid the buckles that held the cloth in place.

Her milk white back shone in shadow, with the tone of a candle flame in an old black and white movie. He draggedhis fingertips along her spine, down to the small of her back.

She sat up and straddled his lap, gravity pulling the soft velvet of her dress away and down around her shoulders, revealing her high breasts.

"So soft, such the way to cradle what your hands will seize," she pealed his shirt away from his skin, pulled the cloth taut, and with one of her nails cut the fabric, the two halves pulling away, edges rolling. "Such a prelude, such an overture."

She pressed against him, flesh to flesh, her voice growing husky as she whispered to him, speaking in sounds and fragments, in secrets mystic, sacred and perverse. He felt her nipples stiffen as they were pressed against him, his cock hardening in response.

"Until the howls of the opera begins," she undid his pants, freed his erection and pulled her skirt around her thighs, "and danger," she gasped, "touches danger."

As her tongue filled his mouth, he was momentarily tempted to drop the magick that hid the vehicle, in order that those outside could see the outline of her riding him, as they flew down Interstate 5.

******
Such deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long
And I would build that dome in air!

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but now that they were there, Sunnydale looked pretty much the same. Perhaps a little duller, perhaps a little clearer, but in all ways, a little less.

Just barely midnight and they were under an overpass, in an industrial zone just at the edge of town. No one else would have thought of if as the city line of Sunnydale, but the southern border was right there. Dru sat cross-legged on that borderline, waiting for the signal she told them she would get.

Spike hovered around, smoking a cigarette and occasionally glancing at a group of homeless men further under the bridge. Ripper sat, leaning his back against an abandoned car.

Dru started humming, and rocking back and forth.

"Anything yet?" Ripper called to her.

"No, no, something else. A song that comes to help me wait for the hoofbeats."

"So," Spike said, "what's this plan about, then?"

"Now that I've seen both sides," Ripper paused and laughed, "And then seen this side again, I know what we are fighting against. We're fighting against a hydra."

"A hydra? And here I thought this was California."

"We should have the numbers. Even with the fact that so many of us are turned to dust before we learn what we can do, we should be able to achieve victory in the fact that there can be a lot more of us and only one Slayer. Off course, now there's two."

"So, what we try to bring all the vamps together? I'm not sure I fancy that one. Too many sods who think they're king of the world." He pulled in closer to what he hoped was out of the range of Dru's distracted hearing, "And I'm not bowing down again. I'll take mates, but not masters. Not again."

"Nothing of the sort. My days of bowing are over and there's a Council that will learn that in due time. When I say us, from here on out, I mean the three of us, and anyone we decide to bring along."

"All right, go on, you said a hydra."

"Right when the head of the hydra is cut off, another grows. If we kill the Slayer, another will come. And even if that one is weak, all it means is a shorter time until the next bloody Slayer comes to start problems."

"Sunrise, sunset, so?"

"Time to stop the Slayer without killing her. I know her. And I know the limit and the effect of what she has just seen, and what she's had to do."

Drusilla let out a high-pitched shriek and stood bolt upright.

"Pet?" Spike hoped she hadn't heard enough to be reminded of Angelus, but as she started laughing, he knew it was something else.

"They're here, just crossed the line. Just rode into the home of their friends and their enemies. The two of the dark and the light and the dark and the light."

Ripper pulled out a cellphone, "I put this in the path where that little scavenger would have to find it."

******
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!

"I think I can tell you now, B, this was definitely my second choice." Faith flipped radio stations with one hand and drove with the other, then spun the volume as far to the right as it would go.

"You've told me that four times now," Buffy reached over to turn the volume down by half, "It's a small car."

"Hey, I tried to get you to upgrade to the sports car, or at least the lux, but you wanted the Cavalier. This is my part of the trade-off." She went to turn it back up.

"I'll take care of the radio, try to keep your eyes on the road."

"Mmm touchy. . ."

A sharp ringing interrupted their 'exchange' before it could truly begin. The drive from Los Angeles to Sunnydale had become intolerable to both of them for opposite reasons and they had been happy to see the corporation limit sign.

"What's that?" Buffy asked.

Faith pulled the cellphone from her backpack. "Found it outside your school before I left town. Didn't ring until now. Maybe now I get to find out the number. Hello."

"Umm, hello," a rather familiar, British-accented voice on the other end responded, "who is this?"

"You called me, who are you?" Faith smiled slightly as Buffy shook her head.

"Is this Faith?"

"Yeah,"

"Oh, this is Rupert Giles. I thought I was calling Willow's phone."

Faith tried hard not to laugh, "Uh, yeah, you did. I found it."

"Oh, uh, good. I've just gotten back and I was wondering if you knew where Buffy was."

"Yeah, she's right next to me. Hold on." Faith held the phone out without looking, "Party's over, B. Your Watcher."

"Buffy, I just got back into town. The Council has given me some very important. . .umm, insight into recent events."

"I sorta just got back myself."

" I know it's late, but could you meet me at the library in say, about two hours?"

"I'll be there."

"There's a green lockbox in my living room. If you could swing by and pick it up for me, I'd appreciate it. The third rock on the left in the garden, by the door is fake, and there's a spare key in it."

"Right deliver and meet."

"I appreciate it, Buffy. I think you'll actually find this information to be quite a relief."

As soon as they hung up, Faith broke the silence. "You know what this means, right?"

"Back to the nightly grind, the old stalk and stake."

"Yeah, and I don't get to keep the phone."

*****
And all who heard should see him there,

The rain had started just as they were pulling up to the school and now it was coming down in torrents. Dru seemed entranced by it, staring out the window at the play of lightning and reflection. They were almost done in the library anyway and Ripper had kept watch on the time. 1:42 AM, they had another half hour before Buffy and Faith would get there. They had set boxes at the door with herbs, candles and stones. Ripper only needed one book--he could come back for the rest later--and dropped that into the box as well.

"Now for the fun part." Ripper jumped up and grabbed the metal casing of the florescent lights, using it to pull himself up to his chin. "Time to wreck the place." He jerked it down and pulled it half from the ceiling as he landed back on his feet.

Spike laughed and pushed one of the bookcases sideways. It crashed through the railing, landing on edge. Ripper shoved it over the rest of the way, breaking the table where he had led so many meetings during that second former life.

"I thought this place needed to be pretty." Dru scattered papers and displays from a table, then threw her head back, and yelled toward the ceiling. "Come rain, spirits."

While they'd planned on being quiet, the excitement overtook them and they laughed and joked until perhaps they had made it a bit too chaotic.

"All right, we should be going. One last thing." He found his old rolodex and put it in an obvious place on the floor, ripping out one last page. Then he found the book and put it underneath the rolodex. He glanced once at the title--A Bloody Time in Whitechapel.--and then turned out the lights behind him.

They ran out to the DeSoto through the rain and Ripper slid behind the steering wheel. Spike had thrown his duster over the box and then he and Dru piled into the backseat with it. While trashing the library, Ripper had told them the rest of the plan, and they were in high spirits, barely able to contain their laughter.

"The lightning should be black for us tonight, but this will do," Dru said running her fingers excitedly through her wet hair, "and soon, all the lightning will be black."

When they got to the house they had to remind themselves to be quiet and not to burst out laughing. Ripper had put his jacket and glasses back on, for the last time, he assured himself.

"I've seen the rain," Dru said, "But I don't want to miss this. It's a miracle and I want to see her take her first steps."

"Don't worry, pet," Spike said quickly over his shoulder, "We'll get you in."

When Joyce answered the door it looked as if she hadn't slept much, if at all, despite the hour. In fact, it looked as if she hadn't slept much in days.

"Oh, Mr. Giles. Have you. . ."

"Don't worry, Joyce, we just found her."

"Oh, is she. . .how?"

"She's fine. She's back in Sunnydale, and she'll be here soon."

"Oh, thank God!" Joyce turned around and walked into the foyer. The two men following closely behind. Ripper made her turn with a sharp, "um."

"What is it?"

"Oh, a friend of ours," he pointed back towards Dru, "It's raining and she's afraid she's going to track mud into your house."

"Oh, honey," Joyce turned, and looked Dru in the eyes, "Don't stand out in the rain, just wipe your feet and come on in."

Dru dragged her stiletto heels against the word 'welcome,' and crossed the threshold.

Spike put the box heavily on the coffee table. As they walked into the living room.

"So what happened to her?" Joyce said, pulling at her robe.

"She was just upset, but she's back, safe and sound. She should be on her way here soon."

"When that girl gets here, she and I are going to have a serious. . ."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that."

"No, it definitely needs to be done. . .and what's in the box?"

"Oh that, well," he took off his glasses as if to clean them and then dropped them on the floor as he stepped closer to her. "Something I'll have to show you later." He was standing very close to her, her legs pressed into the side of the sofa. "And one other thing, don't ever call me that again." His face contorted into the countanance of his nature as he drove his fangs harshly into Joyce's neck.

When she had nearly faded completely, he cut is arm, and pressed her lips against it. He knew what she was feeling as she, almost trance-like, drank deeply. It was the sensation of death frozen in time, of life being discarded in favor of that which surpassed life. Her eyes fluttered and she fell backwards onto the sofa.

"All right, get the box. We'll lay her out here in the living room."

Spike pressed the bottom of his boot against the coffee table, and shoved it across the room. Dru and Ripper laid Joyce out on her back on the carpet, her arms folded across her chest. Ripper stood at her head with the book in his hand, while Spike lit black candles around the body and Dru prepared a brazier for the herbs.

"You see," Ripper said, turning pages. "This has always been our other problem. That delay that leaves us exposed to attacks as soon as we rise."

"Not right," Dru crawled along the floor and then lay on her side, staring at Joyce through the flame of one of the candles, "She should feel it close around her, feel her way fighting through."

"Oh, but she will, all that time condensed into a quarter hour, into one fever dream of struggle. All that. . ." he threw a pinch of grave dust into the air, that settled over Joyce's face, "will be part of her."

They linked hands over Joyce, and Ripper intoned, "Vos adveho , vos consurgo. Volito , quod concipio vestri fatum!" A chant that continued, as the lightning and thunder outside seemed to fall into rhythm.

*****
And all should cry, "Beware! Beware!"

The rental slid to a stop outside of the high school, near the entrance Buffy knew Giles unlocked at night when they had to meet.

"So," Faith pushed the door into the back of the library, "Let's see what the old man has for us." When she and Buffy stepped into the room, they stopped short, "Shit!"

Buffy ran into the library, calling Giles' name. Faith drew a stake and followed.

"Check the back."

"Got it."

Buffy searched around and underneath the toppled shelves, not knowing how she felt when she found nothing but more damage underneath them.

"Nobody back there, but it's completely trashed. A lot of the weapons are gone and it looks like they were getting into his magic stuff when they had to leave.

"They've got him somewhere."

"Yeah, but we're not getting a lot of answers here."

"There's got to be something."

They searched, Faith getting angrier and Buffy becoming more tense with each minute.

"B," Faith said after a few minutes, "look at that."

"What?"

"That address thing on top of that book. I mean, this place is a disaster area and they're just sitting like that in the middle of the floor without being knocked over."

"We're supposed to follow the breadcrumbs," she picked up the book and read the title aloud, "A Bloody Time in Whitechapel."

"That's not much. When you talked to him on the phone, did he say anything that might give us a hint what he was looking into."

"No, he just said. . .the phone!" Buffy snapped to her feet, still holding the book, and pulled the phone out of Faith's hand. She looked at it, then screamed in realization. With a second scream, she threw the phone across the room.

"Hey, I was supposed to give that back to Willow. . .I mean, I don't know if I am, but. . ."

"Willow didn't lose her fucking phone!"

"What are you talking about?"

Buffy tried to answer, but just sank to the floor, crying. When she had gone to Los Angeles, she had been trying to escape a nightmare. She'd thought that coming home might be waking up, but now, in one burning moment of white-hot clarity, she saw that it was a false hope.

Her crying subsided and she pulled her knees to her chest. She heard Faith's voice.

"What's going on, B?" She felt Faith's hands, one on her shoulder, one on her back. Had she any control, she would have never cried in front of Faith.

Buffy was staring into the middle difference, directly in front of her and when she spoke, her voice was flat and drained.

"I never really saw him when I got there. I heard Spike yell something that he had escaped as he ran and I had bigger things. . .I thought. . .to worry about. Then I got the message from him, that he had gone to England to research. I felt alone, felt sorry for myself, but they must have gotten him then."

"You mean he's been a prisoner for that long? But when he called, he sounded. . ."

Buffy shook her head and stood up. She walked over to the broken table and ran her fingers over a long gash gouged into the wood. She thought about the times they had sat around that table. About the thing he had told her, the dangers that he had warned her about, but she had brushed off. She thought about the things she said to him, and sometimes how she had said them.

"He left that phone for you to find. They turned him. . .Giles. . .he's. . .they made him one of them."

"How do you know?"

"That book. Whitechapel, Jack the Ripper. He used to be called Ripper a long time ago. . .let's just say if he's a vampire now, that's what he'd call himself."

Faith picked her stake up and threw another to Buffy, "We've gotta go."

"What do you mean?"

"We've got to stop him. Think about what he can do and how much he knows, about you, about all of us!"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I can't. Not again."

"Again? What's going on here, B?"

"Look, I just had to kill someone I loved. I know you can't understand that, but . . . I had to look at him and then. . ." she choked back the tears. "I can't do that again, not to anyone I care about. I didn't go to Los Angeles for vacation, Faith. I went there because I wanted to be dead and it was that or do it for real. I wanted to be someone else, someone who didn't have to kill, someone who had never had to. I know this is some big game to you, but it isn't. I've lost too much. They must have known."

"Look, you have to do this. If you don't, I will."

"No. You won't."

"What, you're going to stop me?"

"I'm not going to let you kill him."

"You can't kill what's already dead. And to stop me, you'll have to kill me. Now whether we drive there together or fight it out, let's go, right now. We don't have time for this!"

"'Can't kill what's already dead' what a load of crap!" Buffy snapped around to Faith, her eyes and face red, half in sorrow, half in fury. "You have no idea what it's been like for me! You have no idea what I'm going through!"

Faith's backhand was hard enough to send Buffy sliding across the floor, sprawled through the debris of scattered books.

"You can go to hell, B!" Faith stood over, her fists clenched so hard it formed white lines of stress along the sides of her hands. "Maybe you've had the most to lose, but it's only because you've had the most! Maybe I don't know what it's been like for you, but there's a lot of things in my life that I wish I had back. Maybe it's hard for you to realize, but when something is gone, it's gone forever. I'm going to do what has to be done. What you know in your heart has to be done."

When Buffy stood up, Faith wasn't sure if she was going to hit her back. She wasn't sure if she might not just let her, but instead, she started crying again. Not the wracking sobs that had shaken her earlier, but calm tears that ran slowly down her face. "I know. . .I know."

"Look, B, he's already gone. He was dead as soon as whichever one it was that drained him was finished. He just doesn't know it. I didn't know him that well, but I know two things. He was a good man and everything that was good in him died that night. Everything that made him what he was. And I know he wouldn't want it this way. He trained you for this. He wouldn't want anything to happen to us and you know what he could do. To us, to Willow, to Xander, any of us. He wouldn't want them to use his body to do those things. You ready?"

Buffy nodded, "but we still don't know where they are . . .The rolodex! If the book had something to do with it, maybe that does too."

"I'll check," Faith picked up the rolodex and started looking through it, "oh, and sorry about the pimpslap over there."

"Don't worry about it. Sorry about calling you a heartless bitch."

"You didn't."

"Oh, I meant to."

"Hey, it's five-by-five," Faith looked up from the rolodex, "and thanks. Hey, I'm in the S's, did he have your number in here?"

"I'm sure he did."

"Not anymore."

"But if he wanted us here, why would. . .oh no. . .Mom!"

*****
His flashing eyes, his floating hair.
Weave a Circle 'round him thrice

When they finally skidded to a stop, Buffy barely closed the car door before she was running up the steps.

Faith noticed the door had been left unlocked, but Buffy didn't as she kicked her way through. Inside, the house was dark. Buffy stopped in the hallway, not sure which way do go and Faith was behind her standing in front of the hall closet when it burst open and Spike pinned Faith to the side of the staircase, while Dru shoved Buffy into the living room. She scrambled to her feet as the light switched on.

He stood in a white T-shirt and faded jeans, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth and a pair of eyeglasses crushed under his left boot. She looked into his eyes, at the smile on his face and knew it wasn't Giles.

Behind her, Faith tried to stake Spike, but her aim was off and her arm went between the slats of the staircase railing. Spike unleashed a spin kick that hit her in the back of the head, forcing her shoulder through railing with a sickening crack.

Buffy lunged at Ripper, but he half dodged, half floated back.

"Welcome home, Buffy. You had us dreadfully worried." His voice was a mockery, like a bad impression of the Watcher she'd known. Her rage overcame her tactics as she lunged again. He sidestepped and grabbed her hair, sending her hurtling backwards into the wall. "Don't be so hasty. There's someone who's been dying to see you again. . .Joyce, honey. . ."

Joyce walked in from the kitchen, dressed in her fanciest blue dress, her voice light and clear. "Buffy, it's so good to have you back."

Buffy stood, leaning on the wall for support as her mother stepped between her and Ripper.

"Mom, get out of the way. You don't know what's going on."

"I think I should. I think I should know what's going on in my own home."

Ripper came up and put is hand on Joyce's shoulder. "Smile for your daughter."

Joyce's face contorted into the unmistakable ridges of a vampire. Buffy raised her stake in reflex and then stopped, frozen. Staring at her mother, at the stake in her hand and at the one thing she couldn't. . .could never. . .do.

She was brought out of her shock by Faith's voice, calling for help. Spike held the other woman's arms behind her head while Dru playfully scratched at Faith's stomach. Buffy tried to get to her, but Joyce blocked the way and Ripper knocked the stake from her hand. It fell uselessly on the carpet with a dull thud.

"I think your mother has something to tell you, Buffy," Ripper's voice dripped with sarcasm and false concern. He walked to where Dru and Spike held Faith, his hands crackling with white energy as he mumbled something in a language she didn't recognize. "Go ahead, Joyce. Tell your daughter how you feel."

"You shouldn't have run away." Joyce snapped, walking towards Buffy until the Slayer found herself in the corner of the room. "You shouldn't have left me here to worry about you. You had responsibilities, Buffy and you never seemed to like them. Didn't you think that I might need you?"

"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm sorry."

Faith threw herself backwards, slamming Spike into the wall, making him lose his grip. She couldn't find a stake, so she kicked Dru away. She grabbed a broken piece of the wood from the staircase and charged at Ripper.

"I don't think so." Ripper snapped around and made a motion with his arm, like throwing an uppercut. The glow left his palm and flew out and up towards Faith, catching her squarely in the midsection. The dark haired Slayer doubled over and was lifted into the air, before smashing through the dining room table.

Spike pulled Dru back as she crawled onto the prone Slayer, trying to bite, "Let's get out of here while we got the chance, Ducks."

"Yes," Ripper, said, grabbing Joyce with one hand and her key ring with the other. "Mission accomplished, as they say. Been great fun, Buffy. We'll have to do this again."

Buffy walked slowly to the door and watched in silence as three, now four, vampires ran to the DeSoto. She walked down the hall, not noticing her tears; half-hoping they would wait for her. There was a sound as Faith rolled back and then snapped herself to her feet. She was still unsteady and fell to one knee, grabbing the wood where she dropped it.

Buffy blocked her way. "They're gone."

"Get out of my way."

"We won't catch them."

"Give me the keys to the car."

Buffy put her hands to her sides. "They must have fallen out," she lied.

"I'll take the SUV," Faith shoved Buffy to one side, darting past.

"But they took. . ." she followed Faith out and watched in horror as the other Slayer smashed the driver's side window with a garden stone and pulled it open. She reached under the dashboard to hotwire it.

Buffy stood in the slackening rain as the DeSoto turned the corner and sped by again. He was still trying to lead them around. The SUV roared to life, and Faith spun it around to give chase. When she was gone, Buffy walked over to the rented Cavalier and opened the door. She sat down and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. This was it. She knew it. She knew what she had to do.

She started the engine, pointed it towards the corner and waited. She knew that Ripper had them still going in circles. As she saw the gleam of headlights reflected on the road, she gunned the engine, the wheels squealing on the wet pavement.

She timed it perfectly. Just as the DeSoto passed, she rammed the car right into the rear fender of the SUV, right above the tire. She vaguely saw Faith jerk the wheel as the side of the SUV lifted. As the hood flew up in Buffy's face and she hit the brakes, the ruined car came to a stop. She wasn't looking at the smoke coming from the engine, but out the back window, at the SUV flipping twice and then sliding into a tree on the roof.

What had she done? She knew, and knew why, but . . . prayed that she'd never have to admit it to herself. As if in a fog, she got out of the car and walked to the wreck, barely seeing the the Cavalier roll slowly down the hill unattended.

Faith lay halfway out of the passenger window in a puddle of water, blood, and broken glass. Her breathing was shallow and blood streamed from her face where it had hit the window. The distant sound of sirens announced that someone had seen the crash. Buffy cradled Faith's head in her hands, brushing a lock of unruly dark hair from the cuts on her forehead and cheek. She only hoped that Faith hadn't seen who had hit her.

****
And close your eyes with holy dread

Hospitals are not only white, the are excessively white. Perhaps it's to show cleanliness to the point of sterility. Perhaps it's because it's a place where truths are spoken in harsh light. Perhaps it's simply to make it easier to find the blood.

Buffy sat at Faith's bedside. In a place like Sunnydale, doctors did not question good news, even when they probably should. They had already said how Faith would wake up, how she would be okay, how lucky she was to be alive after the crash. They had already marveled at how she was already recovering, calling her brave, calling her a 'real fighter'. This time, Buffy didn't smile, didn't feel a slight giggling thrill at not speaking of the advantages of Slayer physiology.

Instead, she stared at Faith. At the bandages on her face, her shoulder, her ribs. At her leg in traction. She wondered if Faith would know what happened, if she would have to ask for forgiveness and if Faith would give it. Then the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Buffy, it's Ripper, don't hang up. I have to congratulate you on that maneuver, I don't think I could have aimed that car any better. I know you're probably being rather hard on yourself, but believe me it's all for the best."

"What are you saying?"

"Well, quite simply, I failed you as a Watcher. Maybe I was too easy on you. If I had trained you well, you would have staked me, and Joyce. Sure, you would have cried later, but a good Watcher would have trained you to be hard as stone."

"You d--"

"No, hear me out. Tonight proved that I was a terrible Watcher, but it all works out. I'm not going to let my failures get the better of me. I was always good at being Ripper and then I gave it up. But, I'm back to who I am, who I always was. So don't take it too hard, we all do the best with what we have. And Buffy, don't worry. I'll take such good care of your mother."

There was no sound of Ripper hanging up the phone. There was only the sound of plastic breaking, as she crushed the receiver in her hand, the sound of small pieces falling to the floor, to be joined by drops of blood from the cuts on Buffy's palm.

Very red on the very white tile.

For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.