23rd June 2003
Linwood’s problem was he never really saw the bigger picture; sitting pretty in his little - okay - huge office, which now belonged to her, he’d ended up thinking in straight lines, an unforgivable sin for a lawyer. The file was huge but Lilah was only interested in the last few entries and she perused then thoughtfully. Things were going well; the agency had been virtually overwhelmed in the last few weeks and it had cost less to pull off than all of Linwood’s efforts individually. In the next few days they’d be ready to move on to phase two, when she finally got to have her revenge on Angel.
She tapped the intercom, passed on her instructions and sat back to wait for her guest to arrive.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
25th June 2003
“Whatcha doing tonight, honey?” Connor glanced up from his seat on the couch as Fred spoke and gave her a broad smile.
“Pizza and a movie. Dad’s taking me to a drive-in, something violent and bloody he said. You wanna come?”
She settled beside him and looked at the book he was reading, “No, thanks. Charles and I already have plans. Oo, Sherlock Holmes, isn’t that the story where the snake comes down the bell rope over the bed, and they have to kill it before it kills the girl and it ends up biting the man and…”
Her voice drifted off when she saw Connor’s brow knit with confusion. “I guess you haven’t got to that part yet.”
He yawned hugely and rubbed his face with his hands, submitting to her cuddle when she reached for him. “Poor baby. You should tell your Dad to give you more time off, get some sleep. You’re a growing boy.”
“Leaving us with even more work.” It was an exhausted looking Gunn that joined them and slumped onto the couch groaning as if every joint in his body ached.
“Faith?”
He shook his head and grunted. “Still too busy. And now she’s got a new honey to keep her amused.”
“What about Lorne?” They were getting desperate for extra bodies, for all that the anagogic demon was not a fighter, right now they’d settle for another pair of hands just to man the phone.
“Girl, you can call him. And I wish you better luck than I had. That green mother ain’t gonna leave Vegas even if we declare the next apocalypse.”
“Well then, we should all make the most of our rare but wonderful evening to ourselves. I still can’t believe we’ve all managed to get a night off like this.” Fred stood and dragged her lover to his feet, ignoring his complaints. “Come on. You promised me a nice hot bath with lots and lots of back rubbing.”
Half an hour later, Connor went upstairs to wake Angel and Cordelia who were curled up together fast asleep.
**
“The thing is, Connor, it’s all a computer program. None of it is real. That’s why those guys, the ones in suits, can move like that.”
The teen slid down in his seat, feeling tired and pissed off. He’d been hoping to see the sequel to ‘The Fast and The Furious’. The cars were fascinating and the violence gritty and realistic, plus the soundtrack was ‘kick-ass’. But Angel has chosen ‘The Matrix: Reloaded’ and now he was being subjected to the sequel of a movie he’d grown to hate when working for Wolfram and Hart. Lilah had provided it with a ‘kids today’ speech that left him wondering if she’d ever been under thirty. Worse yet, he’d had to listen to his father’s patronising attempts to explain the damn thing when he obviously didn’t understand it himself and, in Connor’s opinion had entirely missed the point, that reality was merely a construction of the mind, and…
Anyone other than a vampire would have missed the sound of the silenced gunshot, but even a human would have felt the warm blood and brain matter as it spattered across his face and for a brief second Angel went blank. Nothing happened - total silence, darkness, sensory deprivation - then reality pounded back in. Connor’s body falling lifeless and twitching into his lap, gushing blood covering his hands, pants, the seat of the car. Screams pouring from surrounding vehicles as people realised that someone had been shot, figures running, some to help, others to escape, cars revving and pulling away, tires screeching across the lot and throwing scads of grit against metal. The wail of sirens, police, paramedics, doors slamming, voices shouting, questions thrown from one to another, and Connor’s body being lifted away, out of his arms.
And then he could taste the tears, realised some of the yelling had been him and that someone was asking if he was okay.
They’ve taken my son.
**
“How’s he doing?”
“I think he’s numb. I tried to get him to shower, wash off the blood and stuff, but he won’t. He hasn’t even cried.”
Fred looked nervously down at her fingers resting on the counter. “It’s like after Connor was stolen. He just stayed in his room, wouldn’t talk to anyone. Of course that was after he tried to open a portal and kidnapped the lawyers and tortured them and put that big pentegrammy thing on the floor of the lobby and…” Her voice disintegrated as she broke down into sobs.
Cordelia put her arms around her friend and let her cry; at least one of them was able to mourn the boy that had buried himself so deeply in all their hearts.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
27th June 2003, Somewhere in Western Missouri
He pulled out of the truck stop and onto the highway, the truck juddering slightly as he changed gears, and the white lines soon merged under his wheels into a continuous stripe. Ted flicked on his radio and settled back in his seat, refreshed from his coffee and looking forward to getting across the state line and into Topeka before dawn. His headlights lit up the highway ahead for several hundred yards and in the distance he spotted a figure hovering near the edge of the verge, flagging him down. There was no sign of a breakdown or a smash so it was a fair bet that the kid was after a ride and he had no intention of stopping. Until a small voice in his head pointed out that ‘anything’ could happen to someone alone out here and ‘how would he live with himself’ if he heard it on the local news tomorrow. Cursing his conscience, he changed down, indicated and brought the truck to a shuddering halt on the gravel.
There was no sign of the hitcher in his mirror and for a moment he wondered if he’d been seeing things, blaming bad coffee and sugar from the doughnuts he’d eaten. Then the nearside door was yanked open, a holdall was thrown inside and the man, older than he’d originally thought but still at least twenty years younger than he was, climbed in. They stared at each other in silence, each weighing the other up, considering the implications of what they’d committed to, until Ted held out his hand.
“Hi. The name’s Ted. Where you headin’, boy?”
His hand was regarded suspiciously for a moment, then taken in an icy cold one and a grin spread over the dark haired man’s face lighting up his blue eyes.
“Anywhere south and west, mate, if that’s all right with you.”
“Hey, you’re English.” Something of an Anglophile at heart, Ted was cheered at the thought of sharing the next leg of his trip with someone from that quaint little country.
The only reaction he got was a quirked eyebrow and a slow, studied, “Yeah?”
“I bet you know a friend of mine, name of Bill. Lives in a little place called Newcastle.”
A small groan came from the passenger seat, but it was lost in the roar of the engine as the truck pulled away.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
28th June 2003
‘They’ve taken my son.’
“Angel. The funeral’s in two hours, honey. Come on, you’ve got to get ready.”
She was trying to be gentle and not force him to move, but Angel just couldn’t respond. He felt numb. Had done since the police had brought him home and Cordy had helped him up to his room. The smell of Connor’s blood was still in his nose, the feel of his dead weight on his legs and he just wanted to stop… make all the pain go away and just stop.
‘They’ve taken my son.’
‘That’s right, Angel. You can stop. Just step back and let me take over. I’ll take the pain away.’
Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Angel’s eyes come back into focus and she squatted in front of him, enclosing his large hands in her smaller ones. “Hey there, mister, how yer doing?”
An odd smile spread over his face and she answered it with a tentative one of her own. This wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting but people reacted in odd ways to grief.
“Cordelia.” He purred, “Wanna to scrub my back?”
**
The waxing moon was strong over the graveyard, its light shifting the images into abstract shapes and patterns, here the shadow of an angel, there, just the faintest hint of a tree. Centre stage a small figure hunched over a grave, fingers tracing the name of a loved one on the cold stone, the night casting demented shadows that twisted away only to be lost in deeper darkness. A perfect target for a lurking vampire and he brushed mindlessly at his mouth to clear a small dribble of saliva that had sprung from taste buds denied the immediate flavour of blood. Painfully slowly, careful not to disturb brush or twig for fear of alerting his prey he stalked toward her, fingers already curling in anticipation of the sudden lunge/grab that would bring a delicious morsel into his fatal embrace. Six feet away he paused, savouring the moment before…
“Tell me, is it dying that makes you guys dumb or what? Didn’t you find it just the teeniest bit suspicious? Lone woman, deserted graveyard, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
The vampire straightened up in surprise, just in time to catch a punch to his jaw that sent him cart-wheeling over the nearest gravestone to land with a thud flat on his back. A slim blond woman - who smelled absolutely fantastic - immediately straddled him and plunged a stake into his chest, standing up with a satisfied nod when he exploded into dust.
“The Slayer scores again and the vamps have yet find the end zone.”
“Huh. Have you been watching football with Xander again?” Willow stood up and brushed the dirt off her skirt. She didn’t mind being bait, but sometimes Buffy tended to forget that playing the victim was almost as tiring as dusting the vamps.
“Does it show?” Buffy patted at her hair as if her covert viewing of sports was somehow reflected in her appearance.
“Only when you open your mouth, sweetie.”
The blond sighed at her words. “I so need to get a life. Hey, you don’t know any cute college guys who, and I can’t stress this enough, don’t have evil professors controlling them.”
Willow laughed at her pathetic whine and Buffy joined in, the pair weaving their way back through the gravestones towards the road and home. “So speaking of our favourite carpenter, when are we going to tell him?”
A pall fell over them at the mention of recent events and the Slayer pulled her coat tightly around her body. “I’m not sure we should. I mean he did say he didn’t wanna hear. Not a word about LA he said.”
“But this is different. Connor’s dead and I’m sure he’d wanna…I don’t know, send a card or something.”
“Whatever.”
And that was as far as the discussion ever got. Although things were infinitely better than before, Buffy still didn’t like talking about LA, and any mention of the LA gang, specifically Angel sent her into an immediate funk. The Witch sighed, it was bad enough when Angelus had got out in Sunnydale but his most recent appearance had made things that much worse, threatening Dawn was a definite no-no to any one that wanted to stay the Slayer’s friend, as she knew to her cost.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
15th July 2003
The papers scattered to the floor and Wesley didn’t have the energy to actually pick them up, his body felt wrung out and his mind was numb, the last few weeks had been exceedingly trying on both. It was getting beyond a joke. Okay, everybody knew that grief was difficult and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how much pain Connor’s death had given Angel, but that really was no excuse for the vampire’s behaviour. First, he’d continually confronted Wesley at the hotel demanding that the Watcher tell him where Spike was, and when he’d told him he had absolutely no idea, the vampire kept ranting and raving, accusing Wesley of stealing ‘his boy.’ Honestly if he didn’t know it was impossible, Wesley was almost ready to believe that some odd version of Angelus was back.
Since then he not been going into work as often, choosing to bring translations and research home instead, convinced that Angel was unlikely follow him back to the apartment. In fact, he’d gone as far as to pick up the ingredients for a de-invite spell, but hadn’t actually performed it, feeling somehow that taking that final step was admitting there was something seriously wrong. When he’d got back this afternoon it turned out to be too late, Angel was waiting for him and, although much calmer than he had been, proceeded to pump Wesley for every bit of information about his former lover. After so many weeks shying away from even mentioning Spike’s name for fear of Angel’s reaction, this new attitude was to say the least, strange.
The telephone ringing forced him to move and he dragged himself to the desk and grabbed it up, it was Gunn.
“Wes, my man. What yer doing?”
“Nothing. Really.”
“Good. Get your pansy ass back here and bring some more stakes. We’ve got a problem.”
“Angel?”
“What? No. Some vamp’s been busy and we’ve got a whole bunch of fledges in the sewers round the hotel. What the hell made you think of Angel?”
“Oh, nothing.” Just that he scared the shit out of me earlier, and he’s started referring to Spike as ‘his boy’.
“Whatever. Just get moving. This one’ll take all of us.”
**
“S-sire?” Muttered words that thankfully dissipated as quickly as the vampire’s dust. He needed to be more damn careful, chose humans further away from the hotel so they didn’t set up shop right on his doorstep. A voice shouting him from nearby caused him to swing his head round, demon face fading as he prepared to greet his pets.
“Angel. You all done down there?”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
20th July 2003
Fred hummed tunelessly as she moved around the kitchen making dinner. For the first time since Connor’s death she was feeling happy, Charles was making noises about their relationship becoming official and although she’d never considered herself the marrying kind, the idea of a ring on her finger was strangely satisfying and she knew her parents would be pleased. The front door opened and closed and then he was there with her, arms round her waist and holding…a box?
“What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
She did and nestled inside the velvet lining was an exquisite ring, gold set with tiny rubies and seed pearls.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was just a little breathless and she stroked the jewellery with a trembling finger.
“Yeah? It’s not new. I mean, it was my grandma’s and she left it…” His words were lost when she captured him for a kiss, soothing away his worries that a second hand ring wouldn’t be good enough for his girl. When Fred finally released him, she smiled that wonderful lopsided smile that made his heart scrunch up in his chest, and added words that made him fall in love with her all over again.
“I said it’s beautiful and I’m honoured to have something that belonged to such a wonderful woman.”
God, he loved this girl.
**
Several hours later, well fed and content, he remembered to mention what had been nagging at him for days.
“Fred? Did you see Cordy’s arm the other day?” The three quarter sleeved shirt she was wearing had ridden up when she’d reached past him to get her coffee revealing a livid purpling bruise.
“What?”
“The bruise. It looked like she’d been thumped.” More than that, it was the way she had pulled the sleeve down to cover it again that bothered him, and the way she’d avoided his eyes as she did it.
“I think we’ve all got bruises, honey.” Fred snuggled into his side and soon drifted off to sleep, leaving him restless and far from reassured, every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother.
**
“Quiet, baby, I got yer.” He held Alonna in his arms, and the pair of them huddled in the cupboard desperately trying not to hear what was happening outside. His sister’s tears were leaving wet blotches on his PJs and he hugged her tightly, murmuring quietly in her ear, turning words into a lullaby their Mamma sang to them sometimes. Slowly she relaxed and her breathing changed. She was asleep and he was glad, she shouldn’t have to listen while it happened. He had no such succour and his mind couldn’t help providing the images that went along with the words and the curses and the sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh and then walls.
The next morning, he took his sister away, to his Gramma’s house and the old lady had taken them both in, loved them like they were her own and gave them a place they could call home. Until she opened the door to wrong man one day, a man who told her he was from the school and needed to talk to her about Charlie who was having problems in class. He knew that was why she’d invited him in, ‘cos she’d told him a week later just before he’d staked her.
**
‘You will leave Wesley alone.’
‘Hush now, I’m taking care of things.’
‘Angelus, listen to me. I gave up control to you but I can still feel you, what you’re doing. You will not hurt Wes. I’ve hurt him enough already.’
‘I promise. No hurting the Watcher. Back to sleep, Angel.’
‘And Cordelia. Look after her for me.’
‘She’s getting all my attention. Nothing is too good for our girl.’
‘Good. And Angelus?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you for making it not hurt any more.’
‘My pleasure, Angel, entirely my pleasure.’ The demon purred as he felt Angel’s consciousness receding from his mind. For a brief moment, he’d worried that Angel had realised what was really happening, but if it was only the Watcher he was concerned about then he was in the clear for now. He had no intention of keeping up his hunt for his boy, it was obvious that William didn’t want to be found right now and he was patient, he could wait. And in the meantime, he rolled over and slid his arms round Cordelia’s naked waist, running his tongue across the silvery scar on her shoulder; he had something equally tasty to play with.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
27th July 2003
He could hear the door vibrating in its frame under the battering and he was fairly sure all his neighbours were awake, and…
“Hang on, ‘m coming.” It was three o’clock in the morning. What sort of idiot bangs on someone’s door at three a.m., unless it’s Buffy. Xander’s dressing speed increased at the thought of his friends being in trouble, and he grabbed a T, pulling it over his head as he exited the bedroom.
“Harris. You in there? Come on, you pillock, open up.” Ah, it would be that idiot.
The second and final catch was released and the door was shoved open. Xander was pinned to the wall by a large lump of veneered timber as the vampire stalked into the apartment, dropped his bag on the floor and headed straight for the fridge.
“Beer. Nice one, Harris.”
“Hello, Spike. Please come in Spike. Help yourself to a beer, Spike. It’s in the fridge.”
Muttering angrily under his breath, the Scooby followed the trail of bag, open fridge, and discarded jacket into the living space to find his visitor reclining on the couch, opened beer in hand, flicking through TV channels at eye defying speed. Still half asleep, he stood next to the couch letting his brain catch up with the events of the last two minutes. All he could come up with was a fairly incoherent; “it’s three o’clock.”
When that was answered by a non-committal grunt, he tried again. “Why are you here?”
This time he actually got an answer. “Well, you’re the one who bloody invited me.”
At this point the rest of his senses caught up and he realised that the room was filled with an incredibly disgusting smell - yum, eau de Spike.
“Jeez Spike, what’s with the smell-o-rama?”
“Huh? Oh, ran into a demon on the way into town. Think I might have got some on me boots.” The vampire lifted his feet to look and sure enough the worn black leather was glossy with some sort of slime which, by now, had also been transferred onto the upholstery.
“Boots couch off now!” What the hell had possessed him to extend that invitation? He’d forgotten the ultimate pleasure that was rooming-with-Spike.
With much voluble complaining, Spike complied, unlacing his boots and throwing them back towards the door where they thundered into the wall.
“Thank you. Now if you don’t mind, some of us have gainful employment starting in, oh about four hours. Blankets are in the closet, shower’s exactly where you’d expect it to be and don’t touch any of my stuff. Got all that?”
“Yeah, cheers mate.” Spike raised his bottle in salute without taking his eyes off the TV, and with a despairing shake of the head, Xander retreated to bed wondering what the hell he’d let himself in for.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
28th July 2003
“So no more vengeance than.”
“Four in the corner.” Xander leant down to take his shot, missed and conceded the table to Spike. “Yep. As of May, Anya is officially vengeance free. Of the demony kind anyway, ‘cos god knows she’s more than capable of the good old fashioned human kind.”
Two minutes later the table was cleared, and Xander was racking up the balls for the fourth time that night.
“And you two are…?”
“Speaking. Just. But only in a ‘you ruined my life and you owe me big time’ way.”
“Right. The lady’s holding a grudge. Can’t say as I blame her, when the love of her life does the big exit and leaves her in the lurch.” They played the game out in silence having exhausted the only topic of personal conversation either felt comfortable with - Anya, and that said a lot about how difficult this whole thing was going to be. As Xander went and got refills at the bar, Spike rolled the balls around on the table thoughtfully, wondering what to talk about next.
“So what’s the new nasty? Need me to fight the good fight?”
“You’d have to speak to the Buffster, but yeah. The Scarecrow demon that moved in last…”
“Scarecrow demon?” Knowing how the boy’s mind worked, Spike hunted for a likely candidate. “Skrowkraft demon? Big fellow, lots of horns, bit of a penchant for nubile young women.”
“That’s the one.” Xander continued obliviously, watching the pool table as Spike racked the balls yet again. “Any who, Buffy dusted him but his head henchman picked up where he left off. Mostly low-key stuff, nothing world-endy but it’s keeping us busy.”
“This henchman, he another Skrowkraft?” It was highly unlikely; they were fiercely territorial and tended to recruit other demons, even humans, to serve them.
“Funny you should say that, no. He’s a vamp like you. An oldie too, according to Giles.”
Spike straightened up from the shot he was about to take and frowned. He hadn’t reckoned on that piece of news. “The Watcher’s back in town?”
“No, but Wills has the whole email thing going with him. So now we have online Watcher.”
“Right.” That was something of a relief. Giles knew far too much about him for the vampire to be completely comfortable. “About the vamp.”
“You’d have to ask the others. Despite my proven prowess at saving the world I’m doughnuts and coffee guy.” He stared at Spike while the vampire lined up another shot and timed his next comment to perfection. “There’s a Scooby meeting tomorrow night. I’m sure the others would love to know you’re back.”
The cue didn’t go through the baize but it was more by good luck than judgement. “You haven’t told her? What kind of a moron are you?”
“Hey! I’m the moron whose letting you sleep in his closet, fangless. And don’t you forget it.”
But Spike wasn’t listening. He drained his beer, grabbed his jacket and made for the door. Just as he reached it, he spun back round. “She patrolling?”
“Buffy? Yes.”
And he was gone.
**
If possible she was even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her, no longer surrounded by that cloud of sadness and hurt, now there was a little more meat on her bones and she… glowed. She was still magnificent when she fought, each move calculated to inflict maximum hurt, just like the sarcastic commentary that left her adversaries as speechless as her blows. He stayed in the shadows, watching, taking out a couple of fledges who tried to outflank her, until, slightly breathless and sweaty, she dusted the final one and stood alone in the darkness, looking around her head cocked to one side.
“Spike?”
He stepped out into the moonlight. “You caught me, Slayer. Fair and square.”
“What are you doing back in town?” She spun round and started walking away, hugging her arms around her and for a moment she was the other Buffy, the hurt little girl he’d stalked and pestered until she’d finally given in.
“I’m sorry, this is all wrong. I should go.” Damn. Why did he think coming back here was even remotely possible?
“Don’t.” She’d stopped walking and at her quiet word he followed her, stopping a couple of paces behind. Still staring at her feet, Buffy turned to face him, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke. “You haven’t… I mean, you know it can’t be the same, between us.”
Surprised she would even think it, he settled for honesty. “No. It was wrong. I know that, you know that. There’s no more to be said.”
“You think?” Irritation at his attitude replaced her initial nervousness at being face to face with him, and she lifted her head challenging him to deny her. “I would have thought that ‘sorry’ ranked pretty high on your list of things to say.”
She looked at him properly for the first time and took in the changes Xander had described, the dark curly hair, closed off face and he looked suddenly lost, like Angel had when he came back from hell. And it hit her that this man was not the same one who had attacked her, just as Angel was not the demon who had killed Jenny and kidnapped her sister and friend.
“I can’t say sorry. It’s meaningless.”
“You’re right. Words, here, now, don’t mean anything. What you did for Dawn and Willow that was real. And thank you, for not letting them die.”
It was a sop to both their consciences but they parted, if not as friends then at least prepared to try.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
29th July 2003
The microwave dinged and Dawn grabbed the popcorn, juggling the scalding package until it was cool enough to open. In a few minutes, Xander and Spike would arrive and she wasn’t sure how she felt about the vampire being back. He might have helped save her life in LA but she’d been unconscious for most of it, and that hadn’t given her a chance to get fester free about the whole ‘trying to rape her sister’ thing. From upstairs she could hear Buffy moving around in her bedroom, and it occurred that her sister was actually dealing with Spike’s return much better than she was. Did that mean there was still sparkage between them? She hoped not.
“Hey, Dawnie, finished with the corn?”
She finished pouring and handed the warm full bowl to Willow with a nervous smile. “All done. Lots of corny-goodness waiting for mouths to fill.”
Taking the bowl, the Witch looked at her quizzically. “Are you okay, honey?”
“Yeah. Just wigging about Spike being here. Do you…. I mean Buffy said there wasn’t, but…?” She couldn’t quite say the words.
“Are you worried about them starting over again? ‘Cos if that’s the problem, I’d have to say no, a whole big world of no.” They shared a happier smile and Willow took the bowl into the living room.
**
It actually took over an hour for the guests to arrive as the PTB had chosen that morning to visit another vision on their Seer, so it was a slightly subdued Spike who attempted to enter Casa Summers. Xander had used his key and walked straight in, and it was only when the vampire tried to follow him that Spike realised his invitation had been revoked, an unexpected if understandable development. He lurked in the doorway while Xander went to find one of the ladies of the house to invite him in, and moments later Dawn appeared, arms folded across her chest, her face set and stern.
“Niblet. All healed, I see.”
“Don’t call me that.”
This was also unexpected. “Okay. What do you want me to call you?” In a sudden surreal moment Spike remembered having this conversation with Buffy.
Instead of answering him she transfixed him with a cold gaze that held his reluctant one. “You sleep, right?”
Sleep? “Yeah? Why?”
As she continued, a sick feeling started in his stomach and Spike was again left wondering how he thought returning here would be easy.
“I can’t take you in a fight or anything. But if you come anywhere near my sister… or try to start seeing her again, you’re gonna to wake up on fire.” With that she spun away and walked back into the house, leaving him still stuck on the porch.
“Dawn?! Dawn!” How could he tell her if she wouldn’t stay and listen?
“You’re still outside. I thought Dawn was doing the whole invitey thing.” Willow appeared from the dining room and he shrugged as if that explained everything. “Come in, Spike. We’re set up in there.” She indicated the room she’d just left and the vampire hesitantly entered and peered around.
From his position by the dining table he could hear them all in the kitchen, their inconsequential chatter touching on work and school and dating, and suddenly he felt very old and out of place. There was a vitality in this house, which seemed to accentuate how dead he really was.
It was strange, actually being invited to this part of a Scooby meeting. The only time he’d ever been involved like this was when everyone was running from Glory and that was over two years ago. So much had changed and yet everything seemed to stay the same. The house still felt empty without Joyce, but her benign presence hovered over them through pictures and ornaments he remembered seeing the first time he’d been here. Had it really been seven years? It must have, Dawn was only a kid at the time, watching from the stairs until her mother had sent her back to bed, and she’d had a temper even then, stamping and shouting that she was never allowed to listen to ‘anything good’.
And the same went for the rest of the Scoobies. Willow may have let her magic get the better of her, but she was still the computer geek at heart and her flashy laptop took pride of place at the head of the table. And Xander? The car and the job were an improvement but there were the doughnuts he’d picked up on the drive over. In many ways Spike himself was the most changed of them all, the last seven years had turned him into a completely different person, even Buffy was more the girl he first remembered.
“Hey, you’re here.”
He turned with a smile on his lips, which froze when he saw her. She was beautiful; delicate elfin features and huge clear eyes which buzzed with life and laughter, hair the colour of sunshine on summer fields of corn or how he remembered it to be. The gossamer material of her blouse ghosted softly over her skin and his fingers tingled from memories of touching her, from the feel of her, how her strength had the power to simultaneously subdue and arouse him. And then there was the smell, harder to deal with than last night when the open air had kept it muted and diffuse. Here in this room with its close, recycled air he felt like he was drowning in it, all vanilla and heat and female musk. The complete woman in one petite package, death incarnate for his kind but more than that, and this is what none of them really understood.
Watchers were taught that the Slayer was simply the Chosen One, with strength and skills comparable to her prey but for a vampire she was so much more. She was Thanatos, the desire to give up the struggle for life and simply crawl back into their graves, and also Eros, pure libidinous instinct, the inducement to fight and live, the allure of sex. He remembered telling her, that night outside the Bronze, that it was she who was searching for death. How much truer was that for a vampire who was already dead. And all his kind who fought her inevitably faced that conflict within themselves, was their demon’s instinct to live greater than their human desire to die.
Oh god, Dawn was so going to set him on fire.
**
“He’s changed. Not as growly. Polite even.”
“Uhuh.”
“The hair’s good.”
“Uhuh.”
“Buffy? Are you listening?”
“Uhuh... What? Sorry, Willow, I was so elsewhere. This whole Ann Rice routine is giving me the wiggins. I mean, it’s Spike. Rude, obnoxious, the evil dead heading for a good staking. So how come I’m totally feeling… sorry for him?”
Buffy tucked the quilt under her chin and curled her legs up underneath her. The gang had long since dispersed and with Dawn in bed there was just her and Willow left. They were making the most of a quiet night by finishing off the popcorn Xander had made and watching late night TV.
Willow shrugged. She didn’t have such a problem accepting the changes in the vampire. From what people had said in LA, Spike’s moods changed more often than his socks these days, so polite had to be good. She was less happy about the covert glances he and Buffy had been throwing at each other all evening, to her eyes it looked like Dawn may be right.
“So, is the sparkage still there? I mean he’s very different and not evil any more so I guess I could understand if you wanted…”
“That is so not going to happen. My days of smooching the un-dead are totally over.” She paused, shrugged and shot Willow a wicked grin. “Gotta admit though, he’s still a hottie.”