"When’d they let him out?"
"Ah. Two days ago the nurse said. But… that was it. I’m not family so, it seems, I have no right to know any of the details, like when they were letting him out or how he’s gonna cope on his own. Forgetting the whole, I was the one with him at the hospital, sitting at his bedside and holding his hand thing... "
Spacing out the litany of complaints from the Witch at the other end of the phone, Spike ran back through the last couple of weeks trying to work out if there was anything he could have done differently. His main priority had, of necessity, been Angel, and that had turned out to be a full time job leaving no time for worrying about Wesley. Willow had volunteered to call the hospital for regular updates and up until today the answer had been the same - sorry, no change in Mr. Wyndham-Pryce’s condition, please call back tomorrow.
Now this. He’d been discharged two days ago, which meant the Watcher had been on his own in the apartment all this time. Damn. Spike had planned on being there. He felt he owed Wesley that much at least. Plus there was a whole lot of explaining to do. Calling him was useless; the Telephone Company had disconnected the line when he’d moved out.
"Right. I’ll get over there… somehow." The vampire paused, kicking aimlessly at the counter before continuing. "Look, you had any luck with Gunn. I’m stretched a bit thin here, what with the vision stuff and Angel." He was gritting his teeth as he asked. After a hundred and twenty odd years of getting by without anyone but family, it galled having to ask for a human’s help. But necessity determined that at this point he had no choice, and if he had to turn to someone, Spike could just about cope with Red, or the vampire hunter. Both were fearsome fighters who would stop at nothing to protect their own and he could respect that in anyone. And it wasn’t like he had any choice. The visions regularly knocked him off his feet, sometimes so badly he had difficulties actually doing what the Powers needed and with Angel…
As he returned the telephone slowly to its cradle having been informed that Gunn was at least willing to talk, Spike rested heavily on the edge of the desk. Angel. He was better, there was no doubt about that but was still far from well. The older vampire spent his nights wandering the hotel, effectively mute, though not from any physical damage. That much was absolutely certain because his dreams kept Spike awake half the day. Then there was Cordelia. It would have been helpful and appropriate if her ghost could have looked after Angel when Spike had to leave the hotel, unfortunately Angel couldn’t see her, which meant Cordelia was reduced to offering helpful comments. Spike let loose a rather dry laugh at that thought. Helpful and Cordelia really were mutually exclusive terms.
The best bit of news they’d had for a while was that Fred and Gunn were back in town and, it seemed may be willing to come back to AI.
"Cordelia!"
"You demanded my presence?" Her voice dripping with sarcasm, Cordy appeared on the stairs and walked - about six inches above the ground - down into the lobby.
"Don’t start. I’ve gotta go out. Red called the hospital and they discharged Wes two days ago." As he was talking Spike was slipping on his duster and loading up with a battle-axe and a couple of stakes. It was daylight so the sewers were his only route over to the Watcher’s and they were bound to be crawling with beasties. Since Angelus had been back there’d been a veritable plague of fledges in the locale and Spike hadn’t had the chance to clear them out. Maybe Gunn would fancy a bit of a clean up when - if - he agreed to come back.
"Oh my god. Is he okay? I mean, they let him go just like that. Poor Wes." As her emotions heightened so the glow surrounding the ghost flared into eye numbing brilliance.
The vampire squinted at her. "Cordy, umm… light levels?"
She glanced down at herself and the effulgence dimmed returning her to, for a ghost, normal coloration.
"He asleep?" Spike indicated the upstairs room where Angel was confined when he was alone. There were too many windows for them to risk anything else.
Cordelia followed his gaze. "Yeah. You want me to keep an eye on him?"
"Thanks, love. I won’t be gone long but I need to check…"
"So, stop with the talking and move."
With a grateful grin he headed towards the lower levels of the hotel and the sewer access.
***
When there was no answer after his third knock and more worryingly, no sound of movement either, Spike forced the lock and entered anyway, fairly certain that Wesley wouldn’t mind so long as he paid to get it fixed. Not that there was going to be anyone to demand such reparation - dumbfounded he stared around the stripped apartment. Everything that wasn’t nailed down was gone. Not a book, paper or item of clothing remained. Still reeling slightly, he wandered slowly through the place, checking each room, unwilling to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Wesley had gone.
"If you’re looking for the English guy who used to live here, him and his friends left a few minutes ago." The door was filled by a huge man with no neck and a nose that would look more at home in a boxing ring.
"Right." Spike answered slowly, assessing the human as he spoke. He’d have pegged him for a rugby player if they were in Britain but he guessed American football. "Don’t s’pose he said where he was going?"
"Hey, another one. Might have known. What with the hair."
The vampire’s hand strayed to his head. "Huh?"
"Damn limeys. Slamming around here during the game. Bad ‘tude as well. Had to sort them out."
As he spoke the man puffed out his chest and Spike was very tempted to take him down, about six feet down, permanently. But then he wouldn’t be able to get information from a corpse.
"So, they were English as well, the blokes from earlier?"
"Yeah. Why?" Aggression poured off the man in waves. "And how the hell did you get in here? The place was locked up tighter than Tampa’s defence after they left."
Just let him take one more step, just one. If a fight was what he wanted Spike was his vamp and he was really in the mood.
But as the man ventured a few steps closer he smelled it, not strong and almost swamped by the overpowering aroma of stale beer. Fresh blood, on the man’s shirt.
"Have a bit of a run in with ‘em did you?" Spike nodded at the marks; an arcing spray such as a broken nose would produce.
A grimace slid over the man’s face. "Little shit told me to fuck off when I came round to tell them to keep it down."
"So you hit him, yeah?"
"What are you, a cop or something?" The visitor was now back-peddling towards the door looking wary.
"Was there a woman with them? Nice looking bird, blonde, glasses. Bit of Bond girl about her." Spike followed him wanting another whiff of the blood, ‘cos he was damned sure he recognised it.
"Yeah. She was helping the guy outside. Good legs and ass but not down with the glasses - geeky."
There was a space between the neighbour and the doorway and Spike was through it before the man could move, cursing as he went. Watchers. Wesley had gone and the Watcher’s Council had him.
Now he knew what he was searching for, Spike was able to track the faint traces of blood down the stairs and into the entrance hall of the apartment block, where the sun streamed in through the open door. Daylight. Trapped by the fucking daylight again. Try the janitors closet. Bound to be something he could use to keep the sun off and if he looked a twat running around with a… aha, tarpaulin thing over his head, it wouldn’t be the first time. Into the parking lot and there the trail ran cold. Just empty spaces, petrol fumes and a complete absence of Watchers. What had he been expecting that they’d hang around until the cavalry arrived?
A screech of tyres alerted Spike to a vehicle heading towards him and he threw himself clear as it sped past, rolling into the nylon sheet he was using as protection against the sun. Moments later, he heard the sound of tyres yet again and realised it was coming back for him. Marooned in the middle of a sunny parking lot, there was nothing he could do except… Hey, it’d worked for Indie, why not him. As the truck reversed over him, Spike swung his body clear of the wheels and grabbed on to the underside of the vehicle, lifting his body clear of the ground as it screeched to a halt and then accelerated away, taking him with it.
***
"It’s an excellent offer, Buffy and I think you should give it serious consideration."
"I know. And it’s not the money. I mean, that’d be so good, and not having to worry, even better. But it’s the Council. There’s trust issues here, Giles! Last time they tried this it was all… testy and assessy. And I so don’t need that right now."
"There was no mention of either tests or assessments. All they said was that they wanted to send someone over to talk to you." Giles paused briefly when he heard a small yukking noise from the other end of the phone. "Buffy. I’m not certain exactly what they want to speak to you about, but I’ve been in close contact with the Council since my return and things have changed. For the better, I feel."
There was silence for a few moments and then Buffy answered her voice quiet and subdued. It made Giles want to go straight back to Sunnydale and hang the consequences. "Make sure they send someone… nice, huh. Someone easy to talk to. Maybe not English, ‘cos, you know I love you guys but… sometimes you’re a little stuffy."
"Stuffy? I’ll have you know I was at the first Glastonbury Festival."
"Huh? Is that some kind of Watcher thing ‘cos really you should have let me read the handbook if you’re gonna throw things like that at me."
He suppressed a laugh at Buffy’s total lack of general knowledge and carried on. "So I can tell them to send someone… so long as they are easy to talk to and don’t ask you to pass a written examination."
When she spoke again, he could hear the smile and it made his heart sing. The fragility he’d seen in her over the last couple of years was still there but she sounded better. "Yeah, why not. I can start a college fund for Dawn and pay off the house. And Giles? Thank you. Even the Council’s gotta be better than flipping burgers, yeah?"
The phone went dead and Giles replaced it on the desk.
"Well? Do we have her co-operation?"
"We do. I’m not sure what you think you’ll find but Buffy will speak to you."
Rolling his pen between his fingers Quentin Travers stared thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "I am very much hoping that we can discover from our Miss Summers exactly how she has managed to survive this long."
***
Great plan, Spike. Now you’re under the car, how are ya gonna get out again?
The exhaust was millimetres from his nose, and even preternatural strength had its limitations when set against the bone jarring movements of an ancient truck on badly maintained roads. He’d been hanging on for about half an hour, as his ride swung violently around corners, leaving blackened tracks in its wake, and committed just about every traffic violation California possessed, hoping against hope every time the vehicle stopped that this would be his chance to escape. So far each interchange had been bathed in sunshine and he wasn’t about to take the risk of getting fried extra crispy. But his shoulders were aching and his hands were cramping, and he was pretty sure there was no denim left on his ass.
Another curse dropped from his lips as the vehicle shuddered to a halt and Spike lowered himself slightly trying to spot a likely bolthole. A spot of shade in an alley. There had been loads of those but it was too risky. They had a horrible habit of vanishing when the sun moved. Best to leave it. Hang on for a bit longer.
As he braced his aching arms ready for another wild ride, the pain struck, temporarily blinding him and sending his body crashing to the ground as he released his grip on the car. The vision was completely upon him as the vehicle pulled away leaving the vampire stranded in the middle of the road. Swallowing back a groan, Spike managed to pull himself up and staggered towards the welcome pool of darkness he’d dismissed so readily just moments before. Under the circumstances singeing vampires couldn’t be choosy.
***
"You sure, you’re okay with this, Fred." The truck gently eased to a halt at the interchange and Gunn took the opportunity to look over at his girlfriend who was staring out of the window, obviously in a world of her own. He grinned easily; it was good to be back in LA where the looks and snide comments were easily ignored and no one refused their custom or looked down on them for being a mixed race couple.
The lights changed and he was putting the truck into drive when Fred put her hand over his, stopping the movement. "Charles. Look."
She was pointing into an alley that lay just to the right of them and he followed her direction spotting a figure huddled in a tiny patch of shadow against one wall.
"What the hell is he doing there?"
There was no mistaking the identity of the huddler. The bleached blond hair and black coat were as much a trademark as Pepsi or Coca-Cola. Gunn indicated, pulled over to the side and hopped out, dragging free the tarp he always kept under his seat for emergencies. By the time he got to the vampire, Fred was already knelt as his side, reassuring the shivering figure that rescue had arrived. Between the two of them they laid Spike in the back of the truck well wrapped against the sun and safe until they got to the hotel.
***
It was a small hotel room but comfortable, containing shower room and toilet, twin beds with associated furniture, a TV, and two badly upholstered chairs. Wesley sat in one of them staring out of the window, ignoring the thug guarding the door and lost in his own thoughts. Although the Council’s arrival had been entirely unheralded it wasn’t completely unexpected. As only one of a handful of victims who had survived Angelus’ personal attentions he could look forward to a thorough debriefing. Not unlike the one Giles underwent the summer before Wesley first went to Sunnydale. However in this case, if the extraction squad’s presence was anything to go by, his was going to take place back in the UK. Lydia hadn’t actually said so in as many words but her silence spoke just as loudly, she’d always been quite chatty with him in the past.
The door opened quietly behind him and Wesley twisted painfully in his seat to greet the visitor. During the past two weeks the majority of his injuries had healed well, due in no small part to the kick-start Willow’s magics had given them, he was sure. But he still ached, every muscle and tendon felt stretched and bruised, and it would take much longer before his dreams became his own again.
"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce." A bland looking man walked in and strolled nonchalantly over to the other chair, sitting without invitation. "Or may I call you Wesley? The other is something of a mouthful, after all."
Wesley nodded his acquiescence.
Frowning quizzically at the lack of reaction, the man reached into his briefcase and retrieved several documents, flicking through them before he spoke again. "Harry Preece, Council Watcher. We have much to discuss but first and foremost, do you understand why you have been extracted?"
A short nod was his only answer.
"Hmm. It came to our attention that the moment Angel Investigations ceased to exist your Green Card status would be immediately subject to review. I’m sure you understand that the Council has no desire to see one of its members deported, unless at our instigation."
"Ex." Wesley croaked out, his throat still too used to screaming to deal well with day to day speech.
Preece’s head shot up and he frowned. "Pardon?"
"‘Ex’ member of the Watcher’s Council. You fired me remember."
With an amused patient smile he was answered. "Tsk, tsk, Wesley. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher. No one escapes that easily, you should know that. The pledge you took the day you entered the Academy holds you as much now as it did then."
"abhinc primordium, aeviterno, cum meum corcillum, meus corpus, et mea anima, deservio."
"‘From the beginning, without end, with my heart, body and soul, I serve’. And you will. Don’t make me enforce it."
***
"Hey girl. How ya doing."
Cordelia responded with the closest thing to a hug she could manage these days, caressing Gunn’s face with her hands and placing an ethereal kiss on his cheek. Much of the tension immediately left the man’s body as the knowledge of how and why she had died flowed into him.
"Ghosty. You?"
She pulled back with a smile and he grinned, leaning towards her to whisper. "Glad to be home, but don’t tell Fred."
"Charles, he’s coming round." They both headed for the couch where Spike was curled up, his hands round his head, groaning quietly. "What’s wrong with him? I know it was close and all, but the sun didn’t touch him."
"This is vision-guy remember. And if you thought they were hitting him hard before - since he’s been back, sheesh." Cordelia rolled her eyes, but both humans could see the concern on her face.
"That why he wants us back?" Bad experiences and apologies aside, Gunn was willing to take up where he’d left off. He’d missed the life and death fight that working at Angel Investigations had given him and if Cordy was willing to forgive, who was he to hold a grudge. Having never trusted either vampire, his perception of them hadn’t particularly changed.
"Well, duh! Look at him. Does that look like someone who’s ready to go out and kick some demon ass?"
Kneeling back down, Fred shook Spike gently. The vampire groaned again before slitting open his eyes and glaring at her.
"The vision, Spike? Is something going to happen soon? Does Charles need to go now?"
"Yeah. Lath demon, down on Madison. Remember last year? The warehouse?"
"Okay. I have place but what the hell’s a Lath demon?"
"’Bout Cordy’s size, armoured. Use a copper dipped blade. Head off." Message delivered Spike shut his eyes again and slid back down onto the couch.
From the balcony Angel watched them talking. The door to his room had presented no challenge when he’d woken to find it locked and he’d broken it easily allowing him to wander the corridors at will. All potential paths had lead here, looking in on the others from the outside as they chatted and interacted without him. It was better that way. Remaining cut off from them and just enjoying the silence. And there was silence. For the first time in so very long there was no voice whispering in his head, no demon keeping him awake, he was free to relive his memories and brood. It was the one thing he excelled at.
Gunn opening the weapons cabinet suggested he was on his way out. Was he going to leave Fred behind? Did he trust them enough? Angel was certain he wouldn’t. He didn’t trust himself so why should anyone else. Or maybe they were going to research first? No. If Spike had the vision he’d know exactly what the evil was he was sending Gunn out to fight. It may come from an entirely different source but his knowledge was almost as exhaustive as Angelus’.
With an inward flinch at the memory of his demonic alter ego, Angel stepped back from the balcony into the shadows and continued to watch as Gunn exited the hotel leaving Spike and Fred alone. He’d thought Spike was unconscious, yet Fred was chatting to someone, calling them Cordy.
That was impossible. Cordelia was dead. He’d killed her. Angelus had killed her. Bitten and abused her until she was so scared of him she’d fallen when trying to flee, and if that wasn’t murder just as much as draining her, he didn’t know what was.
"There’s blood in the fridge if you could get it. I’m sure he’d feel a lot better after a good feed and maybe aspirin and oh, a glass of water I guess and…"
"Fred. Ghost. Can’t touch anything remember."
"Oh, Oh, sorry. It’s just…I mean, Dennis could, so I thought…you maybe…too?" Flustered by her mistake and what it meant for her friend, Fred hurried off to grab the supplies she’d requested only to return after a few minutes juggling a couple of mugs and a bottle of pills.
Having been woken again and medicated with enough painkillers to send a human into lala land, Spike was almost fit for conversation and both women wanted to talk. It had escaped neither's notice that he was somewhat battered and Fred was curious as to how he’d ended up stranded in an alley. She also had an idea about why the visions may be paining the vampire so much but needed the answers to some questions first. Waiting until the blood had been consumed with a gulp and a grimace, she started quizzing the vampire on his experience.
"When you have a vision, is it like when the chip used to go off ‘cos if it is then I think that might be the problem."
Spike glanced up at her, frowning slightly as he considered the question. "Sort of. But not the same pain. The chip going off, it’s searing in my head. Wore off right quick though. This is different. Deeper, hotter, goes on a hell of a lot longer. I dunno. It’s hard to explain."
"Cordy?" Fred looked up at the ghost questioningly.
"It’s been a while. Let me think. Umm. Really, really bad headache. And… and pressure building up. Like my head was gonna explode. Which it would have done I guess, eventually."
As Cordelia was speaking Fred watched Spike’s face carefully searching for any sign of recognition. There was nothing, if anything he looked more confused.
"Do you know how the chip worked?"
"Well, yeah. When I tried to bite…"
"No…no, not that. I know that. I mean, what made it hurt? Chemicals, electricity…what?"
"I dunno… hang on, yes I do. Dru told me. ‘Spiderwebbing out nasty blue shocks’ she said. Electricity. Said it was all lies but," There was a small pause and Spike stared blindly into his empty mug as he remembered his princess’s efforts to return him to the fold. "She didn’t understand."
Confidence shining in her face, Fred stood up. It was just as she thought. "I was right. The visions are making the chip work."
"No, pet. I told you. It’s different."
"Different, yeah. But still the chip. Visions are like dreams, okay, but more, much more. And if you record brainwaves when someone’s dreaming they go all over the place. Lots and lots of little pulses of electricity from chemical reactions in the synapses. When you have a vision, your brain is doing the same thing, and I bet the electricity is causing feedback in the chip. That’s why it feels different but still not what Cordy said. I mean, you’re a demon, right? They shouldn’t affect you at all. Not even like they did Doyle. So it must be the chip. It’s getting fried."
Spike hadn’t a clue what she was on about but he understood one bit all too well. "The chip is frying my brain?"
"Yeah."
"So how do we stop it?"
"Remove the chip."
It was like being on a merry-go-round. Every time he thought the vista had changed they were right back where they’d bleeding started. Inhaling deeply before he spoke, Spike pointed this out. "Fred, I know you’re only trying to help but… I’ve tried to get this thing out for four years and even the docs who put it in couldn’t do it, so yer gonna have to come up with something else."
She shrugged. "I dunno what else we can do, ‘cos even with it not working it’s still happening, so it’s just gonna have to come out."
***
Dawn was on a sleep-over and Willow was off teaching an evening class at the college, leaving Buffy horribly alone in the house. For half the evening she’d been on the phone to Giles being talked round from the fit of the total wiggins she was having at the prospect of facing anyone from the Council. It had only been his reassertion that the Council would pay well for her co-operation that had convinced her to go through with this.
It was a bit late for all that now anyway; she was standing in the kitchen making a second cup of coffee for her visitor and was starting to wonder why she’d been worrying at all. The man who had come to speak to her, Harry Preece, was so ordinary that even Spike would have been hard pressed to find fault with him. Argh! Buffy stirred the coffee vigorously, spilling scalding puddles on the worktop. Why did her thoughts always end up drifting in his direction whenever she had a few moments to herself? Stupid vampire. It was all his fault things were difficult with her friends.
Having mopped up the worst of the spill she returned to the dining room and her guest who, in her absence had taken another sheaf of papers out of his briefcase and was reading through them. He greeted her with a bright smile as she placed the mugs down on a clear bit of table, and shuffled everything together into a neat pile.
"Miss Summers, sorry, Buffy." She waved away his apology and he continued. "This has been a most enlightening discussion. Really, I don’t think the Council ever grasped the importance of your friends and family in your life and duty. It has always been our considered opinion that such diversions were best kept at arms length, and yet from what you say these civilians have not only saved your life on numerous occasions but have also, in the case of Mr. Harris, actually, prevented the wholesale destruction of the world."
Buffy offered him her most winsome smile. If only he knew the half of it. That had certainly been an ‘edited highlights’ moment that she’d worked out before Preece arrived. By the simple expedient of replacing Willow with Amy, Xander, in her story, had stood up to a different witch and used the memory of her mother to return her humanity. Of course, Amy was terribly traumatised when she’d remembered what she had done; after all, flaying your ex-boyfriend alive was not something one could suppress for long without causing major psychological damage. It was a good job she’d killed herself in the psychiatric unit.
"But there is still one aspect of your work that we have yet to explore. Over the years you have managed to build a close relationship with not one but two vampires. I wondered if we could discuss this in more detail."
"Working."
"Excuse me?"
"Working relationship. With two vampires. They sort of helped out sometimes… you know, when things got rough, or if I needed them to… help out that is." She was babbling and knew it.
Steepling his hands in front of him, Preece leaned his chin on them and gave Buffy a hard stare, watching as she squirmed under his scrutiny.
"Miss…Buffy. We are both adults in this room and I think we both know that your ‘relationship’ with these vampires went much deeper than simple work." He released her from his gaze and leaned back in the chair. "In fact, and off the record, you are not the first Slayer to succumb to the beast’s charms. However, you are most definitely the only one to have bedded two master vampires in the space of four years and survived to tell the tale. Tell me, please. How exactly did you manage that particular feat?"
"Umm." For a horrible moment it was her mother all over again. Surely he knew how… I mean, yes he was English but even they had sex education didn’t they? Desperately Buffy stared at him, searching for a clue as to what he wanted to know, hoping that it was written somewhere on his face. Preferably in bold, underlined letters… in red. "Err."
"Let me make it easier for you." Oh yes please. "I believe Angelus had a soul at the time. Am I right?"
"Y-yes?" Not for long of course but she wasn’t going to tell them that if Giles hadn’t.
"The same could not however be said for William the Bloody."
Damn. She was going to kill Spike for telling tales about them. It wasn’t as if anyone else knew, except the demons at the kitten poker game and Clem and… who was she kidding. Her name was probably cited alongside Drusilla’s as the Aurelian family bike in some circles.
"No… But - but he had the chip." Another smile. Her chin was going to drop off.
"Ah, yes. An interesting piece of technology implanted by the American government. I understand another one of your boyfriends, one," he consulted his notes, "Riley Finn, was partially responsible."
Four men…males, she’d slept with and the council knew about three of them. Damn, they weren’t called Watchers for nothing. "That’s right."
"Interesting." There was a pause in the conversation and the room was filled with the sounds of scribbling, then the Watcher looked up again. "So you believe it was only the chip that protected you during your ‘relationship’ with William the Bloody."
"Spike." He looked at her quizzically. "He prefers Spike."
"He may well, Miss Summers, however as several of his victims during that period were Watchers, if you don’t mind I will stick to the older, less… evocative, nomenclature."
"Oh, right. Sorry. I didn’t…"
"Obviously, otherwise you would never have allowed yourself to become involved with a soul-less beast who, and I believe you were well aware of this, had already killed two Slayers."
"B-but… the chip?" Why was she defending herself? Weren’t these the exact same accusations she’d thrown at herself during that spring?
"And I was given to understand that the chip no longer worked as regards to your person. That being the case, I am at a loss to understand why you didn’t kill each other."
Her and him both. In retrospect it would have saved her more heartache than she cared to think about, not to mention the respect of her friends who were still wigging out about what had happened the last time Spike was in Sunnydale. Buffy sat and considered her hands in silence, unsure herself what answer to give. Why hadn’t she killed him the moment she’d discovered the chip didn’t work? Really there was only one answer.
"He loved me."
"Impossible. A soul-less creature is incapable of love."
"Oo, but… not soul-less any more. And he did that for me. Went and got himself a soul… so that proves it. He did love me… see."
At last she’d hit on something that surprised him.
***
Three visions in the space of a week, there was hardly time for the discomfort from one to subside before he was hit with the next, and they were still no closer to a solution. From her seat behind a pile of books at the desk, Fred spared a quick glance at the blond vampire who was chatting easily with her fiancée. The damage from the chip was starting to take its toll, not helped by the after effects of the massive fight he’d had with Angel. It had all started the moment she’d insisted the chip must come out…
"I dunno what else we can do, ‘cos even with it not working it’s still happening, so it’s just gonna have to come out."
Spike looked lost for a moment and more than a little desperate, before his head snapped up and his eyes glowed with sudden knowledge.
"Angelus."
With no more explanation than that, the vampire made for the stairs, taking them three at a time in his haste. Fred and Gunn followed as quickly as possible but their slower speed determined that when they finally caught up it had already started. Angel was pinned in the corner of a corridor trying to get away from Spike who was right in his face and letting rip at the already traumatised vampire. About to interfere, Gunn stopped when the implications of Spike’s words sank in.
"Just bloody listen, okay. He told me that he knew people. People who could get rid of the chip. He said he could get rid of both. The chip and the soul. You must remember. You were there."
It was a one-sided argument, Angel refusing to answer and turning his head away every time Spike tried to get him to look him in the eye.
"For fuck’s sakes, Angel. It’s got to come out and… Right if you don’t remember, try asking Angelus. And I know you can ‘cos you bloody told me you could." He paused before continuing in a slightly quieter and calmer voice. "Sire, please. This chip has gotta come out."
"No."
That was the first word Angel had spoken since Cordelia’s death, and it took them all by surprise leaving both humans and Spike speechless for a moment. The silence was soon filled.
"No… No, I don’t remember. No, I will not speak to Angelus and no, I am not your Sire."
The look of shock, horror and fear that skated over the younger vampire’s face at the words were nothing when compared to the tone hollow tone in his voice as he spoke.
"W-what?"
"Truth not to your liking, boy?"
When there was no answer, Angel continued, hitting the exact cause of Spike’s hurt with unerring accuracy. "You didn’t honestly believe that I made you, did you?" Then, off the younger vampire’s growing anger. "It was a useful gambit, mind, letting you believe it. Had you bending over for years. Swearing your eternal love. But I guess that without the blood bond it was all you. Who’d have thought it? William the Bloody, a true shirt-lifter."
As the fists started to fly Gunn dragged Fred into the nearest room, slamming the door after them and grabbing furniture to wedge in front of it. The sounds of violence from the corridor were rising fast, the walls rattling as first one body, then another, was slammed against them. This was going to be the mother of all fights…
It had been and neither vampire had walked away unscathed, though for once it had been Spike who came out on top. Fred sighed as she returned to her books; everything she’d been able to find on any subject vaguely related to the chip. It may be a big pile, but nothing like the size she wished it was and so far she’d found nothing. And if she didn’t find some scrap of information soon she was going to go and talk to Angel. He may still be upset about Cordy, but that was no reason to let yet another person suffer.
She didn’t see the look her sighs attracted, or notice the furrowed brow they evoked, and Spike turned away concentrating on what Gunn was saying before she could catch him. The vampire was pretty certain he knew what was bothering Fred and it didn’t bode well.
He’d been holding out in the hopes of her making a breakthrough, what with her understanding how the damn thing worked and all, but it was starting to look pointless. And if Angel was the only other option… Spike clenched his jaw as his thoughts turned to the older vampire and a deep ache started up again in his gut. The insults had been bad enough, as was the refusal to help, but the rejection and the knowledge that Angel had played him for so many years hurt beyond words.
When they were fighting he’d come closer than ever before to actually dusting the bastard, had the stake pressed into his chest, muscles tensed for the killing blow until he’d looked into Angel’s eyes. And stopped. Angel wanted it, wanted someone to end it, and Spike had been in no mood to give him anything. He’d flung the stake into the corner and stalked away without looking back, leaving Angel slumped against the wall, silent yet again.
***
Finding the same name several times in a single report was interesting, when it appeared in two separate items it could be written off as coincidence, but when he read it for the third time that day, Quentin Travers had to acknowledge that it may be significant. Preece’s reports of events in LA and the interview with Miss Summers were exactly what he had come to expect from the man, bland but ruthlessly efficient. The paper submitted by Rupert Giles was, if possible, the complete opposite and again the epitome of the author’s personality. The third item appeared at first sight completely unrelated and it wasn’t until he read the extremely impressive record attached to the internal promotions application form that he’d made the connection. Doctor Ramirez was a one-time employee of the Initiative.
Travers flicked through his notes, extracting the pertinent facts and using the time to organise his own thoughts. This is why he held the position he did. In theory any Watcher was trained to head up the organisation, but it took a particular mindset to see beyond the politics and bureaucracy, and lead the Council into the new millennium. The ability to think outside the box, as the Americans said. He stared at the list, trying to add things up and find the nugget of information the facts described. There was something missing, some detail that would pull it all together.
A knock at the door disturbed him, and at his sharp ‘enter’ a junior pushed it open clasping a book to his chest.
"About time."
The book was held out in a somewhat shaky hand. "I’m sorry, sir. It was in the stacks and…"
Travers waved the young man away and placed the book in front of him on the desk. ‘Aurelians under the microscope: Comparative patterns of vampire predation amongst newly risen childer.’ by Lydia Compton. Hardly surprising it was lost in the stacks with a title like that. However he had to acknowledge that Miss Compton was something of an expert on William the Bloody and, as she was still in California, he would have to rely on her limited body of written work. Her Doctoral Thesis had contained little in the way of new information however this later treatise promised to be slightly more interesting.
Several hours and many cups of tea later, he was somewhat better informed but still no further forward. The thesis offered an exhaustive insight into exactly who newly risen Aurelians targeted and why, and although fascinating in its own right shed no extra light on why this particular one had managed to make such a name for himself. Then he found it. Relegated to an appendix, probably on the recommendation of a senior colleague as the idea seemed so far fetched, but it was well thought out and totally logical.
‘Due to the dearth of reliable evidence regarding the exact geographical location of the rising of William the Bloody and the uncertainty surrounding the precise date of his rebirth (postulated by some sources to be as early as 1820, though since generally believed to lie somewhere between 1876 and 1880) data concerning this vampire’s predation patterns were excluded from the statistical elements of this study. However, investigations did discern a fascinating trend, which remains to be explored fully.’
The dryness of the writing style would have put most people off, but Travers was well used to reading between the lines and this was Lydia’s pitch for her next paper.
‘30% of the kills attributed solely and conclusively to William the Bloody from 1881-1895 fall into two distinct categories.
1. Upper middle class Londoners, unrelated but connected through various social gatherings specifically those attended by various victims before they were married. Numbers of deaths in this category are estimated to be as high as ten, which can certainly be regarded as significant when plotted against the normal curve of relatedness amongst victims.
2. Council Watchers, specifically those who graduated from the academy between 1882 and 1884. Once again the number of victims is significant. Although some 30% of Watchers loose their lives during the first fifteen years of service, amongst graduates from this period the percentile rises to 50% of whom 7 can be directly attributed to William the Bloody.
Working within these parameters the possibility of a common link between these two categories was explored, resulting in a postulation as to the vampire’s human identity, one William Bartlett, trainee Watcher. Although initially appearing unlikely due to the vigorous investigation of any suspicious death among employees of the Council. It could be argued that as Bartlett’s death was recorded in police records as assault and battery (no mention being made of specific injury to the throat) and his immediate family and friends suffered no obvious victimisation, his death was erroneously discounted as human in origin. The evidence certainly suggests that this individual forms a central figure from whom many of William the Bloody’s victims can be traced.’
Travers reached out and hit the intercom. "Cooper? Whose handling the Wyndham-Pryce debrief?"
"Preece is starting it tomorrow, sir."
"Good. Make sure he comes to see me before he starts."
Leaning back in his chair the Quentin wove his pen through his fingers. Well, well. William the Bloody, a watcher, who would have thought.
***
"I’m coming in and bustin’ heads if that don’t get quieter right now. People are trying to sleep through here."
Flipping off the vampire hunter through the closed door, Spike reached for the CD player and turned it down anyway, it wasn’t as if he wanted to piss anyone off just that the music helped drown out his thoughts. And right now they needed drowning, they were way too loud and disgustingly persistent, and to add insult to injury they were all about Angel. With a heartfelt groan he pulled the covers over his head and tried once again to find sleep but his body was buzzing. It was one o’clock in the morning and he wasn’t supposed to be sleeping, he should be out stalking the night, killing things. The trouble was keeping those hours meant the only people he had to speak to when he was awake were Cordelia and Angel.
Damn. There he went again. Thirty seconds and his mind was back, totally besotted with his Sire… No. Not his Sire. Why then did he ache for him? Obsess about him? It made no sense. If Dru had been the one who made him, it should have been her that evoked these feelings, and while he still loved his princess, and always would, what he felt for her was entirely different. Maybe if he had a shower, a cold shower, that would help. Physically it wouldn’t make any difference of course, it wasn’t like he had a circulation or blood pressure, but psychologically… who was he kidding. Having a shower right now would only lead to one thing… but on the upside he may get to sleep.
Once the water was to temperature, he hopped under the spray and hesitated for a moment before getting down to business. Somewhere in the back of his mind those Victorian sensibilities always gave his conscience a tweak at times like these, the whole immoral, dirty, it will make you go mad scenario. You’d have thought after so many years it would have learned to shut up, but the brutal truth of the matter was that although Spike was damn good at this now, for the longest time he would never have dreamed of doing it. There was Dru and even Darla for a while, or minions, not to mention any human woman he cared to turn into a plaything. With so many options he’d had no need to get well acquainted with his hand. But that was before and this was now, and dwelling on the good old days wouldn’t help in fact it would only make things worse… See.
Suppressing an irritated sigh, Spike leaned against the tiles, closing his eyes and letting the scalding water wash down his body, making him feel almost warm inside. His mind wasn’t going to be denied but he put up some resistance, focussing on the girls as he started the slow even strokes that would bring him off quickly and efficiently. Old times it was then. Dru? Fungus demon - nope that wasn’t going to work. Darla? - Whore extraordinaire. Who knew exactly what she liked in her pleasures, that woman, and never hesitated to take them.
Damn, that led him straight to Buffy. And the night in the Bronze when she’d come on to him, looking and sounding for all the world like Darla when she fancied a quick roll. Add vampiric recall when a Slayer was around and he could recreate it exactly - the proximity of her body, the way she’d smelled, of her and arousal and heat. ‘I could ride you at a gallop till your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up…squeeze you till you popped like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more.’ Fuck. If she’d had any idea the effect that had on him… but she did, as demonstrated during their torrid little affair.
Right, the ladies were out. Wes? Nope, he wanted a wank not to worry and Willow still hadn’t called him back to say if Giles had any information. Damn, all lines of thought were still leading in one direction, Angel, and he didn’t want to give that bastard the time.
But imaginations aren’t like that and have a horrible tendency to fixate on the most inconvenient of images. Like Angel, in the motel room, the first time they’d got together after Cordelia got her claws into him. Angel, all submissive and needy. Begging to be taken with tiny whimpers and gasping breath, his body heaving under Spike’s hands and mouth, every fleeting moment the exact antithesis to the eternity he had spent being broken by Angelus.
Using his right hand to steady himself against the wall, Spike dropped into the fantasy/memory, the water coursing unfelt over his skin and his movements became harder, faster. His own breath in his ears gasped at counterpoint to his imagination, creating an illusion of circular breathing, a continuous cycle of need and desire. And it took very little to push him over the edge, his orgasm pounding through leaving him shaking under the spray that instantly washed away the evidence leaving him more alone than before.
"Nice floor show. Is there an encore?"
He spun, nearly slipping on the wet surface, a startled "What?" falling from his lips. Only to find Cordelia standing just outside the open curtain, a lascivious smile curling across her mouth.
"You have got to be kidding me." Was there no concept of privacy in the world any more? He couldn’t even take a shower without an audience.
She shrugged and moved back out of the way as he stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it round himself. "I just dropped by to tell you Angel’s outside the door. Is it my fault you were busy jerking off when I arrived?"
Shooting her a disgusted glare, Spike stalked out of the bathroom. "Yeah, well, you didn’t have to stay and watch."
"Aww. Come on. How else is a ghost gonna get her kicks. Though I’m really starting to worry about Dennis and the loofer. D’ya think he was like…"
A knock at the door interrupted her and they both glanced towards it, Spike yanking on his jeans before he called out. "Yeah?"
Angel’s voice, low and slightly husky came from the other side. "Spike, we need to talk. Can I come in?"
He was about to tell him to fuck off, but one look at Cordy’s face suggested that if he ever wanted a moment’s peace and quiet again, he’d better be polite. "Hang on a minute."
By the time he opened the door Spike was fully dressed, the only evidence that he’d been otherwise lay in his still damp hair, combed but still un-gelled and when Angel saw him, his fingers itched to ruffle it back into curls. But that would be inappropriate. He’d come here to make the peace; it was about time he came clean about certain facts. When Spike stood back and gestured for him to enter, Angel did and hovered uncomfortably in the middle of the room watching as the younger vampire located and ignited a cigarette. One of them had to speak eventually but Angel was never good at starting conversations, all his openers sounded lame.
"Umm. I just wanted to say sorry." See. Lame.
Spike quirked an eyebrow at him and shot a look towards the corner of the room before replying. "Yeah, well. I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later."
"What?"
"You, finally coming clean about who did it."
Ahh. The siring thing. "No, well, yes, actually. But I was talking about the chip. I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t remember. Some of it’s pretty hazy, like through a fog. So, I’m sorry that I can’t help you."
There was an irritated huff and then the inevitable request came. The one Angel knew he couldn’t fulfil. "Have a chat with him, then. You did it before. Don’t see why you can’t do it now."
How to explain the unexplainable. "I can’t." And there was immediate retaliation, which he silenced with an upraised hand. "No. Just…just listen for a minute. It took me over fifty years to get that sort of balance with Angelus. Could you do it? Now?"
Spike shook his head. "No. But you spoke to him before. I don’t get what’s changed. It’s not like I just wanna chat. This is…damn. I was going to say important but…."
"I know and if there was any way, believe me I’d do it. But he’s been out so much recently. I can’t risk it, I daredn’t. If he got out again…." The stoic face Angel had adopted when he was waiting outside the door disintegrated, and his terror at what Angelus’ return could presage bled into his voice. "I-I can’t."
His shoulders shook with the stress of holding it all back and when Spike wrapped his arms around him, Angel gratefully accepted the offered support. "It’s okay, mate. I get it. Wouldn’t want him around again, any of us. We’ll just have to keep looking. Something’ll turn up."
The words may have been hopeful but Angel could read the underlying desperation. So far even Fred hadn’t managed to find a solution and if she couldn’t maybe there was only one other option. "I think you should speak to Buffy."
He felt Spike’s body stiffen against him at the words and wondered briefly what could have happened to elicit such a reaction. "She may be able to contact people from the Initiative. I mean she was dating that Riley guy, maybe…?"
"I don’t think he’d be willing to help. There’s a bit of bad blood there." And Suvolte eggs were the least of it. Having said that. "I could try talking to Red, mind. She’s a wiz with the research and she might turn up some sort of mojo."
Feeling Angel smile against his shoulder, Spike gave him a last hug before pushing him away and looking carefully into his face. "You gonna be okay? I mean, we haven’t exactly been chatty and what with everything that’s happened."
"It’s not easy but the worst is over. All I need to do now is forgive myself."
He was answered by a knowing smirk. "Home free then, ‘cos everyone knows how simple that is."
***
The assembled Watchers shuffled their papers and talked quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the meeting to start. In truth this was simply a formality. As the head of the Council Quentin Travers was entitled to lead them in any direction he saw fit, but what he had in mind was such a radical idea he’d decided to present it to the board before proceeding. With a brief nod to Cooper who was handling the visuals he got to his feet.
"Gentlemen. Ladies," Best acknowledge the two female members if he wanted their support, "Some information has recently come to my attention that has lead me into seriously rethinking the way we handle our Slayers in training."
A wave of discomfort flowed through the meeting, change was never popular and to suggest modifying the way the Council trained its Slayers bordered on heresy. He ploughed on regardless.
"As you all know, of our two current Slayers, neither is willing to work under our guidance, due in no small part to the other influences in their lives. Friends, family, the pull of modern society. It is inevitable that in this day and age it will become increasingly impossible to isolate potential Slayers from these influences and, in all honesty I’m no longer convinced that we should."
Again, mumblings of discontent around the table.
"The average life expectancy of an active Slayer is two years, yet both the current Chosen Ones have managed to extend that by some considerable amount. Faith’s survival can, for the most part I believe, be attributed to her extended incarceration, however the same cannot be said for Miss Summers. If you look at your notes you will see that there was one other Slayer who also survived beyond her allotted time, Nicola Wood. You will also find that, as with Miss Summers, Miss Wood had the support of friends and family around her until they were targeted during the particularly vicious campaign that eventually resulted in her death. Miss Summers has also discovered to her cost that her nearest and dearest form a potentially weak link in her armour, and during a recent interview confided that on occasion she had to retreat from the fight in order to protect them."
So far they were still with him but would they remain that way when he gave them the complete picture.
"All this would seem to suggest that our strategy of isolating Slayers in training is the correct one, however there is no doubt that having someone who works closely alongside the Chosen One, giving emotional and physical support does appear to increase her chances of survival. Traditionally a Watcher has fulfilled this role but he, or she, can as easily become a weakness similar to family ties. As humans Watchers are just as vulnerable as they are to demonic predation."
Here it came.
"What I am suggesting is revolutionary and I would ask you to hear me out before you make your decision. I believe that the ideal solution to this problem is to allocate a specialist Watcher to each Slayer in Training, one that will be her match physically, emotionally and intellectually. In short ladies and gentlemen I am suggesting we, the Watcher’s Council, select candidates from our own ranks to become ensouled vampires."