He was bored. Dru had dragged him into this graveyard because the moon had told her that Daddy wanted to see her. After half an hour of watching her talking to a stone angel, he was so bored he decided to risk leaving her alone and explore. The open door of the church hall, with its white light spilling out into the night, attracted him and he found himself lurking in the doorway, watching the young people dancing inside. Then he saw her - long red hair falling in elegant waves over her dark forest green kaftan, her pale skin almost luminous even in the brightly lit hall. She must have sensed him watching her because she turned towards him. Green eyes surrounded by dark lashes met his and she untangled her arms from her dance partner and made her way over to the doorway.
“Bon soir.”
He panicked. All the French Angelus had ever tried to beat into him completely left his head. “Um. I’m English, love. Parlez vous Anglais?”
She laughed a rich, sweet sound like honey and brandy. “A little. Hello. You want to join the party?”
“Are you inviting me?” Hey, this was better than watching Dru talk to statues. A whole church party all to himself.
She laughed again and put her hand out to him. As their hands touched, she shivered. “Froid. Cold. Come in. I will warm you. My name is Lizabet. What do they call you?”
“Spike.” He answered as he followed her over the threshold.
There was blood on his hands. Blood on his face. His clothes were warm, wet and sticky from it. It was dripping from his hair and ran into his eyes. The lifeless body of the red head was lying at his feet, naked and spread-eagled, railroad spikes driven through ankles and wrists. Her genitalia blooded from the knife he had used, the blood and come mixing freely as they ran together from her opened body. He raised his yellow eyes to the dark heavens and roared his defiance, triumph and glee.
~*~*~*~
Spike rolled off the blankets, holding his gut and retching. His body was covered in sweat, his clothes clinging wetly to his body. The dampness in the front of his jeans and his still painful arousal testified to the vividness of the nightmare.
“Are you okay?” Fred, tousled from sleep, appeared at the bedroom door. Peering at her houseguest, through the gloom of the evening she saw he was lying curled up on his side near the wall, away from the makeshift bed.
“I thought I heard something.” She started back when he lifted his head, but a year working for Angel allowed her to see beyond the yellow demon eyes to the tortured soul underneath. She moved slowly forward, stopping only when a growl emanated from the figure on the floor.
She put out a tentative hand, not daring to touch. “Spike? It's me. Fred. I won't hurt you, I promise.”
The growling slowly stopped, only to be replaced by hacking sobs. She moved forward, saw that the vampire's human features had returned, and that cold tears were streaming down his face as he hugged himself and rocked slowly back and forth. Quietly, she sat beside him and pulled him towards her, encasing him in the warmth of her arms, his tears chilling her shoulder.
“Hush. Hush.” There was something in his eyes that reminded her of how she had felt sometimes in Pylea, something broken and destroyed, and someone who felt terribly, terribly alone. Eventually, half-coherent words punctuated the sobs.
“I-I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. She was a kid and I killed her. She trusted me. Invited me to join her, and I took her and broke her, and raped her, and tortured her and killed her.” Quiet. “And I enjoyed it. It was fun.”
Fred tightened her hold, gently stroking the heaving back; absently noticing that the skin had healed in the days that had passed since Angelus' attack. “It was the demon that killed her, the demon that enjoyed it. You can't blame yourself for what the demon did.”
“No. Not just the demon, the man. The man enjoyed it.” Spike pulled away from her arms and turned to the wall, raising his arms to cover his face. “I can still feel her. Her warmth around me while I took her. She fought so hard but I didn't stop. The demon didn't care. All it wanted was the blood. It was the man who took her, enjoyed her.”
Fred froze. Angel had never spoken of the nightmares he suffered, but she had lived in the hotel with him for almost a year. She knew that there were some days when he did not sleep and others when he awoke screaming. Equally he had never spoken of Angelus, the demon that shared his body and how the two of them coexisted. She had seen that human blood aroused the demon within him, but couldn't even start to comprehend where the man she respected ended and the demon she feared began. This was new and frightening information, if what Spike was claiming was true for him then maybe it was also true for Angel. Could he have enjoyed the things Angelus had done? She did know that after the nightmares and the days spent pacing the floor of his room, he was desperate for a case, driving himself harder and fighting with renewed vigour.
“How can I live with that? How can I live knowing that I am as bad as the demon? Even worse than it?” Spike started to bang his head against the wall.
Fred took a moment before answering. Really there was nothing comforting she could say. He was right. How could the man live with that?
“You're right.” Spike stopped and looked back at her, his drawn face questioning.
“You can't live an ordinary life knowing those things. If you were human you would be in prison. That isn't possible. Instead you have a prison of your own making, your soul. I don't know if you will get the same redemption as Angel, but I know that trying to make things right will help. It’s too late for the people you killed, but by fighting with us, or with the Slayer, maybe your soul can live with what the man has done.”
She stood quietly and walked into the kitchen leaving the vampire staring after her, an unfathomable look on his face.
When she returned carrying two mugs, coffee for herself and pig's blood for Spike, she found him pulling on his jacket, his boots already laced. “Where do you think you're off to? You're not anything like well enough to be going out.”
He looked up, surprised. He hadn't expected her to be back so soon. “I need to find him. Not sure what I'll do when I do find him. But we need to know where he is and what he's doing.”
He turned towards the door then hesitated. “About before?” His voice sounded harsh. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell anybody. Bad enough I'm a vampire; they'd never trust me if they heard that.”
“Can we trust you, Spike?”
The vampire stood straighter, pulling his shoulders back. “With your life, pet. I'm on the good guys side now, remember?” He walked out of the door; the only trace of the hideous injuries he had suffered was a slight limp in his left leg.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Hello?”
Willow sat at the top of the stairs not listening to Dawn who was answering the telephone.
“Hey, Angel. Buffy’s not…”
It had been a difficult summer with the coven and the experience had left her shaken to the core.
“You don’t? Okay…”
Even at the height of her powers, she hadn’t really understood what she had been capable of.
“Things are all right, I suppose. Hey, Willow’s back. Do you want…?”
The coven had left her with no room for doubt.
“No? She’s better, sort of, just…”
And they told her she would just have to learn to live with it.
“We could? Shopping? That would be soo cool.”
Have to live with torturing and flaying a man alive.
“This weekend? Yeah, that’s doable.”
And nearly destroying the world.
“I’ll talk her into it. Believe me when I say, no one can withstand the Dawn whinge…”
It was all inside her, they said.
“You have never been on the…Oh, then.”
And they had helped.
“Buffy? I’ll leave her a note. She’s away until Sunday night, some sort of sales training rally thing for the Double Meat…”
But what she really needed was someone to talk to.
“Friday night then, at the bus station.”
Someone who understood what it was like to live with a monster trapped inside them.
“We’ll see you Friday.”
Someone like…
“And Angel? Thanks, we need this, all of us, especially Willow.”
Angel.
*~*~*~*~*
From his perch on the roof of the factory, Spike had a good view in through the window of Angelus’ new lair. From the outside it looked exactly like an empty warehouse, but from what he could see, it was a sight more than that. There were what he could only think of as barracks in there, plus high speed telephone connections and enough hardware to give the Initiative a run for its money.
It hadn’t been easy to track his Sire. Word was out that Angelus was back and demons were falling over themselves to sign up, but no one was talking to Spike, in fact several places had made it very clear that his presence wasn’t welcome at all. Eventually, he’d struck lucky and found a vampire that happened to have a long-standing grudge against Angelus, and was more than willing to share what she knew.
Her directions brought him within a block of the lair and the bond did the rest, bringing him to this spot just before the sun rose. He’d laid up in the ventilation system of the factory during daylight hours, emerging at dusk to spy on Angelus through the window.
His Sire had spent a significant portion of the night on the telephone, or meeting with vampires and demons from all over LA and the longer he watched, the more Spike was convinced that Angelus was planning something, something big. About an hour before dawn he had seen enough and was starting to think about getting back to Fred and Gunn. The demons had left, leaving Angelus alone but Spike knew, in his heart, that if he attempted to take his Sire in his own lair, he would fail. At this point it was more important to get the information back and return with bigger guns, maybe Fred would be willing to call Sunnydale and get the Slayer into town.
Spike let his thoughts skate over Buffy and everything she had meant to him. He had been unbelievably arrogant to think such a woman could feel anything but contempt for what he was, even for what he had become. He had taken advantage of her when she was damaged and scared, and when she had finally come to her senses and rejected him…If she did come to LA he would work with her but that was all, there could never be anything more.
He stood up to leave, but dropped back down at the sound of voices coming up from the street. Two humans, a woman and a teen-aged boy, and they were heading towards the warehouse. They couldn’t possibly know that Angelus was holed up there or they wouldn’t attempt to enter, but they did. Through the window Spike saw the initial confrontation, then leapt to the ground and ran for the door. The way the youngster had moved the speed, power and skill he’d showed as Angelus attacked him could only mean one thing; the boy was Connor.
The door flew open under his boot and he threw himself inside, rolling to one side to avoid the stake aimed at his heart by the red headed woman who had been with Angel’s son. In self-defence he aimed a leg sweep at her, tumbling her to the ground and followed it up with a sharp punch to her chin, which dropped her like a stone. He didn’t have time to explain to a stake wielding she-bitch that he was one of the good guys, and this way she was more likely to stay alive in the long run. By the looks of the corpses around the room his Sire was not taking prisoners.
In the background Spike could hear Angelus’ taunts and jibes as he fought with Connor, he was suddenly cast back to another time and another warehouse over a hundred years ago and felt a pang of empathy for the kid as he listened.
“No, block, punch, block…” The break in commentary was punctuated by the sound of a boot connecting hard with Connor’s chest. “Oops, did I say block? Make that a kick.”
The teen leapt back to feet and away from the wall, launching himself back into the fray. Undeterred, his Father kept up his scornful advice.
“Now that was just rude. Trying to leave before I’d finished. Where were we? Oh yes, nose, solar plexus, block…Come on, Connor, try and keep up.”
Spike had to hand it to the boy, he was doing well but he could see that the punishment was starting to take its toll, sweat was running into his eyes from the exertion and his breathing was starting to get distinctly ragged. He needed to get the kid away from Angelus; between them they could probably take the older vampire, but if he barged in without warning Spike knew that he could easily end up fighting on two fronts.
The decision was taken out of his hands as almost simultaneously the bodies he had mistaken for dead started to reanimate, their faces shifting with the powerful bloodlust that drove a newly risen fledgling. Connor spotted them immediately and their sudden appearance distracted him, allowing Angelus to slip in and embrace him, sinking his fangs into his bared neck. Spike cursed roundly and grabbed the stake from his jacket pocket. With a roar he sprung across the room and plunged it into Angelus, who sank to his knees with a gasp of pain. Connor, finding himself suddenly free, took advantage of the vampire’s incapacity and drove his fist into his Father’s face.
Although tempted to let him carry on Spike realised that they needed to get out and fast. There were at least six fledges, not to mention Angelus who was unfortunately not a dusty pile, and both he and Connor were far from fighting fit. He grabbed the boy’s arm, marvelling at the raw power he felt there, and drew his attention to the unholy throng that was closing in from all sides.
“We need to get out, now.”
He met the shocked blue-grey gaze with a determined one of his own and Connor gave a sharp nod, necessity dictated that they stage a strategic withdrawal. Spike headed for the door, assuming he was being followed but Connor had other ideas. Twisting and weaving through the newly risen vampires he reached the downed woman and pulled her into his arms, staggering slightly as her extra weight put new stresses on his already exhausted body.
There was no way he was going to make it back to the door without help, so Spike dove in and started to let fly with the punches, creating a path for the boy to follow before grabbing the woman himself and making for the exit. This time they made it out safely and kept running, dodging down side streets and alleys until their inexperienced hunters vanished. When it was safe they slowed to a jog, Spike ignoring Connor’s protestations that he could carry the woman. The sun was starting to rise and he wanted to get the kid back to Fred’s place and to safety.
*~*~*~*~*~*
“I hope the couch will be acceptable.” Wesley thrust a pile of bedding into his guest’s arms. The call from Fred had been inevitable following the events of the last few days, but he had thought that it would be his advice and counsel they sought not a spare bed. He shuddered slightly as his hand touched the cold skin of the creature’s arm. This was the last thing he needed - another soul-ed vampire in his life and this one even less trustworthy than its sire.
“Be fine, mate.” There was an awkward pause as the vampire looked anywhere but at his host. “Look, I’m sorry about this but with Connor and Justine at Fred’s there wasn’t space for me as well.”
Spike didn’t mention the look of relief that passed across Fred’s face when Wesley had agreed to putting him up, but he did notice how the ex-Watcher’s hand went to his neck at the mention of the Justine’s name.
“She did that, yeah? Bitch. Tried to stake me the minute I got through the door.” He let a feral grin slip onto his lips. “I punched her real hard. She had a hell of a headache when she came to.”
Wesley smiled back, but it was a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Spike shrugged, this was going to be a barrel of laughs shacked up with yet another uptight Watcher, trust his luck to draw the short straw and end up here. As the human headed towards the kitchen, Spike dropped the bedding on the couch and followed him. Wesley had him intrigued, he smelled of pain, emotional as well as physical and to a vampire it was most alluring. The man was busy assembling the makings for a cup of tea and Spike hopped up on the bench to watch him.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” The preparations halted and Wesley glared at the vampire irritated at the intrusion.
“Nah, not tired. Plus you’re making a cuppa.”
“You drink tea?”
“Well, duh. English, mate, of course I drink tea. Though between you and me I prefer coffee but don’t tell anyone, it’d give them totally the wrong impression and us expats have got to stick together.”
Wesley stared in total disbelief at the demon who sat on his kitchen worktop. If it wasn’t for the chill of death he knew inhabited that body, it would be so easy to mistake Spike for a young Englishman ‘doing’ America. He gave himself a quick shake and got another mug from the cupboard.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Yeah and three. Sweet fangs.” From this position Spike could study the human and quickly noticed the stiffness in his body as he moved. This man was not going to trust him, however friendly he tried to be, and he wondered if that had anything to do with Angel.
“So you worked with the broody one. That good for you?” Big mistake, at the reference to Angel, Wesley’s spare frame froze and waves of animosity poured from him.
“It’s not something I wish to speak about, either to you or anyone else. I’d thank you not to mention An…that creature, in my home.”
“’Kay. Just trying to make conversation. Be a bit friendly, like.”
Wesley spun to stare at him again and Spike was struck dumb by the look in the human’s eyes, fear warred with hatred and joined a healthy dollop of self-loathing. He knew that look, knew that he would see it in his own eyes if he had a reflection, but what the hell had happened to make this human feel that way.
“I do not want to be your friend and I do not want to have a ‘cosy chat’ with you over a cup of tea.” His body language showed increasing agitation, he was shaking. “I do not want you in my house. Unlike my erstwhile colleagues I am not so stupid as to presume that your soul,” The word was spat out, “makes you any less of a murderous fiend. Your benighted sire put a stop to that foolish notion.”
That was it, Angel had tried to kill the ex-Watcher. It couldn’t have been more of a shock, demons even family, were all fair game for Angel, but Spike was surprised that his Sire had attempted to take a human life. Wesley must have done something pretty bad to get Angel so riled up that he would risk another life on his conscience, the ones he already carried must weigh heavily enough as Spike knew only too well.
Never one to back down from a challenge though, he asked the question. “What did you do to him?”
“You have no sense of private grief have you, demon.”
“Nope.”
If Wesley could share then maybe they could stop treading on eggshells and he’d get his cup of tea. He was not expecting the tale he heard, however, and listened within increasing incredulity as Wesley filled in the gaps of the story he’d first heard from Fred. When the human had finished he sat in silence for a while, and just watched as the boiling water was poured into the pot and the tea was left to brew.
Eventually Spike broke the silence. “So why didn’t you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“About what the prophecy said. That he would kill his son and everything.”
Wesley put his hands flat on the counter and leaned heavily, his head sinking down between his shoulders.
“Because I didn’t think he’d believe me. In retrospect it was the most foolish thing I did. I should have trusted that he would never let anything hurt his son, including himself. But at the time…It was difficult, Spike. Wolfram and Hart fed him Connor’s blood and his behaviour was completely over the top for a while. It made me remember Angelus and I couldn’t bring myself to place the safety of a human child in a demon’s hands.”
Spike nodded sympathetically as Wesley stood upright and looked him in the eye. He knew from personal experience what the taste of human blood would do to a vampire when it had abstained for a long time. Briefly, he wondered if that had been what was wrong when Angel woke up from his coma, but pushed the thought aside. The creature that had tortured him was vintage Angelus, there was no soul lurking beneath the surface there.
Then he shrugged and hopped down holding his hands out for the tray. “So we’re going to have this tea or what?”
*~*~*~*~*~*
“It’s sick and not terribly original.” The three humans were staring at the blood soaked bed.
“Makes a point though.” Gunn flicked the sheet back across the gory mess then pulled a bag out of the cupboard. “You sure you can get a un-invite spell to work at the hotel?”
Wesley watched him while he shoved handfuls of clothing into the backpack. “In theory and we can always test it on Spike.”
Fred was still looking at the bed, a strange expression on her face. Eventually, she looked towards the two men and asked the question no one else had.
“Where do you suppose he found the horse?”
*~*~*~*~*~*
When the shrill tones of the telephone rang out in the early morning light, Wesley groaned and stretched over to answer, having to extricate himself from his vampire blanket before he could reach it. At five o’clock the sheets had been beyond both of them in their inebriated state and they had both fallen onto Wesley’s bed, the vampire drunkenly promising not to eat him if he got peckish during the day.
“Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. How may I…”
“Wesley, its Lilah.” He groaned again and sat up. A conversation with a lawyer while he had a hangover, he briefly considered which god he had insulted this time.
“Good morning, Lilah. What do you want?” Wesley peered at the clock before picking up his glasses and putting them on.
“I need some help.” The clock was no clearer so he took them back off and looked at the lenses. There was something truly unpleasant on them and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what. And did Lilah just say she needed his help?
“Excuse me? I think I must be hallucinating, I thought I just heard you ask for my help.”
“I know things have been difficult between us in the past, but…” There was an edge to the woman’s voice, which sounded like desperation, and Wesley was intrigued.
“Difficult is something of an understatement, however I am listening. Go on.”
The voice broke and fear now tinged her words. “He’s killing us. No one’s safe. It’s worse than when Darla was in town. My god, Wesley, how could we have been so stupid as to think we could control him, he’s an animal. He’s…the bodies…I’ve never…”
Her words were choked off and Wesley almost felt a pang of sympathy for the lawyer. He was well aware what Angelus was capable of, and if he had set his sights on bringing down the law firm he wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.
“I’m not sure what you think I can do. You are not the only ones he’s hunting you know, and I’m more interested in saving my friends than a law firm that has tried to kill us more times than I can count.”
Behind him Spike wriggled into the warm spot left by his body and kept sleeping. Wesley gave up on going back to bed and stood up, holding the phone against his shoulder as he pulled his jeans on over his boxers.
There was silence for a moment, then Lilah answered. “I don’t know either, but if you think of anything…I just want you to know we are willing to help, anything we can do to stop him…”
Her voice trailed off again and Wesley couldn’t resist a slight jibe at his old enemy. “Tasers not working so well on him then?”
There was a bitter laugh from the other end of the phone. “He won’t let us get close enough. The one time we have? Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. Actually you may find it interesting, being as it happened at your Seer’s old apartment. How is Cordelia these days? Doing well I hope.”
Immediately alert, Wesley ignored her insincere enquiry and focused on the more salient point. “Cordy’s old place? What happened?”
Lilah sighed and briefly outlined what had taken place. “There was a 911 call from her block, complaints about shouting and sounds of fighting from the empty apartment. We intercepted and sent in a clean up squad, rightly assuming that it was Angelus in there. Why didn’t you tell me she had a ghost, Wesley? It would have saved the lives of several of my best men. When they got there the ghost had the vampire trapped inside and was trying to stake him with a wooden spoon.”
Wesley offered up a silent cheer for Dennis and again wished they could have moved the ghost along with Cordelia’s belongings. “Why didn’t you let him? I would have thought that would have suited you just fine.”
“It wasn’t that easy. As soon as my men broke down the door the ghost attacked them as well and in the confusion Angelus took out three of them and escaped. Although from what the survivors said he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I think the ghost really rattled him.”
That was twice Angelus had proved himself fallible. It was useful information and Wesley felt he owed Lilah something for her candour. “Thank you for the information, Lilah. I still can’t think how I may help, but if I do I’ll be in touch.”
He put his finger on the disconnect button and hung up before she could answer him then walked into the kitchen. He needed a strong cup of tea and some painkillers before he could really face this Monday morning.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Beep.
“Sorry but Angel Investigations has temporarily relocated, please leave your message after the tone or, if you need help urgently call....”
Beep.
“Dammit, I already tried that number and there was no answer there either. Angel? Where are you? Don’t you ever pick up your messages? Look, if you ever get back, ring me. You know the number.”
Spike’s hand hovered over the telephone. He really didn’t want to call Buffy, but if she was trying to raise Angel it must be something important, and he already felt guilty about leaving her in the lurch. At least she’d had the witches to back her up and there hadn’t been anything that nasty happening when he left, except himself.
“Who was it?” Wesley came into the office carrying two mugs, one coffee and the other blood for Spike who was sitting on the desk looking, if possible, paler than usual.
Since their drunken session the night before, and building on the tentative connection they had made over the last couple of days, they had reached a truce, which he felt could easily develop into a genuine friendship. When the hotel had been proven to be vampire proof, Spike had offered to move out of Wesley’s apartment and use a room there. He had rejected the notion, arguing that it made more sense to split their forces so that Angelus couldn’t besiege the whole group and there would always be someone to call for back up.
If he were honest with himself though, Wesley knew that this wasn’t the only reason. After so much time alone, and despite his better judgement, he was starting to enjoy the company, the snarky English vampire had a way about him that, although irritating, was a refreshing change from Angel’s cumbersome humour. Spike could be almost endearing when he wasn’t being totally self-centred, and Wesley briefly wondered if the soul had made that much difference until he remembered the heartfelt sobs that had racked the vampire’s body the night before.
Any doubts that may have been left vanished as Spike looked up at him. His eyes were haunted and grey, and looked sunken in his face.
“Buffy.” That one word explained everything and …nothing.
“What did she want?” Wesley tried to keep his voice cheerful, sensing that Spike would neither want nor appreciate his sympathy.
“Don’t know. She wants to talk to Angel.” He paused and put his hand over the phone before pulling it back and letting drop into his lap. “I should ring. It must be bad or she wouldn’t have called.” Despite his words Spike made no effort to pick up the phone and just sat and stared at it.
Wesley put the mugs down on the desk. “Do you want me to do it?”
Spike shook his head, but Wesley had heard the quick inhalation that had followed his words.
“I don’t mind doing it. I do know Buffy, or did several years ago and it might be easier…” As he spoke Wesley let his hand rest on the telephone. When Spike raised no objections he picked it up and looked questioningly at the vampire.
After giving the number, Spike walked out of the office, ignoring his mug of blood and started pacing the lobby, trying not to listen to the call but continually shooting glances through the door.
“Buffy? Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. You wanted to speak to Angel?”
“They did what?!! Oh my God.” At Wesley’s outburst Spike shot into the office and virtually bowled the ex-Watcher over.
“Buffy, just hang on a minute. I need to tell Spike what’s…Yes he’s here. If you insist.”
Wesley held the phone out for Spike to take, ignored the vampire’s suddenly ashen look and raised his eyebrows insistently. Spike took it with a shaking hand and held it to his ear, licking his suddenly dry lips before speaking.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing in LA?”
“Nothing. Seeing Angel.”
“That so cannot be true. You hate Angel.” There was an irritated edge to her voice that Spike was very familiar with, she thought he was lying.
“He’s still my Sire, pet.” There was a long silence.
“I need to speak to Angel. Is he there?” And this was the other side of her he knew well. The ‘I’m so mad and I’m going to ignore you’ mood.
“That’s a bit complicated at the moment.” All his suggestions to call the Slayer for help with Angelus had been quashed, so she still didn’t know of his return. The others had argued that it would be too hard for Buffy to kill her ex-lover for a second time, and although her help would be useful, between himself, Connor and Gunn they really had enough muscle to deal with the situation.
There was an odd little sound down the line, and Spike could imagine Buffy tapping her manicured nails on the mouthpiece as she worked through what to say next. “Let me speak to Willow then or Dawn if they’re in.”
“Why would they be here?”
With an irritated huff Buffy launched a tirade at him. “Because you bleached idiot, they’re in LA seeing Angel. Have you done something to them, is that why you won’t let me speak to them. My god, I bet you have! I bet you got your chip out and killed them all. That’s it I coming up there and…”
“Buffy, slow down. Please, I haven’t done anything to anybody. Shit” He held the phone back out to Wesley. “She won’t listen to me, and keeps insisting the Witch and Dawn are in LA.”
Wesley’s face was as pale as the vampire’s as he replied. “They left her a note to say Angel had invited them for the weekend. They left Sunnydale on Friday night.”
The phone dropped from Spike’s suddenly numb fingers and he groped for the edge of the desk, his knees rebelling at the thought of Red and Dawn in the hands of Angelus. His mind a whirl, he could only think one thing. ‘It’s all my fault. I let him live and now they’re going to die.’
Slowly, as his vision cleared and his ears started to hear something other than his own voice screaming out his failure, Spike became aware that Wesley had picked up the phone and was speaking to Buffy again.
“Perhaps you’re right. Come straight to the hotel and we can work out what to do from here.” He was telling her to come to LA.
Spike reached out and grabbed the phone from the Wesley’s hand ignoring the outraged cry at his bad manners.
“You mustn’t come. It’s exactly what he wants you to do. He’s only taken them to get you here to LA…”
“And how would you know that? Oh great, well-informed one.”
Spike lost his temper. He was trying to help the stupid bint and all she could do was mock him.
“Listen to me Slayer and listen well. I know Angelus and you know that I do. I didn’t spend the best part of twenty years with the bastard and not pick up on some of his tricks. He’s taken Dawn and Willow to get you to LA and the minute you arrive he will know and they will die. Do you understand me now?”
There was a long silence from the other end and then a low voice said. “Don’t let them die, Spike. Please don’t let him kill them.”
Her quiet tearfulness was too much; the Slayer was putting the lives of her sister and best friend in his inadequate hands. After all he had done to them and her, she was still willing to trust him, it was so much more than he deserved. The line went dead and he painfully put it back in the cradle.
“She’s not coming?” Little colour had returned to Wesley’s face and he was obviously still shaken.
Spike shook his head. “No, she’s not. She can’t, mustn’t. He’ll kill them.”
It was Wesley’s turn to sit down heavily as the implications of what he had nearly done sank in. “My god, I nearly killed them. It never occurred to me that they could be bait for the Slayer.”
“How could you have done? You’re not an evil soulless monster.” There was a bitter note in Spike’s voice as he rested a comforting hand on Wesley’s shoulder. Then he gave himself a little shake. “You make coffee. I’ll wake the others. We need to work out what the fuck we do now.”
The council of war was held in the lobby with people perched wherever they could find a seat. It was a depressing meeting with no new ideas offered up and no insights they weren’t already familiar with. Spike was reminded of the terrible days when the Scoobies were facing Glory, there was the same fatalistic mood, the same sense of hopelessness. At least then they had a Slayer on their side, all they had now was a kid, a washed up vampire and a wannabe vampire hunter. Quietly, he muttered imprecations against psychopathic sires and the lack of a Slayer to deal with them.
“What did you say?” Wesley fixed him with a rigid glare. Spike looked around guiltily then repeated his words.
“That’s it! We need a Slayer, so we’ll get one.”
As Wesley disappeared into the office the others looked at each other in confusion, until Fred whooped in sudden realisation. “Faith. He’s going to get Lilah to release Faith from prison.”
Gunn dropped his head into his hands in despair. “Shit, just what we need, another psychopath on the loose.”
*~*~*~*~*~*
Angelus lay on the floor next to the redhead, studying her face carefully. It was something he liked to do with his victims, he felt their features gave away more in repose than they did screaming at times. The Witch's hair was plastered to her face with sweat and blood, she was holding up well, better than he had expected but he needed her to break soon. Maybe a different tactic was in order. He had resisted touching the girl, feeling she was far too fragile to tolerate much in the way of torture, and he would need her to distract the Slayer when she got into town. But with Willow this far along, perhaps he only needed to threaten her to make the Witch respond.
He hopped to his feet and started pacing the floor as he considered the problem. Remembering the trick Drusilla had played on the Watcher, Angelus was regretting his mad Childe was no longer at his side. He was sure that the Witch would do anything if it came at the behest of her dead lover, just as Giles had. Turning her was the other option, but he would avoid that if at all possible, it was sheer luck that Dru's talents had survived her turning, else she'd have been little more than a momentary distraction in a pretty package. He was willing to take a similar risk with Cordelia if she ever reappeared but not Willow, that talent was too powerful to lose on a whim. She needed to be broken and to break her Angelus knew he needed to force her to use her magics, the ones the coven had told her were too dangerous.
It had been an interesting and illuminating weekend with Willow and Dawn, and well worth the effort he had put into playing them. The Witch had given Angel information about happenings in Sunnydale; she would never have shared so willingly with Angelus. He'd had difficulties schooling his features when she told him Harris had saved the world, it seemed an unlikely role for the inadequate boy he remembered, and had listened with quiet satisfaction when she had shared her horror at her murder of Warren. No, a Witch with her power was too good to waste, he wanted her on his side and under his thrall, and once she capitulated and used her magics they would be half way there. It was just a matter of being patient and having self-control, and he was excellent at both.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Tell me about Angelus.” Wesley had his stocking-ed feet on the coffee table and was nursing his drink on his chest as they talked. It had become something of a nightly routine for himself and the vampire. Having escaped Fred's discomforted babbling, and Gunn's taciturn silences, not to mention Connor's obvious disgust in Spike, and Wesley's unhappiness at being around Justine, it was nice for the pair of them to be in a company where they could start to relax.
Spike glanced up from his glass and studied his companion silently for a moment, before returning to his drink. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything that might help. I'm trying to work out a battle strategy and you said you knew him years ago?”
“Yeah?” It was a small hesitant comment, and Wesley was immediately alerted to something that he probably needed to know even if he didn't want to.
“You told Buffy you knew him for twenty years. There must be something from that time which can help us now.”
“Not really stuff I want to remember.” He changed the subject adroitly and brought up an issue Wesley had been hoping to avoid. “What about this Slayer, then. I heard she's a bit of a loose cannon. That right?”
“Something like that, yes.” This was a very awkward subject.
Spike considered the ex-Watcher. His body language was interesting, there was regret and pain, but the way Wesley was avoiding his eyes was suggestive of embarrassment.
“Bit of history between you two, I'd wager.”
Wesley shot him a look of disgust and panic, then relaxed. If he told the truth here, maybe Spike would be willing to share some of his information about Angelus. “You're right. I was her Watcher and I let her down badly when she needed me most, she almost killed Buffy and Angel, and worked for the Mayor during his Ascension, before coming here.”
The reference caused a frown to cross the vampire's face. “Wasn't he the one who got blown up with the school? Big, snake demon I heard. Happened while I was out of town.”
When he got an answering nod he continued with a bit of a guilty laugh, “Yeah, I remember now, rogue Slayer, dark hair, about so tall, goes by the name of Faith, criminally insane. Left Sunnydale under a cloud and did something to Buffy. She ended up here?”
“Yes. Then tried to kill Angel, beat up Cordelia, and attempted to torture me to death.”
“And this is the woman we're getting out of prison to help us?!” Spike was starting to think Gunn had a point.
Wesley sat forward and put his glass on the table. “Angel said she has changed, was serving her time, and looking for redemption. He visited her occasionally, Fred went with him once and ironically I trust his judgement in this, he knows about redemption.”
There was silence for a while as both men helped themselves from the bottle on the table.
“Do you think he could help me?”
*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was dark in the underground parking lot; it stank of petrol fumes and hot metal, and he could hear the faint ping ping of engines cooling. The piece of two by four was a comfortable weight in his hand, and there was the sweet taste of impending violence in his mouth. A tall figure entered through the internal door, and he swung out with the bludgeon, catching them a glancing blow on the back of the head. As the body fell it slowed as if the air was supporting it and he saw as it changed, became smaller, slighter, and more human. By the time it hit the ground it was no longer Angelus but Cordelia who was lying at his feet, her skull stove in and smashed, blood pooling darkly on the concrete. With an anguished cry he dropped to his knees and reached for her, careless of the damp stickiness that covered his hands as he tried to piece her head back together.
“I wouldn't bother.” Cordelia's voice came from behind him and he looked around in confusion searching for the source. There was a faint glow in the corner of the lot, and as he watched it got brighter and brighter until, with a flash, it disappeared leaving behind the figure of a human woman, Cordelia. But not the one he knew, not the dark haired girl that was dead on the ground, this Cordelia was the voluptuous woman she had always promised to be, her hair blonder and short, cut in a bob which framed her beautiful face.
“It looks like I'm dead already and can I just say - eww. That is horrible. Get your hand out of my brains.” Spike glanced back at his hands, then stood and wiped them on his jeans leaving smears of grey matter and bloody tissue on the black denim. The woman stood beside him now, looking down at her body.
“What possessed me to do that with my hair, it looks awful.”
“I thought it was great, though I like what you've done with it since.” As the spirit seemed quite happy to talk to him, Spike didn't see why he shouldn't talk back. After all it was his dream.
“And you should offer an opinion on hair care, bleach boy? I don't think so.” They stood together staring at the corpse until it shimmered and disappeared, and Cordy somewhat philosophically said, “It would have happened just like that anyway.”
“Huh?”
“The whole, head exploding, brains all over the place. The visions would have done that if they hadn't have made me part demon.”
Visions? Cordelia a half-demon? This was a strange dream and he said so.
“This isn't a dream. Well actually it is, but I'm not. I'm real, just like I was on the beach, but this way I get to stay a little longer.”
It took a couple of moments for that to sink in and when it did Spike couldn't resist commenting. “About that. You could have said something. Would have saved us the effort of pulling him up, plus a goodly amount of pain in my case.”
“Oh and I felt nothing I suppose. What is it with you soul-ed vampires? Why is it always about you and your suffering, never a thought for what anyone else is going through to help?” Cordy's tongue may be as sharp as it always was, but Spike could see the pain on her face as she spoke about Angel and it was horribly familiar, he'd seen it in Buffy's eyes too often to be mistaken.
“You love him.” When she didn't answer he continued with disgust, “What is it about Angelus that makes all the girls fall for him? Even back in the day it was the same story. A couple of words in that stupid accent and they'd be swooning at his feet.”
“He's come a long way since this,” Cordelia indicated the darkened lot, “He's changed, grown and, whatever his faults, he didn't deserve what happened.”
“And I did?”
“I don’t know, let’s see shall we.” The scene shifted to a London alley he was very familiar with, and Angelus’ voice berating Dru filled his ears.
“For God’s sake girl, he’s a blithering idiot, you can’t mean to turn him.”
There was a petulant tone in Dru’s voice when she answered. “But Daddy, you said I could choose and he’s my knight.”
Darla spoke from further away and Spike could just make her out through the darkness of the dream. “Whatever you are going to do Angelus, hurry up. It will be dawn in an hour.”
The vampires stood over his body - no, William’s body - and Spike realised this would be when he found out the truth, once and for all. Which one of them had actually turned him? He’d never been certain, they tended to shift responsibility depending on who was most annoyed with him at any one time.
“So it began.” Cordy’s voice cut in and the scene faded.
“Bloody hell no, go back! I want to know which one of them did it!”
There was a smug look on Cordelia’s face at his protest and it became superior as she answered. “Some things are better left unknown, and I think we should let it rest at that.”
Spike’s curse at her arrogance was swallowed as the darkness faded to reveal the location of his first massacre, then his second; the images picked out in vivid Technicolor, and illustrated with surround sound, and full sensory feedback, each human face imprinting its screaming self onto his mind. It was like the dreams he’d had before only ten times, a hundred times worse, over in minutes yet lasting for hours, it left him sickened beyond rationality and terrified. There was no coming back from what he had done, what he had been and still was, no hope, and no redemption. No god or power would lower itself to offer comfort to such a creature.
At last, fighting for control, he managed to gasp out, “Enough. You’ve made your point. I deserved it, all of it, and more.”
The world stopped turning and settled until he could make out a bedroom that he vaguely remembered.
“But then everything changed, didn’t it.” Cordelia was still beside him, her face unreadable.
Willow was sat in the bed a horrified look on her face and Spike finally placed what he was seeing. “Hey, this is after I got away from the soldiers. The first time the chip worked. Why are we here?”
“What would you have done if the chip hadn’t worked?”
“Killed her. Turned her probably, she was a sweet one then. Still is I guess, but chock full of magic and more than a bit scary.”
“What about now?” This conversation was obviously going somewhere and Spike wished he could work out where. It was something like having a discussion with Darla, when you knew everything you said just got you into more trouble but couldn’t work out how to stop it.
“Now? I wouldn’t kill her, for sure. Don’t need any more deaths on my conscience; you might have noticed that.”
“Can you be certain? How hungry would you have to be? Or, if not kill her, how desperate for a woman before you raped her?”
“Oh, Jesus, no.” The scene shifted again to Buffy’s bathroom and he saw the image that had burned itself into his brain, the reason behind his quest for the soul; Buffy screaming on the floor with him on top of her, tearing at her clothes, forcing himself on her. With a choked sob, Spike dropped to his knees. “Stop, please stop. I don’t want to see this, please.”
The image froze and Cordelia walked into it, squatting down next to the figures in their grotesque embrace. “I see no demon, Spike. Do you think Buffy noticed, that not once during the whole time you were with her, doing those things to her, corrupting her, not once did your demon show his face.
“Does she know? Does she realise that it wasn’t the demon? You could have bitten her, couldn’t you? Killed yourself another Slayer, but you didn’t. And why? Because it wasn’t the demon, was it Spike?” She ignored the sobs coming from the creature on the ground and continued. “It was you, wasn’t it, William. The man, not the demon, who wanted her, who dragged her down to his level.”
“Not. My. Fault!” Spike yelled at her, trying to hide his face from the semblance of his attempted rape. “You have no idea what they did to me, what they turned me into! I had no choice, no choice at all. It was that or die.” His voice had subsided to a whispered sob.
But Cordelia did not relent. “Then you should have died. I don’t care what they did, how they abused you or changed you. There is no excuse for what you did here, never an excuse for the victim to become the abuser. And those worthless bits of light they’ve put into you, how long will that stop you? How long before you do it again to some other poor girl? There’s only one thing that ever controlled you and you know it.”
He was reduced to shaking on the ground, trying to deny what she said despite the evidence before him.
“T-the chip. But it doesn’t work. The soul…”
“I know.” Cordelia voice was quiet now and Spike could feel her close to him. “That’s why you must give it up. Give it back to Angel where it belongs.”
*~*~*~*~*~
Wesley passed a slightly shaking hand over the sleeping vampire’s face. He’d been woken by the distressed cries from the living room, and had gone through only to find Spike trapped in some terrible nightmare, mumbling incoherently as he thrashed about on the couch. Trying to stir him hadn’t helped, the vampire refused to rouse, so Wesley sat near him offering what comfort he could and waiting for him to wake up.
With a final shout, Spike’s eyes flipped open and he launched himself off his makeshift bed landing in a huddle near the front door. “Fuck, no!”
Wesley approached him cautiously, calling his name until he saw the light of recognition in Spike’s eyes. “You okay?”
The vampire was shaking his head and Wesley could make out some of the words. “No, she can’t ask me to…she did. How can she? For him, of all people. I owe him nothing, nothing! Shit, Wes, what am I going to do?”
Looking at the state of the figure at his feet, Wesley offered the only helpful suggestion he could think of, “Go and get washed up while I make a coffee, then we’ll talk about it.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Let me get this straight.” They were both back on the couch with coffee and a cleaner, slighter calmer Spike. “She wants you to give up your soul, so Angel can get his back. Why?”
“Apparently the Powers that like to totally bollocks everyone’s life up, only want one vampire with a soul. There’s only one in the prophecies and they don’t like inconsistencies. So when I got mine back, Angel lost his, hence our nasty visitation from Angelus.”
“So why didn’t the Powers just take your soul away?”
“’Cos they don’t care who their champion is, so long as there is one. Angel or me will do just as well.” Spike was seriously wondering whether smoking in here was permissible. Surely he couldn’t really be held responsible for second hand smoking deaths, could he?
“And Cordelia doesn’t like this idea.”
“She thinks Angel deserves another chance. It wasn’t his fault this time and she reckons she knows a way of swapping the soul back over.”
“Which would leave you a soulless creature again.” Wesley found he was sad at the thought. Granted it would get rid of Angelus, but Angel hadn’t proved to be that reliable even with his soul.
“But I’ve still got the chip. Wouldn’t be able to kill or hurt anyone. Not exactly the same thing, but better than Angelus.”
“I don’t know, Spike. It’s not a decision anyone can make but you. I’ll listen, be your sounding board, but in the end this is your decision to make.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Leave - her - alone.” Dawn spoke through gritted teeth to the vampire who was unchaining Willow from the wall. Every time they took her away she came back a little worse, paler with more bites covering her arms and neck, her eyes wilder when she came round, unable to do anything but whimper around the gag in her mouth. It didn’t make sense that she wasn’t dead, if vampires fed off you, didn’t you automatically die, except if you were Buffy or Riley, or she realised, anyone that they didn’t want to kill. But why would they want to keep Willow alive? What could they hope to get from her? And why did they keep taking her away? And where was Angel?
Her head buzzed with unanswered questions as she pieced together what had happened. The weekend had been as good as Angel had promised, with shopping trips and movies; he’d even put them up in a good hotel, because building work at The Hyperion meant there were no rooms for them to use. It was only the calls from his friends that took him away from them, like the one that had come just as he dropped them at the bus station.
It was there that the vampires had struck, when they thought they were safely on their way home, and she remembered nothing more until she woke in the dank darkness of her prison. Desperately she yanked on the chain which held her to the wall, trying to draw her captors’ attention away from Willow but the vampires ignored her, unchaining her friend, and dragging her out of the door too quickly for Dawn to see what was on the other side.
Left alone in the impenetrable darkness of the cell, she searched for some scrap of light, some comfort to hold on to before the noises began, as they had last time and the time before that. There was nothing. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, it made no difference just like before. With the first scream Dawn grabbed the chain that bound her to the wall and started counting the links, there were still thirty from the manacle on her left ankle to the wall just like the last time. But she continued to count and then recount, in twos, in fours, her fingers tracing the connections, counting the raised welds they found there, counting the scabs on her arms, the beating of her heart as it raced in her throat. Anything to block out the sounds that the thick walls did nothing to conceal.