31st March 2003
Just over four weeks he’d been coming, at first just two nights a week, but then three, or four, or five, and if Cordelia thought she saw little of Angel before she was having second thoughts now. Every night Spike was at the hotel the two vampires stayed together, either in the office or lurking in the corridors outside Connor’s room. There had been three more attacks, all vampires who, even in gangs, didn’t stand a chance against the pair of them so she guessed that having Spike hanging around was at least keeping Connor safe. But it was disconcerting leaving her room and hearing them talking, sometimes laughing, as their voices filtered up from downstairs.
And she missed him! Cordy wanted to scream that to the moon, somehow rip out her jealous aching heart, and stop the damn pain of being so near him but always tantalisingly out of reach. It had always been there, the distance between them, built of so many years she couldn’t even begin to imagine what living so long could be like. Rooted in a difference she had thought up ‘till now ran only skin deep, but how wrong she was. One night, during the early hours she had tiptoed down the stairs and sat, hidden in the shadows of the wall and listened to them talk. They’d been laughing again and though she couldn’t hear every word she’d heard familiar names; Dru, Darla, London, and oh do you remember Paris. Then they’d stopped and she’d heard the sound of a hurried chat and when they spoke again it was in French, she thought, though it could have been something else and that was when it had hit her, how different they really were.
With a stern frown Cordelia glared in the vanity mirror above her dressing table. She pulled her shoulders back, looked herself straight in the eye and channelled her inner princess.
“I am Cordelia Chase, the nastiest girl in Sunnydale history. I fight for my men, I defied everyone to date Xander Harris, and I am not losing Angel to him. I don’t take crap from anyone, certainly not from ex-punk wannabees with no dress sense. He may have taken my job, but he is not getting my man. So he’d better be ready to pack up and get out, ‘cos Queen C is back.”
Feeling much better, she smoothed out the wrinkles on her silk teddy and returned to applying her mascara.
**
Just over four weeks he’d been coming, at first just two nights a week, but then three, or four, or five, and Wesley had stopped complaining, in fact now they hardly spoke. But Spike didn’t care. There had been three attacks on the kid and each time he’d been there to fight at his Sire’s side and watching the vampires’ faces when they realised just whose turf they’d invaded was worth every frustrated day alone in his bed. And the nights when there was no attack? They were even better, the pair of them sitting and talking, chewing over old times. Laughing at adventures long past, because despite what everyone believed it wasn’t always murder and mayhem. Somewhere on the edges of his mind he was conscious that Cordelia knew and was jealous, one night she’d listened to them from the stairs until Angel had noticed. And hadn’t that been strange. He’d expected his Sire to go to her, full of reassurances that he would join her soon but he hadn’t, instead he’d suggested they spoke in French to keep the details from prying ears.
But he missed him! In all those long nights Angel had never touched him, and being so close and yet so far away from his goal was tearing him apart. And when he stayed after dawn and saw the way his Sire laughed and joked with the humans, Spike felt his heart wrench in his chest. Why would Angel want him, a loathsome creature of the dark, when he had them, each one a packet of sunlight waiting to be unwrapped? How could he compete with Cordy, with her sun-warmed skin and pulsing life? They may be family he and Angel, but they were different creatures under the skin despite their years in common.
The bottle of vodka was cold, even against his room temperature skin and he downed a healthy swig before looking again at the clothes in the wardrobe. He might be love’s bitch but it could never be said that Spike let his lovers go without a fight. Dru had stayed with him long after their relationship should have failed all because he became the demon she wanted, and wasn’t he the man that had thrown himself against the fortress of the Slayer’s heart until it had finally fallen and let him in. Squaring his shoulders he pulled out a light blue sweater and faded jeans, tonight he was declaring war.
**
Just over four weeks he’d been going, at first just two nights a week, but then three, or four, or five, and he was starting to forget what it was like to share his bed with another. And evenings that had once been full of conversation and discussion were now aching and empty. Granted three vicious attempts on Connor’s life had failed and Angel insisted that it had been Spike’s presence that had saved the day, but Wesley found it hard to believe that there was nothing else. He’d seen the vampires grow closer, their body language relaxed and friendly where once it had been tense and quick to anger, heard them sometimes of an evening chatting and laughing, and sharing stories none but them could comprehend. The final straw had been listening as they compared notes on what they’d been doing during the Great War, something that had happened when his grandfather had been too young to serve his country.
But he missed him! Not the sex, Wesley had been without that for long enough to do anything but appreciate the little that came his way. It was the company he missed, the snarky comments and snide, astute sense of humour, the ever-present music or television that had brought his apartment to life. Yet, the more he watched Spike interacting with Angel and the others at the agency, the deeper his realisation ran that he had never really possessed the vampire. He’d been but a momentary distraction in an eternal life that was destined to be shared with another equally ageless. And of course they must be sleeping together, they were family and Wesley was no stranger to the morals of vampires who made alley cats look chaste, particularly with their own kind.
Pouring his stewed tea into a china cup, Wesley listened to the silence and decided that the time had come. He needed to know one way or the other whether there was anything left between them. With a deliberate hand he penned a note and taped it to the bedroom door where it would be seen when Spike came home. All it said was, ‘We need to talk,’ then he went to bed determined that the morning would see the matter finally resolved.
**
Just over four weeks he’d been coming, at first just two nights a week, but then three, or four, or five, and Angelus was finally quiet. Having his Childe close at hand seemed enough for the demon that resided inside him and for that Angel was desperately grateful, taking every opportunity to spend time with Spike. Talking and reminiscing, raking over old ground that alone would have been painful but when shared became fun. He was still having occasional moments when he seemed to drift off, like one night last week when he’d sensed Cordy listening on the stairs and had been about to go to her, reassure her that he would see her later that morning. The next thing he knew the chat had moved on to Paris and they were speaking French and he wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened. They had foiled three attacks though, each gang of vampires older and more experienced than the last, and finally he had let one escape to carry word that Angelus and Spike held the territory and would tolerate no interlopers. It had been remarkably quiet since and Angel knew they were over the worst.
But he missed him! Those long nights hunting or chatting left him more bereft than he’d thought possible, craving the company of family on more than the intellectual level. His self-control was as ever, stalwart, and he filled his mind with Cordelia at every opportunity, never allowing himself to get too close for fear he would get carried away. He had to keep telling himself that Spike had Wesley now, and when he saw them together in the office, the way they avoided each other’s eyes and deliberately refrained from touching, Angel realised that they had something very special just like he did with Cordelia.
Grabbing the shampoo bottle Angel poured a generously portion into his hand and lathered his hair, rubbing vigorously as he considered the night to come. It had been quiet for over ten days and it seemed a forgone conclusion that Wolfram and Hart had finally given up on sending assassins into the hotel so there was no need for Spike to keep staying over. Tonight he would tell him, explain it was for the best and send him home leaving Angel free to spend the night with Cordelia.
**
It was two in the morning and Angel was out with Gunn clearing a small nest of vamps that the human had identified earlier that day. Spike had been left behind, ostensibly to guard Connor but he’d spent his time getting better acquainted with the hotel. The rambling building seemed designed to confuse the senses and he always found it a challenge finding his way around. Tonight he’d tackled the lower reaches of the structure and had discovered the kitchens. Huge and industrial in scale, obviously rarely used and something of a treasure trove. Several small pieces of exquisite silverware had already found their way into his jacket pocket preparatory to being hocked the next time he was short of cash. Honesty was all well and good but there were things he needed, and AI hadn’t been paying that well in past months, he was owed a little something.
Finally tired of exploring, Spike had found an ashtray and settled down on one of the huge workbenches for a quick smoke and maybe a kip before Angel returned and demanded his presence upstairs. Of course, the fact that his Sire would have to come and find him if he wanted his company just added spice to the situation, the kitchen was the perfect place to start his campaign.
“Spike? Are you down there?” Stupid question. Follow your nose old man. Right, quick review of the goods before he arrives. Tight jeans riding low on the hips - check, T riding up just enough to show a bit of belly - check, sexy as fuck vampire looking ready for a shag with a place to do it - check and check. Trap set, all he needed now was for Angel to come and take the bait.
**
The scent of cigarette smoke led Angel down into the basement and the hotel kitchens. He paused outside the door, peering through the small round window wanting to catch a glimpse of his Childe before he entered, he wouldn’t put it past Spike to have set up some sort of stupid trap specifically designed to yank his chain. The room was in darkness and if it hadn’t been for familiar smells on the air Angel would have considered the place deserted. Pushing the door open slowly, he looked up checking for pans of water or any of the other little tricks he knew Spike was capable of, then entered the room. He stood in silence, looking around blindly and faintly disconcerted that at night this place was too dark for his eyes to pick out details. Then, with a faint click, one corner was awash with white light, illuminating the object of his search like a follow-spot on the prima ballerina.
He was reminded suddenly of one night in Venice when he’d stood at his window and watched the young William as he lay, bathed in moonlight along the parapet of a bridge, curls of smoke rising from his lips lending the illusion of breath to the otherwise still form. Drained of colour, his Childe had presented a captivating monochromic study, the chiaroscuro image sending his artist’s fingers itching for paper and pen. The resultant portrait had held pride of place in his collection until he had regained his soul and in this moment Angel regretted its loss and desired to replace it with another. Was that the moment when he had first fallen for this maddening beautiful man? Angelus, despite all his demonic fury, was certainly the aesthete and always surrounded himself with beautiful things.
When their eyes met, Angel felt the leash tighten round his throat and he was drawn powerless across the floor, clustering memories clashing for possession of his mind. William, in all his incarnations, from bookish young Watcher and poet, through infuriating and disobedient fledgling, all culminating in what lay before him now. Vampire, man, lover, Childe, friend, all contained in a single figure, half hidden in light, the epitome of sensuality and feline grace. And Angel felt himself falling all over again, losing himself in sharp planes and hard lines, and this time his fingers were not desirous of an artist’s impedimenta rather he felt himself the sightless man needing to use his hands to describe and plot every iota of that body.
Thus he found himself standing, enraptured, victim of a casual cruelty being perpetrated on his soul, hands reaching in supplication begging to touch and be touched. Yet when it came, the fire/ice of it took away what little resolve he had left and dashed it to aching pieces. Flesh encountered flesh and their eternal dance began, hands sliding over smooth skin, lips meshing, tongues entwining in a rhythm that veered violently from stately quadrille to demented polka.
Breathless, finally, they broke away, leaning forehead to forehead, eyes cast down and watching fingers that played and twisted, creating random scrawls of shadow and sensation.
“Shouldn't you be with your ladylove?"
“She’s sleeping.”
“Stay with me?”
“Tonight.”
“Forever?”
With that single word the spell was broken. “You know that isn’t possible, Spike.”
“Because you don’t love me.” His voice was full of contempt, for himself, Angel, Cordelia and everything that continually ripped away his chance of happiness.
“I-I didn’t say that.”
And hope was the only thing left. “Do you? Love me?”
“I don’t know.” Hesitation and self-doubt, the lifeline of the desperate man. “I think that maybe I could.”
Silence. What more could possibly be said?
“You’re the closest thing I have to a friend, probably for a hundred years. We have more in common than history and yet…”
“There is still Cordelia.” Flat, emotionless, truth.
“She is my love, my redemption, my humanity, my…everything. When she touches me I can feel my soul and it tells me that one day I will find my way out of the darkness.”
“I can touch you in ways she could never imagine.”
“You can.”
“And moonlight can be as bright as the sun.”
“On a clear night in Venice.”
A small laugh, bubbling just under hysteria. “You remember.”
“Of course. How could I forget?”
“We could have eternity.”
“It’s overrated, believe me.”
“Speaks the one who has a hundred and fifty years on me.”
“You should listen to your elders. I seem to remember pointing that out quite often.”
Silence, growing deeper as it passed. “When she’s gone. Would you be mine then?”
“Gone?”
“Dead, bereft of life, pushing up the daisies. How much more specific do I need to be?”
“She’s young and I don’t think we should be talking like this. It’s…morbid.”
Laughter again, this time with genuine humour. “We’re vampires, mate. I don’t think the normal rules apply.”
“Then accepting the fact that that I find this conversation sick, twisted and more than a little deranged, then yes, maybe, probably.”
Spike nodded at the answer and raised his head, their eyes meeting for the first time since they’d broken their kiss. “It’s enough. I can wait.”
Angel quirked an eyebrow and gave him a considering look. “Wait? You? I didn’t think patience was in your repertoire.”
He got a smirk in return. “I never said I was going to be patient. How about a quick shag to seal the deal?”
“Mmm.” Angel stole a quick kiss before looking around. “Here?”
With an answering grin, Spike held out his hands indicating the room. “Plenty of space, walls, flat surfaces. Need anything else?”
“Just you.”
**
Out in the corridor Cordelia pressed her hands against her mouth holding back the sob that threatened to break free. She’d heard Angel’s return and followed him down into the basement, taking the back stairs in an effort to cut him off and whisk him away before he got settled talking to Spike. Thus she had been witness to everything, from initial greeting through passionate kiss and whispered conversation, and now stood watching as her lover started to shed his clothes for another.
She hadn’t wanted to stay, had tried to block her ears but somehow the acoustics conspired to give her a perfect rendition of their words, and now she had fear residing alongside love in her heart. Angel may have chosen her, but there was no way in hell she was about to fall for Spike’s assertion that he could wait. His history held ample evidence to the contrary and she was prepared to lay money that at this moment his devious little mind was working on some plan that would get her out of the way, permanently.
Both shirtless now, things were progressing apace and before she could second-guess herself, Cordelia barged open the door ready to confront the pair of them. They jerked guiltily apart, grabbing for discarded clothing, obviously taken unawares and reacting like naughty schoolboys caught smoking behind the bike sheds.
Angel was the first to speak. Shock, embarrassment and remorse shining from his eyes in equal measure.
“C-Cordelia.”
Years of being the uber-bitch forged to the surface and Cordy allowed her Queen C tongue to speak for her. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
“It’s not what you think.”
She flipped her palm up in his face. “Talk to the hand, Angel, ‘cos the face don’t wanna know yer.” Hallelujah for Jerry and quiet afternoons.
Lover dismissed she turned her attention to the interloper, who interestingly hadn’t even attempted to defend himself. No matter, she could start a fight as well as the next woman.
“So when’s it gonna be, psycho-boy. Next week? Got one of your fangy pals all lined up ready to take a bite outta me?”
Angel tried to get between them. “Cordy, it’s not like that.”
“You think? Why not ask him.” She turned a gimlet glare on Spike and waited for a response. None came, not from him anyway but Angel was looking from one the other, disbelief turning to horror as he added up the night’s events and came to the wrong conclusion.
With an almost audible snap Angel’s temper broke, and he flew at Spike letting rip with a powerful punch that sent the smaller vampire flying over the workbench and against the far wall. As he paced after him, sending the other scrambling backwards trying to escape, he launched into a tirade as effective as any fist.
“You little shit. I welcomed you back into my home, not at my invitation I might add, and this is how you repay me? Trying to seduce me? Plotting to kill the woman I love? I was wrong Spike, you may have a soul, but I could never love you. You are nothing to me, nothing. A worthless demon I spawned in a moment of madness.”
Finally catching up, he pounced on his prey and slammed him through the door. “Now get out of my house before I change my mind and send you back to hell where you belong.”
Body shaking with rage and contained emotion he turned back to Cordelia and pulled her towards him, wrapping her protests into his chest. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how he does that to me. Please Cordy, I love you so much, I couldn’t bear it if you left…”
Helpless in the face of his abject apology she relented and returned his embrace, both listening to the sounds of retreating feet and banging doors until silence once again enveloped the hotel.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
1st April 2003
It didn’t matter how much he drank it wouldn’t stop. He was three bottles down and still each scene was playing out like a TV show, though why anyone would want to watch such a loser was beyond him. First up then, the one who set the pattern. Dear, wonderful, Cecily, the bitch.
“You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me.”
What fun, reliving the lowlights of his love life. It knocked dreaming about slaughter into a cocked hat. Next? Of course - that damned cantina in Brazil and Dru full of anger and disappointment.
“I can see her floating all around you, laughing.”
“You taste like ashes.”
“You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.”
He’d tried to get her back, tried to be the demon she wanted but he could never be Angelus, didn’t have quite his penchant for mental cruelty.
“What's the matter Spike? Dru dump you again.”
“Maybe I left her.”
“She left him for a fungus demon. That's all he talks about most days.”
“And you can say good-bye to this because you're not gonna see it any more ever. Unless you run into me somewhere and it's me walking away from you.”
Ah, Harmony, god love her. Great rack but couldn’t hold down an argument if someone nailed it to the floor. The history of his great mistakes with the best yet to come. Somewhere in his head a talk show scenario started up and he heard the audience applauding wildly at the next introduction. ‘Next up, ladies and gents, can we all put our hands together for Buffy the vampire slayer!’
“I love you. You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You're in my gut ... my throat ... I'm drowning in you, Summers; I'm drowning in you.”
“Whatever you think you're feeling, it's not love. You can't love without a soul.”
“The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.”
“I want you out. I want you out of this town. I want you off this planet! You don't come near me, my friends, or my family again ever!”
But he’d got her, worn her down, and waited ‘till she was as whacked out as he was and where had that got him.
“You don't have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never be your girl!”
“I'm sorry ... William.”
“Ask me again why I could never love you.”
“Oh god. Buffy... I didn't…”
“Because I stopped you. Something I should have done a long time ago.”
A long last swig to try and wash away the taste of tears and with it came the most recent rejection, fresh angry, searing on his soul.
“I was wrong Spike, you may have a soul, but I could never love you. You are nothing to me, nothing. A worthless demon I spawned in a moment of madness.”
“Now get out of my house before I change my mind and send you back to hell where you belong.”
The bottle fell from his fingers as he slid down the wall and the whole damn show started all over again.
“You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me.”
Was it so much to ask to find someone to love him?
**
“What are you doing?” The vampire hadn’t come back all day and Wesley, finally sick of waiting for him had slipped out to do some shopping. Now he was back and so was Spike, though by the look of the riot in the bedroom, not for long.
“Leaving, what does it look like?” He was shoving clothing into a bag, digging through the piles on the floor and retrieving anything that looked like it might fit.
So, now he knew. “You’re going to him.” However much you expect something it never seems to stop the pain when it finally happens.
“What?”
Spike stopped what he was doing and turned round, the huge bruise on his cheek and jaw becoming visible for the first time. And Wesley realised that what he’d thought was excitement was actually anger and frustration, probably tinged with tears and a hangover if those red rimmed eyes and the stink of stale alcohol were anything to go by.
He stepped forward, reaching out to run gentle fingers over the mark. “Did he do this?”
“S’nothing.” The vampire jerked his head away and turned back to his task. “Had worse.”
“I don’t doubt you have, but why did he do it?”
“No reason.” Bag almost completely full, Spike was reduced to searching under the bed to pair up his socks. He obviously wasn’t prepared to talk about what had happened so Wesley tried a different tack.
“Where are you going?”
“What the fuck has it got to do with you?”
That, on top of the emotional roller coaster he’d been riding all day waiting for Spike to return, sent Wesley over the edge.
“What’s it got to do with me? What has it got to do with me? We’ve been living together for months, been lovers for weeks, and now you’re leaving without so much as an explanation. For god’s sake, Spike, what the hell is going on?”
Anything else he had to say disappeared as he found himself pinned to the wall by an enraged game-faced vampire.
“Is this what you want in your bed human. A blood-sucking demon fit only for hell.”
Despite his obvious anger Spike’s voice was calm, controlled and icy clear, and instead of fear Wesley found his most dominant emotion was sympathy. Again he reached out and this time the vampire did not pull away, allowing him to gently stroke the ridges and furrows of his face. The skin was still soft but underneath the bone was dense and tough, and Wesley remembered reading somewhere about vampires that had withstood sledgehammers in their faces and come away only bruised.
He took a deep breath and looked Spike in the eye refusing to falter. “I know what you are, I know more than I ever wanted to about what you’ve been and what you are capable of. But I also know who you are, and that man I like.”
As if his words had been blows, Spike staggered backward shaking his head, his human features flickering briefly into view before disappearing again behind that demonic visage and Wesley was once again pinned to the wall, this time with the vampire’s fangs scraping against his throat when he spoke.
“So maybe I should change that. Show you exactly what you’ve been fooling with. Any idea how I earned the name William the Bloody, Watcher? It wasn’t just the poetry and it sure as hell had nothing to do with good table manners.”
Wesley swallowed, fear starting to outweigh the sympathy he’d felt. Whatever had happened, Spike was obviously reacting to it very badly and that made him potentially lethal. As fangs penetrated his flesh, parting it gently, time seemed to slow and he felt as it burned, just as it had on the last occasion. A cold fire snaking through the nerves of his neck and upper body. Except, instead of having his blood drained with speedy powerful draughts, this time the vampire took only small mouthfuls, nuzzling in closer and burrowing against his neck like a kitten. He wasn’t even being held tightly anymore but was still unable to move as the sensation twisted into something resembling an intense love-bite.
Body completely beyond his control he felt himself start to harden and Spike responded immediately, pressing his hip into Wesley’s groin, grinding them together and bringing the human’s pulse rate up to an appropriate speed. Abject fear or arousal, either would do and both had the same effect, releasing chemicals into the blood that added flavour but also raising the blood pressure and making feeding so much easier. Really, it was only an added bonus that the human died with a smile on their face. But he wasn’t going to let Wesley die, whatever else the man might mean to him, and however Angel may believe that he was still a killer, this bite was purely for the pleasure of it. A parting gift, something for Wesley to remember him by when the nights got lonely, plus he’d probably pass out so Spike could leave without the inevitable argument.
When the Watcher shuddered against him, came with a desperate whimper and went limp, Spike swept him carefully into his arms and laid him almost tenderly on the bed then, without a backward glance, he picked up his bag and left.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
3rd April 2003
“I said terminate, Lilah.” Linwood slammed his hand on the table to emphasis his point, and she looked up from her papers unmoved by his display of temper. “Would you mind telling me why the boy is still alive?”
“He’s useful.”
“And you would be the right person to decide, yes?”
Resting easily back in her chair and twisting her pen through her fingers, Lilah let her tongue drift across her lips as she contemplated her reply. Was now the right time?
“Mr. Suvarta agrees with me.”
“You spoke to a senior partner?”
“He was really very helpful. Gave me some tips on how to get to the head of the class. Oh, and by the way, he mentioned something about you being moved sideways in the organisation. I believe there was mention made of a particularly nasty hell dimension. Not quite Quor’toth but near there.”
Horror spread across Linwood’s face as he stared at her and she looked on passively as it turned to sudden realisation that he had completely missed her power play on his position. She smiled slowly, smugly, as he wrestled with his fear and lost, finally turning tail and running as if he was being pursued by all the fiends of hell. As Lilah went back to reading the latest surveillance report from AI it briefly occurred to her that it could actually be true.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
5th April 2003
“Don’t - don’t kill me!”
“Give me a reason why not?” Gunn loomed over the small Merle-ish demon, holding his axe strategically against its neck. The damn thing had just waltzed into the office, all dressed up in some kind of repulsive looking outfit and then gone for something out of its leather satchel. He’d reacted as only a vampire hunter can and now the creature was grovelling for its life on the floor of the lobby.
It held out a grubby envelope in a rather shaky hand and said, hopefully, “Post?”
**
“You realise it’s a Federal Offence to harass a postal worker.” There was a big grin on Angel’s face as he watched his colleague return from escorting the terrified demon to the gate.
“How the hell was I supposed to know the postal service were hiring-on demons now.” Somewhat disgruntled Gunn settled back on his seat and stared down at the letter. It was addressed to Mr. W. Wyndham-Pryce, and had no postmark, stamp or return address. In fact the only two things of note were the handwriting, which was overly neat and precise, and the fact that it was distinctly grubby as if it had passed through hundreds of hands on its way.
Angel peered over his shoulder. “It can be useful if you don’t want to be traced. Which would explain why he used it.” The sudden tightness in his voice should have alerted Gunn but he was oblivious.
“He who?”
“Spike. It’s his handwriting.”
“Ahh.”
“Ahh, indeed. Are we going to wait for Wes?”
Lifting his hands well away from the letter Gunn shot an odd look at the vampire. “Hey, you wanna open the man’s post, go ahead but I am not getting involved.”
“I suppose it’s only polite to wait.”
They sat and watched the letter until Wesley arrived. Surprisingly it didn’t do anything interesting.
**
Wes,
Sorry about the bite and run, but I guess you’ve been told by now why I had to go. I don’t know if you believe them or not, I guess it’s up to you and nothing I say is going to make any difference.
Just needed to let you know that the PTB have cottoned on that I’ve moved so everyone at AI can relax, I’m dealing with them in my own way. If you need me, get in touch with the witch, she’ll make sure I get the message.
Thanks for putting me up,
S
Unlike the envelope, the letter was scribbled and full of crossings out leaving the final message a bit garbled. Presumably ‘them’ referred to the visions, which would come as something of a relief for the team. Angel had been furious for two days when Wesley told him about Spike leaving LA, wandering the halls and swearing about idiotic Seers who didn’t understand their responsibilities.
He sighed as he refolded the cheap piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket, then let his hand return to its customary spot on his neck where the wound from Spike’s parting ‘gift’ was still livid and sore. No one at the agency knew what had happened and he wasn’t about to share, they were already convinced that Spike had been plotting to kill Cordelia and once again Fred was muttering about serial killers and leopards not changing their spots. Having been sworn to secrecy he couldn’t even defend his ex and had to suffer their sympathetic murmurings at his ‘narrow escape’.
He should share the good news really, put their minds at rest but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to hurry.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
April/May/June 2003
“Axe.”
“No, sword.”
“Axe is cleaner.”
“Sword. Where is your sense of style?”
“I don’t care what you bloody use, just cut it’s head off before it wakes up.” Throwing his compatriots a disgusted look, Wesley stalked out of the motel room, leaving them to deal with the demon.
**
“Infestation of Neevah’s down in Santa Monica. Angel you’d better handle that, and wear something decent, god knows what they’ll think of us if you wear that.” A file was plopped into his hands and Cordelia moved on to the next job. “Vamps, south central, somewhere between 23rd and Adams. Gunn, Connor, you take this and make sure you get all of them. Remember they’re like rabbits. Leave one alive and by next week we’ll be overrun again.”
That organised she turned back to the three remaining assignments. “Leaving one stake out, one ‘something odd living in my ceiling,’ which could be demonic but is more likely to be rats and a missing girl.” She looked questioningly at Fred who grabbed the stake out. “I guess I get to talk to the family.”
“The ‘rats’?”
“I’ll call them tomorrow and tell them to get an extermination firm. We can’t handle everything Angel; we just don’t have enough people.”
“What about Wes?”
“He’s having a much-deserved night off and I forbid you to call him. Ten days without a break and…don’t you dare say a word, homeboy, it’s your turn next week.”
**
“Cordy, where’s the Forster file?”
“Try at the bottom of the big pile marked pending. Either that or one of the ones on the floor.”
**
“Need to sleeeep.”
“Wes, wake up man. Hey! Someone grab this guy a coffee, I’ve gotta go.”
**
“Angel, we’re dangerously over-stretched. There has to be someone we can contact for extra help.” They kept having the same argument and each time the result was the same. Despite his best attempts Angel would still not hear of Spike returning to the fold, not that the other vampire had shown any interest in returning, their sporadic communications were brief, concise and devoid of anything resembling feelings. Maybe he should follow his instincts and just invite the other vampire back. The others would have to deal with it after the fact.
**
Spike,
Just a quick note. No time for anything else. Anytime you feel like coming back would be good. Business is booming and we could use an extra set of fangs - and I certainly don’t hold a grudge. For what it’s worth I think even Cordelia would welcome you back right now. Her and Angel are faring no better than the rest of us and we could all use about a week’s sleep.
Have to go. Another job just came up.
W
PS. You know you are always welcome to stay with me.